This is a follow up to a post I did in 2015 – ‘Things that Make Me Go Boom’. And since this is me we’re talking about, there are too many things that drive me up the wall to be crammed into one blog, so I felt it time to do another. I had hoped to be a calmer and more chilled-out person now that three years have elapsed. But I am afraid that hasn’t happened. I expect I’ll be that same easily irritated person when I’m in my nineties – a grumpy old lady, if you will. I wish I wasn’t so hot-headed. That internal annoyance does me no physical good – I can feel the stomach acid production going into overdrive even thinking about writing this list, but I may as well share these grievances with you, and maybe you may even sympathise.
Odd numbers of painkillers in a packet:
I suppose this is my OCD traits gaining force in my old age. But it happens so regularly in my house that it has begun to grate on my nerves. Be it Paracetamol (Tylenol) or Ibuprofen, there is somebody in my household who only ever takes one tablet at a time. The recommended dose is two. I do have a child who is a couple of months shy of twelve years old, so it’s probably her, and I should probably shut up (because never let it be said that I – as a health professional – would advise somebody to take more than the recommended dose for their age/weight). But I just wish somebody would even up the packet a bit before I get to it. Think of my poor nerves. However, if the person causing this unevenness is an adult, I will personally kill you. And no painkiller can fix that.
Facebook’s current obsession with narcissists:
There has been a recent spate of articles on Facebook about narcissists and what you should be looking out for to avoid them (on my FB feed, anyway…your guess is as good as mine, maybe I’ve given them the impression I’m super-paranoid). But I didn’t realise narcissists were such a potential problem – until now, that is. I mean, jeez, I could be walking around and chatting to toxic people, without knowing it, who are trying to poison me with their negativity! Oh my God!! Call the Police!! It’s never dawned on me before that I’d had this serious threat hanging over me! Thank you, Facebook. People say such awful things about you, but if I’ve avoided just one narcissist because of your handy and frikkin’ constant posts about them, then all your sins are forgiven.
I know, I know – everybody likes jokes. Well, um…not me. Now let me explain, I don’t mean off-the-cuff jokes, or funny things said on a whim. I like all that. I like the spontaneity of that. In fact, I pride myself on my dry sense of humour. What I dislike are scripted jokes. The ones that your husband (or my husband) insists you sit through until you get to the (usually) unsatisfactory punchline. I just hate the process. I hate the whole setting up of the gag – only to be sorely disappointed, or at best, just relinquishing a vague smile or groan at the end of the whole tedious business. Having said that, there is one joke I do like. I’m not sure if I actually like it, or I just like my husband’s reaction to it. He literally cries with laughter every time; he can hardly get through the telling of the joke before dissolving onto the floor into a complete mess – with his girlish high-pitched chuckle and tears running down his face. I’m not kidding. The joke is a bit long and I can’t be bothered to tell it, so here’s a link. Enjoy.
People who post more than one blog per day:
This may come across as sour grapes since I post one blog per fortnight (at best), and maybe you’ll just think me envious as I am not nearly as industrious. But as you’ll know, if you follow a blog (which I do; hundreds of them), whenever that blogger posts, you will be alerted by email. And let’s face it, we all hate a full email inbox that takes thirteen hours to clear. I’m not just saying this, I do like to read all those blogs and I will make time to do so. But I do have to work, eat, and sleep as well. The other day, my Gmail account had ninety-nine blogs to be deleted (no exaggeration) because I hadn’t checked it in two days. It’s mainly the poets who are responsible for this over-posting (sorry poets, you’re all super-gorgeous and talented, but it’s true). Because poems are short, I supposed they feel justified in posting about five a day. But could you not just put all your five poems into one blog post – y’know, so my inbox doesn’t get so full? Honestly, I’d be ever so grateful. You could take a leaf out of my book; I hardly ever write anything, not just because I’m mad-lazy, it’s just so your inbox won’t get so clogged-up. I know, I’m all give.
‘Not one person will share this’:
I’m sorry, FB seems to be in for a bit of a double tongue-lashing from me today. But there is so much about FB to get riled up about. The ‘sharing’ posts get right on my chimes; they prey on our basest instincts. The ones I hate most usually involve a picture of a cute dog or something, who is quite insistent that it is ugly, and goes on to tell you that not one person will share its post because of its intense hideousness. You’re damn bloody right I won’t! Why would anybody share it? There is no such dog! And if there were, it would be unaware of its attractiveness. It’s a dog. And if by some freak of nature it WAS aware of how aesthetically pleasing it was (and was clever enough to create a Facebook account, take a selfie, and post its own picture), it would be unconcerned about how many users on Facebook had shared its picture. Come on, people! We’re better than this!
I could go on and on (and on) about my list of pet dislikes. I’d love to tell you all the reasons why I hate car boot sales (there is a blog post about this annoyance alone in the pipeline) or LinkedIn – and how nobody in the history of the world ever got a job via LinkedIn. Ever. *Ignores the comments as scores of people write in to tell me that they have*. I don’t know, maybe I should learn to let it all wash over me, maybe I should just take a break from it all so I can calm down a bit, or take up yoga or something. I’ll do my best; I might even write a happy-go-lucky blog post next time. Ommm.
NB: If you read this blog with any regularity, you’ll know me, and won’t need to read the next sentence. But I’m writing this addendum for that one Twitter troll who will complain about how unnecessarily worked-up I get over things (like last time); for that person, there is such a thing as tongue-in-cheek. I’m British. That’s what I do, and I intend to make a very good living out of it.