Fine
I swear to god, the word "fine" should be removed from the dictionary - example:

"You look fine"
"FINE"
"I'm feeling just fine"

"We have to talk" - Reponse, "That's fine"

Now the word doesn't make sense and I might have to kill someone.

Apologies, but the air con's packed up in the office and I'm teetering on the edge
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 13:46, Reply)

Alternatively..
Fed up of giving the 'We need to talk' line? She's only got your mobile number? Throw the phone into the canal.

Extreme I know but by Christ did I not want any chance of further contact.
(The_Greyhound wrote www.luckymcdanger.blog.co.uk on, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 13:23, Reply)

I am well versed in the many uses of the word "Fine" by girls
It very rarely means that they are "fine". Actually, it never means they are fine.

Every relationship I have ever been in I have stated at the beginning, "Do not use the word "fine" as a passive aggressive weapon, if there is something wrong tell me and we can work it out like adults. Also, do not ditch all your friends now you have a boyfriend and blame me in a few months when you have no girlfriends left to gossip with, ok?"

Of course, within months they are blaming me for never seeing their friends anymore, but they're "fine".

Sorry love, "We need to talk".
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 13:04, Reply)

We most certainly do...
How to force those magic words from your girlfriend's treasonous lips:

"Why did you say you were going to the toilet when instead you spent the night in Dave's room?"

"I didn't."

"I asked Dave where you were. He said he didn't know. I heard your voice."

"It was cold. Nothing happened."

"I heard you kissing."

"Umm."

"Why are you lying to me?"

"We need to talk..."


Since then, life has improved drastically. Without her. :)
(ElectricMonk is falling awake on, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 13:02, Reply)

"it's FINE"
sometimes not talking at all, interspersed with a mildly venomous "i'm fine," is a much better way to get your point across. best reserved for when you secretly know you're being a bit irrational.

me: i'm going to drive back now, see you at the flat.
him: ok.

[pause]

me: so you're going to let me carry this bag all the way up the hill in the heat? [and even worse for you, your general health and happiness and the length of the issue that this is going to become, you've made me point this out instead of working it out for yourself and offering before i even said i was leaving]
him: it's not heavy. and you're parked at the bottom of the hill. and it's not even hot. and utd are drawing 1-1 and it's the last 5 mins. and you women are always going on about equality, so carry your own bag like a man would.
me: FINE.

edit - thanks to frankspencer who has just reminded me that of course "it's NOTHING" is one step up from this.

[five hours later]

him: you're quiet

[nothing]

him: oi. why are you so quiet?
me [looking up absently] sorry, what?
him: what's wrong?
me: NOTHING.
him: are you ok?
me: i'm FINE.

brothers suck.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 12:49, Reply)

My first job
"We have to talk" said my boss. It was the end of my three-month trial period at a chain of bookshops named Wankerstones. I had not taken kindly to being paid the mimimum wage to stack shelves, and my first class degree was not best utilised by goth retards asking me questions like "Have you got anything on witches?" Thus:

Boss: Fother, we're very confused. We interviewed 20 people and you were by far the best candidate. You seemed fascinated with being a bookseller.
Me: Yes?
Boss: But it seems like you hate the job. You're rude to customers, you hate the team and you seem moody all the time. In the interview, you were so full of life.
Me: It. Was. An. Interview.
Boss: What do you mean?
Me: You wanted a bookseller. That's what I pretended to be.
Boss: [Chokes} Pretended??
Me: Of course. Why would someone of my intelligence want a moronic job like this unless I needed the money? The whole point of an interview is to pretend that you want the job and to convince the interviewer that you do.
Boss: But you seemed so enthusiastic!
Me: About doing a poorly paid, unskilled job? In retail. Working with failures? I lied.
Boss: But ....but...
Me: It was all a tissue of lies. I couldn't give a shit about bookselling. It's no different to selling dog food in a supermarket.
Boss: Well, you're fired.
Me: No shit.

I wonder if they ever believed an applicant again?
(Fothermucker, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 12:49, Reply)

ugg
We were trying to make a fire, but nobody understood my command to get some wood.
"Ugg grunt ach" I said ever so eloquently. Still, no wood.
"Right" I thought "we need to talk".
So I came up with a set of symbols and built it into the first ever language.
Got that fire going eventually too.

Kev D. Caveman
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 12:35, Reply)

Now this didn't happen directly to me
but I witnessed it...

I used to work just north of London with a few guys from Sunderland. It was a new company and the boss was still in his "I'm gonna be nice to my staff" phase.

One colleague, who I shall refer to as "R", came into the office and mentioned something to me on the quiet. He said that he had "borrowed" the bosses Renault Espace and taken it on a booze trip to Hull (seriously). Unfortunately he had got stopped whilst up there for drink driving in said van. Oh dear!

Anyway, the boss came in and stood by the door with his arms folded, said hi to everyone then said to "R",

"Hey R, do you know anything about my Espace being in Hull?"

"Yeah sorry, I think we have to talk."

"Yeah I think we do."

About 10 minutes later the boss stormed through the door and threw his mug of coffee into the kitchen, smashing it everywhere. Shouting about "showers of cunts"...

Oh how the rest of us laughed (but quietly of course)...
( Firkinfedup last shat on your wife's tits at, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 11:48, Reply)

I'd have loved a "we have to talk"....
.....so that I could act all grown up and take it like a man and say "Fair enough".

But my ex simply sent me a text saying we were through. How am I supposed to look mature and magnaminous now!?

Although she did say "it's no you, it's me", and I'd like to believe it genuinely was. Honest.
(Seance Trumpet has got no beef with a man enjoying a croissant, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 11:24, Reply)

kids
just remember, "Reverend Laity Fields" is an anagram in part of "very sad life"
Coincidence? hmmm i think not.

twat
(Handel blah blah blah, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 11:14, Reply)

We have to talk
Is just a euphamism for "I have something to tell you".

Apeloverage, we have to talk.

You are an oxygen wasting cunt.
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 10:57, Reply)

I always find
"I really like you but..." to be infinately more soul destroying

Have a legion of good female friends though so its just like marriage without all the hassle and your allowed to tell them the arse is indeed big in those jeans
(Halfy By light alone, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 10:43, Reply)

Dear Frankspencer,
We need to talk. You sound really pissed. I sense a teensy weensy bit of aggression, am I right? Someone who doesn't know you as well as I do might not have noticed, but I think you have some issues here bud.

Now, hey buddy - whatcha say we go for a beer and just chill for a while. you know, just hang? If there's something bothering you, just get it off your chest, let it all hang out and cool it.

Am I right or am I right?

Shit, I know where you're coming from, we've all been there, right? Lazy, like, vocabulary an' shit, like no, like real, you know, thought or anything. But hey, you can't put back the, like, clock right? Diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks and shit, right?

You still there buddy?

Frank....

Shit.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 10:42, Reply)

BYE BYE PRICK!
(me) Steve? (our housemates name)
we have to talk mate. (mate? lol)

(steve)Yeah? Wot?

(the other 3 people in the house + me) You are a dirty smelly messy tramp, you filth wizard, we are sick of you leaving your dirty washing everywhere, all the plates and mugs are in your room and you need to stop blocking the downstairs loo with your drunken vomit every fucking night!

At this point Steve went into his room in a sulk.

Next day, when we all got home from work, he had taken all his stuff and gone.

We have not heard from him since.

YAY
(UnstableDan Bah, Humbug! ooooh, humbugs, nyom!, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 10:30, Reply)

Just the other day...
I was back home and my Dad said something similar and casually mentioned that he had been searching for me using Google. Now I don't think that much links me to teh interweb but I do have a personal e-mail address that is distinctive. He found...

...my b3ta profile!

Hi Dad!
(mehmeh 0% witty, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 9:41, Reply)

OK, WHAT ABOUT?

Well, Brian, it's...um...

WHAT!? COME ON, SPIT IT OUT!

You heard me saying we need to talk didn't you?

I AM TALKING! WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING!?

Never mind. Just go and do your Shakespeare thing.

YOU'RE VERY CONFUSING! AND YOU MUMBLE!
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 8:44, Reply)

ex-girlfriend...
...told me we needed to talk. Apparently she was upset that I went out drinking on our anny and felt I needed to be punished.

I felt differently. Instead of getting scolded, I merely got drunk off grain alcohol with some friends and broke up with her.

Best night of my life.
(khoethmora Curiouser and curiouser..., Mon 23 Apr 2007, 6:01, Reply)

Same ex I was going out with this year
Shortly after breaking up I phoned her and let her know that my balls were fucking killing me, and I said we should both get tested. She then turned this around to deliver the "We have to talk" line. I agreed and she dropped by and took me to the pub.

It was surreal, because our lives had been a shitstorm the previous month, and we just hung around in the corner of the pub, kissing and cuddling in ways that no exes really should. It was quite nice, for once.

She then dropped revelation after revelation upon me:

- She is an ex-hooker.
- On her stint as a hooker she had sex with "At least 300 men"
- I apparently had a bigger nob than all of these men.
- She's doing coke again.
- Her psycho ex was out of prison and she was planning to see him.

And it eventually turned out my balls hurt because I was wearing boxers a bit too small. Phew.
(I have a face also had a sig on, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 2:39, Reply)

Two weeks after my 30th birthday
and my parents sit me down and tell me we have to talk.

"Son, do you remember when you turned 13 and we told you all about Father Christmas and how he wasn't actually real and that it was just something you tell to children to make them happy and to put a bit of magic into their lives?"

"Yes indeed I do mother. I cried and cried and cried until I could cry no more."

"Well son, now that you've turned 30 we thought it was time we had another little chat. You know God...
(BIV was recently envatted., Mon 23 Apr 2007, 1:33, Reply)

My mum, to me (age 6):
"We have to talk... about the ice-cream van... you do know that when it plays its tunes, it's run out of ice-cream?"
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Mon 23 Apr 2007, 0:50, Reply)

Slightly different wording
but amusing enough, nonetheless.

Was out with the other half a couple of days ago and suddenly, out of the blue, he turns to me and says 'Can you answer me something?'

Oo golly, thinks I. We'd been having something of a debate (we don't argue about couple stuff, just foolish petty things like the nature of truth and the limits of radical feminism) and I reckon he either wants to pick at my logic or he's suddenly realised that politically-inclined gobshites aren't his thing. Either way, he sounds pretty serious, so I put down my food and wait for the big Q...

'Why does your mate Lucie wear all that horrible white stuff round her eyes?'

And Shini remembers that not everything is as dramatic as it is in my head.
(Shinigami, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 23:33, Reply)

On the seemingly related subject...
of heart break in all matters "we need to talk"... my worst and only experiance (thankfully) had to be on my 20th birthday.

I Love this girl... unreservedly and whole heartedly... i most likly will never stop. But she quite simply got bored with me... and with good reason.

After a very pleasent and happy evening... she finally quoted said phrase and that was it. She just "didnt love me any more", which is brave, certainly not the usual strands of shite spun by anyone guilty.

She could have given me any number of reasons (they were all too obvious to me) why she would want to leave me, but sometimes its painfully simple. And I saw it coming...

I still see her as friends to this day, and it hurts like hell every time, why do i put myself through it you might ask? i havnt got a fucking clue... at least i got a birthday present that year...
(Time Waste Management, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 23:07, Reply)

She'd never said "we have to talk" before...
... despite being married for over four years. It took me half an hour of conversation to realise her long explanations of The State Of Things boiled down to her running off with someone else.

A couple of weeks later, packing her stuff into boxes, I came alarmingly close to killing myself. [It's OK - the story picks up in a minute.] Some friends talked me out of it, so the next day I ensured I wouldn't be tempted again by embedding the kitchen knives into the living room wall. I wrote (on the wall, in foot-high multi-coloured letters) some slightly cryptic messages to myself reminding me why it was important to stay alive and how I should go about doing this.

Stepping back and admiring my handiwork, I thought, "if anyone saw this, they'd think I was mad. I know it makes sense though."

Remembering that anyone who says this in a film is invariably mentally unsound, I booked an appointment with the doctor. She gave me some quite astounding tablets and three weeks off work to enjoy get used to them. They gave me a whole new multi-sensory appreciation of music, the ability to feel every single fibre of any material my feet were touching, the magical ability girls have to tell which colours go together and some dancing blue triangles on the ceiling that only existed for a few minutes after I woke up.

I sat outside the house grinning like a loon when the missus turned up with her step-dad and a removal van to pick up her stuff. I explained my currently shaky mental state and that they shouldn't take the state of walls personally - it was all aimed at me (not them) so they were quite safe. Also, the doctor's told me to avoid all stress for at least two weeks, so could you just take the stuff I've packed already [mostly her clothes, chick lit, etc] and come back and split our other belongings another time?

She never did though, so I kept it all.
( teedyay, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 23:06, Reply)

HURRAY!
I have a happy one :)

I was going out with a russian bird and trying to get a good time for the "we need to talk" conversation (she was a nightmare) when she accidently called me by her ex's name!

Result!

I just walked out and ignored her and still do :D
( SiX and his hat, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 20:39, Reply)

With my now Ex...
He went away on a boys holiday last year for two weeks.

A few hours after he got back to the house and wed had plenty of pre-marital relations, we where cuddled up on the bed...
shithead- "we need to talk"
me- "yeah i know"
shithead- "what do you mean you Know?"
me- "I know you cheated and im going to ask you to get your stuff and go"
shithead- "(very confused)..well...what?...if you knew all along why havent you gone mad at me...and why did you sleep with me if you knew?"
me- " Its been two weeks and I wanted to refuel before I told you to get out."
(Legs 11 last got some loving on, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 20:13, Reply)

Guy: We need to talk...
Girl: Okay hunny, about what?
Guy: I've been thinking and i think we should split up...

...it's not you, it's me...

..I'm sick of the fucking sight of you
( Drunken Vet, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 20:07, Reply)

To be Frank
"We have to talk" is just the kind of inane Americanism that has sullied the English language in the last few years (sorry, Americans). I despise such empty linguistic emulations as "You do the math" or "Too much information!" or "You're funny!" or anything else from American TV sit-coms and pulp culture.

So, no, it doesn't make you sound cool or witty or intelligent when you say such things. It makes you sound like a moron who apes what they hear on TV as a monkey sniffs its own arse for novelty value. When I hear someone say "We have to talk," I know a number of things about that person:

1) They are not my friend or anyone I would like to know.
2) Their imagination does not stretch beyond what they see on TV or hear in the pub.
3) Their linguistic breadth stops at Heat magazine and anything on daytime TV.
4) Their overblown opinion of themself is such that they have to preface a conventional sentence with that nugget of pompous shite.

When you want to talk to someone, talk to them. You wouldn't go into a shop and say, "I have to buy something" before paying for it. For fuck's sake - am I alone in this?
(frankspencer, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 19:20, Reply)

It didn't exactly start with a 'we have to talk' but it was one of those conversations.
(A note for those seeking entertainment: If you can find it in the pain of others, look no further. Otherwise, you might be best skipping this one.)

Let me set the scene; Thursday last was my 18th birthday, and at this point I have been going out with my girlfriend since I was 15.

So it was the friday, and we've just come out of her best friends house (best friend backstory: he shares a birthday with me and they have been friends since they were less than a year old), and my dad is due to pick me up in about 2 minutes.

Thanks to my kean mans intuition I can tell my ladyfriend has been somewhat off with me for a while, so I ask "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," she replies. More information isn't very forthcoming, so I try again.
"Is it me?" I ask.
"Yes," she replies. Again, a distinct lack of clarification.
"What about me, exactly?" I ask.
"I don't want to say, I mean, it's just been your birthday." she answers.
"Yyeeesss... But, now you've said this much, if you don't tell me what I'll just be worrying over the worst, and, as you've just mentioned, it is my birthday, and I'd rather not have the worry." I say, rather eloquently, though I do say so myself.
"It's not that I don't love you, I just don't think I love you in the same way as I once did." she says. At this point we've pretty muched reached her front door, and my dad has just arrived to pick me up. Wonderful. Now, to be honest, I'm a bit shaken up at this point. It's not that I didn't realise things had been changing, it's more that if anyone had asked me, I would've told them that I thought the relationship was going to last at least until she started Uni, not this September but the September afterwards. Now I'm not even sure if we'll still be together at the end of the week. Whatever, the point is that I hugged her. She's about 5 foot nothing, and I'm just over 6 foot, and she was stood on her doorstep, giving her another few inches, so I just wrapped my arms around her, and held her tightly, and closely. During this hug, I have a supreme feeling of closeness, and oneness. Of content, and happyness, and all I want to do is hold on to her for the rest of my life. But my dad is there, and so we part.

That night, I slept at a friends house, and I didn't manage to get to sleep till around 4, and woke up at 7:20. I tell you this because of the significance of that 7:20. For me, going to sleep at 4 is nothing new, but I haven't woken up in the morning at 7:20 since I was in High School, and I haven't woken up at 7:20 on a saturday for probably more than a decade. Up until I fell asleep, and from the moment I woke up, the one thing in my head was my lady, our relationship, what I've been doing with her these last few years, how I've been treating her, etc, etc. This was particularly bad, becaue I was at a friends house. He, and a few other friends, were all lying between me and anything/anywhere else. If I'd been at home, I could've buried myself in a book and avoided reality that way. But no, I had to lay in a darkened front room, listening to a chorus of snores, and contemplating until someone woke up to talk to, a good three hours later. But I did manage to get a lot of thinking done.

Later on that day (yesterday, as I write this), I was having a barbecue to celebrate the aforementioned birthday. My lady came around, and when I had decided we had been social enough, I took her into the house and we sat on the stairs to talk. On the stairs the connection returns, and I am compelled to touch her face; she looks so perfect I can't resist, and I delicately stroke her cheek with the back of my hand... So soft. Some tears, expressed fears and reminiscence of the years later, she told me she thinks we should go on a break. I've never been a fan of breaks; I've always seen them as something created by the writers of Friends to entertain.

Naturally, I come up with a few viable alternatives; perhaps she'd see me less as a friend (she says she sees me as a friend) and more of a boyfriend if we spend less time acting as friends (say, playing computer games with each other, etc) and more time acting as boyfriend and girlfriend (say, by only seeing each other to go on dates, or when in the house together, talking more, as opposed to the games.), also, maybe if we started just seeing each other less, I mean currently we see each other 4 or 5 times a week, sometimes for pretty much all of the day at a time. Mayhap we should see each other just once or twice a week, and have a plan of what to do rather than just chilling out. She says she'll think about it.

I think I made considerable progress, that day. A few days back, even at the theatre on my birthday (aren't I posh), I'd place a hand on her bestokinged leg, and she's push it off, complaining of the tickling, and even for maybe a week or two, if we were to hold hands it was always because I had taken her hand in mine, but on saturday, as we sat around the bonfire and we whispered to each other of how sorry we were of the direction things were taking, she offered her hand to me, to hold.

Today, another day, another attempt to salvage my relationship, which has so suddenly (although, if I think about it, perhaps not so suddenly), started the process of being whipped away. I can't get through on the phone, so I log onto my instant messenger, and success! She is online. There follows an hour long conversation, where I tell her how the shock of possibly losing her has made me realise that in a way, I already have, and that that self same shock is what has rekindled the connection that I didn't realise was missing until it was back. I tell her I haven't been treating her as I should have been, and that I believe in our love for one another, and I believe we were meant to be. Too little, too late, it seems. By some cruel twist of fate our conversation is cut short as she finds her sister has been taken to hospital to be checked for appendicitis, and my lady is to go and visit her ill sister. On logging out of her instant messaging service, she tells me that if I still want to talk, I can text her, but there is a lot to think on, of how our relationship has been and how it will come to be.

Only one thing remains certain, it seems, and that is that no matter what happens now, we will remain friends.

Now ladies and gentleman, this story is drawing to a close, and I feel I must appologise for no exciting climax, and to this end I will, in the last sentence, make a small joke.

Until then, I ask only that you spare a thought for two young lovers, on the verge of losing what at least one of them believes to be true love. After writing this I will text her, but it is unlikely she will have an answer for me yet.

If this is the end, don't worry about me becoming an emo and sitting in the corner, slitting my wrists; I'm old enough now to realise that no matter how hard it seems, countless others have gone through this before me, and gotten over it. If it is to end, I will get over it. I just hope that it isn't the end.

For anyone interested in seeing an artists rendering of the lady in question; click here.

Length? She says that the connection may be gone, but the sensation is still amazing.

Edit: To everyone who's been gazzing me: Thank you all for your support in this difficult time in my life. Despite the fact I don't know who any of you are, I really appreciate the gesture.
(tero if I had a website, this is where I would plug it, Sun 22 Apr 2007, 18:44, Reply)

I have just returned from a week in Spain
With a group of friends. Two of whom, shall be called Mr and Mrs 'just friends' (I don't know if either of them or other involved parties read this so I'm going to have to be subtle) as thats what they have insisted they are for god knows how long. This despite the fact they normally spend every second they are in the same room fondling, kissing and boinking etc. Anyway, after a week of barely seeing either of them, due to them being of somewhere else from the rest of us, often the bedroom. They have to talk.

After several days of this idillic love-in they decide to 'have a talk' namely about the fact both of them have other partners. Funnily enough it doesnt particularly swimmingly and an argument ensues. This leads to Mr justfriends storming off to have a sit down on the beach at 4am and returning with this story. A well dressed Spanish chap comes and sits next to him. They sit in silence for a while sharing a moment. Mr JF assumes his new friend is in a similar position, a shit night or whatever. The Spanish chap taps him on the shoulder and licks his hand making a funny face. Mr JF assumes he means go for a Tequila, drown their sorrows. Mr JF shakes his head as he doesnt particullary feel like drinking. The Spaniard guesses its the language barrier and decides to check once more. Licking at his hand, making a drinking motion, funny face. Its then Mr JF realises. He is being propositioned. In his broken Spanish, he tries to explain he isnt gay and doesnt wish to suck his new friends penis.

His new friend saddened by his rejection walks away headed for some cliffs.

See what 'the talk' can lead too.
A gay Spaniards suicide.

Sorry about the length. But having seen Mr JF in the shower I can see why the Spaniard was so upset.
(Gimli son of Gloin., Sun 22 Apr 2007, 17:15, Reply)