First, let me explain the title… I can easily come up with 21 things that I irrationally (if you say so) hate, but the idea for this post comes from Ericka Clay’s post, which she stole from me, before I could think of it. She did it first, but it was just so great, I had to do my own list. These are 21 Things I Irrationally Hate:
- Bloggers who come up with ideas for posts that I totally wish I had thought of myself. This is specifically directed at Ericka Clay, at Tipsy Lit, for coming up with this particular blog post, before I could think of it myself… Which, for the record, I eventually would have. (It should be noted that Ericka’s post is titled, “Twenty-one Things I Irrationally Hate, while mine is “21 Things…” See, it’s different. I thought of using the number… not spelled out. Not the same.)
- That my husband can’t in fact read my mind. If he could, we could avoid so many arguments, because he would know that I’m thinking: … And don’t argue with me.
- When someone in my house, generally a teenager, or someone much younger than me, eats the last of something that I didn’t say I wanted (particularly left-overs that I cooked!)… but I did… really want. This could also be filed under: people who can’t read my mind.
- Raisins, especially cooked in anything. (And once you’ve picked on out of your kid’s diaper… well, you can never eat one again!)
- When anyone at the grocery store, anyone, calls me “Mam.” It’s bad enough that I have to do the grocery shopping in the first place, without also being reminded that I’m a Mam now.
- Scales that don’t say what I want.
- That eating chocolate chip cookies/bacon/nutty bits/milkshakes/Cheez Its/ Doritos/most of my favorite foods, don’t melt fat. Who thought of that bullshit science anyway? Thank God, sushi does… melt fat.
- That working out and not eating does in fact burn fat. Again, science. Really?
- That I’m 51 and I didn’t start doing what I really want to be doing: writing, thirty years ago. For real.
- Editors and Agents that seem to think it’s reasonable for me to wait 6 to 9 months, to know if they like my manuscript. Don’t they know that I’m 51 and wish I’d done this thirty years ago? (Even if I couldn’t have written this particular novel 30 years ago.)
- That other writers keep telling me that I do indeed have to wait this long to hear from editors and agents, and that: “that’s just the way it is.” Bite me, agents, editors and other writers.
- Most teenage girls.
- Teenage boys who say “dude” to everyone. Really? Dude?
- Other bloggers who get their novels published, while I wait to hear from editors and agents… Hmm, Ericka Clay just got her novel published. And well, it does look really good, but… Other bloggers who get their novels published.
- That bladder control issues, wrinkles, acne, weight gain, and a host of other insults, all come at an age when you are already freaking out, just thinking: What the fuck! I only have twenty (reasonably good) years left? And I haven’t heard from that agent or editor yet!
- Stores who post a “We card anyone under 40,” sign, and then card me. Do we really need to make that point, Mam?
- People who are always on time. So, I’m a little late sometimes. It starts innocently: I have some extra time, and then some friends from high school, who I wasn’t necessarily friends with in high school, have posted some things on Facebook that I really need to read? And like, and comment on. And then there was a photo on the sidebar of Facebook that I had to see: of a snake eating a crocodile (never mind that snakes give me the willies, and these photos totally freaked me out)… Which led to a photo of an otter (!!) eating an alligator… Which got me wondering when crocodiles and alligators became such losers… Which got me wondering what Liza Minnelli had to say about Ellen DeGeneres’ Oscar joke… which made me wonder which award winning movies I should add to Netflix (because yes, I still use Netflix)… which got me checking out other movies, and realizing I’ll never get to see the 3,452 movies on my Netflix list… Why the hell doesn’t the rest of the world realize that shit happens, and I might be late?
- When people put the chips on the cereal shelf, or the measuring cups in the Ziplock- bag drawer, and then when I
complainexplain why I don’t like that, ask me why I care, when my office is a hoarder’s den… like chips have anything to do with my office?
- Yellow bananas. Make mine a semi-green one, every time.
- Whistling. Unless it’s in this song. Or this one.
- People who complain.
Yeah; that’s twenty-two. I had more than 21, and I didn’t want to erase any of them. I also hate limits. Now, share yours. What do you hate? You can make your own list… but be a good egg, and link back to my post, and Ericka’s. And Note: I think I have more than made up for borrowing Ericka’s idea, by linking to her a bazillion times here!
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