I’m aggravated

Maybe it’s the moon cycle. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s the economy. Whatever it is, I’m feeling cranky, aggravated, annoyed, irritated. In no order:

Stop telling me to be funny. I don’t try intentionally to be funny, so when I am funny, it’s funny. I can’t try to be more funny. It’s aggravating when I hear that my blog “isn’t as funny as it used to be.”

Helplessness is really annoying. It’s aggravating when people sit back and wait for others to help them do what they’re quite capable of doing themselves. Get off your lazy ass and do it! Please stop waiting for me to take charge.

If I ask you a lot of questions, it’s because I’m interested in what you have to say. Why is that so F’ing hard to understand?

Excuses are aggravating. Say yes if you want; or just say no. Don’t give me your BS excuses. You’re in or you’re out. Yes or no. It’s not that difficult. I don’t care either way, really.

Reciprocity is key. I’m not talking tit-for-tat or dollar-for-dollar but reciprocating in-kind, as my mother always says. It’s tiring when I’m doing all the giving and you’re doing all the taking. You don’t have to be able to whip up a sit-down dinner for ten like I can. But you surely can reciprocate with drinks and Costco hors d’ouvres once in a while. And damn it, buy me the good vodka.

Leave me alone. Yes, it’s flattering if you want my opinion on everything (even the stuff I have no idea about). It’s aggravating when you can’t make your own decisions without me weighing in either. Go for it! Make your own decision! You can do it!

Leash police, go away! Yes, I let my dog run around without a leash. I know you don’t like it but frankly I just don’t give a damn. It’s not like my dog’s going to eat your face off, Plus, I’ve never heard of a rabid Golden Retriever anyway. If you don’t like it, walk the other direction.

Yak, yak, yak! There’s lots of things people tell me that I really don’t need to hear. Seriously. I’m better off not knowing. If I don’t need to know about the cheating spouse, please keep it to yourself. Unless it was Maverick, of course, then please do tell as soon as possible.

Enough is enough. No matter what I promise my kids, two more minutes…one more cookie…yes, you can do it one more time…it’s never enough. It never appeases the whining for even more. It’s totally aggravating when I try to set a fair limit and then have to argue with them on why one more minute (or cookie, lap, chance, turn) is not an option.

That’s all the civilized grievances I have for today. The rest are utterly unsuitable to write. Thanks for letting me vent. Feel free to share your own. Aggravation loves company.