Irritating Things in Life We Can’t Change

By we, I mean me. By things, I mean other people.

Photo by Lucrezia Carnelos on Unsplash

You know life is but a series of moments… no, I’m not starting with this crap. Here is a list of things that irritate me, but can’t do much about them but live with these people and ideas around me and mind my own business because who the fuck I am to tell you how to live your life?

North America, I’m looking at you when I say this with nothing but good intentions but calm the fuck down with high pitch voices and overexaggerated smiles; you all know you hate each other. You don’t need to be a dick to people you meet. You can just be normal. Why do waitresses have to have a whole intro of who they are like “Hi, my name is Norma Jean, I’m just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world, my dream was to bring you chicken wings, I’m here for you to complain about the temperature of the water.” Why do you insist on mind-numbing small talk with everyone all the time when nothing ever comes out of it? Why do you have the need to tell people to smile? I don’t fuckin feel like grinning around. I just had a homeless guy show me his dick because I didn’t give him my credit card; let me be.

This is the flip side of the too happy people, and that’s just people who live for shitting on every possible idea of being happy and the people who give me one-word answers to everything. Give me something to work with; it takes two to have a normal conversation. I can’t do anything with your “yes” and “no.” I get it you don’t want to talk, but sometimes we’re stuck in a situation where we have to just make some fuckin effort.

Wake up, work, go home, die. I don’t like it. I suggest this, wake up, work, make a million dollars, go home, die. Now we’re onto something. No one said just surviving takes so much effort. Then there’s the whole thing of where you’re born. Some are born privileged, some are born in alleys, then we assign roles like “you’re a Christian because you were born here” bitch I didn’t fuckin pick that shit. The whole system is screwed up. I don’t like it, and I refuse to participate. Then you realize if you refuse to participate, you will end up giving blowjobs for food stamps, so you have to join the enemy and accept your worthlessness and make the best out of your little universe. This is why I sleep four hours a night; these existential questions bother me at 2 am.

I love my cigarettes even though they’re nothing but bad news for me. Why does it have to be so? Why can’t I just walk around wearing all black and smoke cigarettes with my Audrey Hepburn cigarette holder, say weird shit, and have “philosopher” as a job title? Cogito, ergo sum, I’ll have a double gin and soda, please. Poof, paycheck. You know, minus the extreme racism and sexism, the 50s had it right with the smoking. Let’s just live in denial and have cocaine in Coca-Cola, assign masturbation as means of therapy, and smoke in airplanes. No?

This is also an opinion post, so I’m a walking contradiction, but I’ve always been one because of the nine personalities I alternate between. Everyone has the need to share an opinion as fact, and it’s getting to be a bit too much for me. Even me here right now, who the hell cares about any of this stuff? Maybe freedom of speech isn’t all it’s cut out to be. Actually, no, give me my freedom of speech. If I wasn’t spewing hate on innocent people, I’d be a miserable person.

You know when you just meet someone, and you’re witty and charming, and you tease them playfully, and you care, but not too much, because you have your own life to live. And they fall in love with you, and maybe eventually you fall in love with them, and everything goes smooth, and you’re just a walking piece of charisma, and it’s all so nice and easy.

And then you meet someone, and you just have this annoying physical reaction where you like them too much, and you’re a crumple of nervousness with a personality of an alley piss because you care about their opinion of you so much? And you like, think about them, and like, text them, sometimes twice. And you come up with excuses why they don’t want to see you and always have an excellent reason why they’re not with you. Disgusting. Pathetic. Don’t talk to those people.

There’s a fine line here between “I’m playing hard to get” and “I’m really not into you” and it’s one it’s tough to differentiate. We are so annoying, aren’t we? Just follow this rule, if they like you- you’ll know. If they don’t — you’ll be confused. If they’re playing hard to get, they’re playing games that you don’t need in your life. I’m not an expert, and all my relationships failed, so maybe do the opposite of what I suggest?

Reading the room is a skill some are born with, and some not so much. But can’t you watch a few videos on YouTube to see what’s up? I’m sure there’s a subreddit for these kinds of stuff. I was born with a disorganized mind and zero attention to detail, but I still learned that shit over time, semi-learned, ok, fine.
Incels, “Nice guys” and company. I’m sorry you think being nice to a woman entitles you to anything; how about just being nice with no expectation of a vagina at the end? That’s a new crazy concept I thought of. Give it a go.

I’m so rock n roll, aren’t I? Writing how much I despise a platform on the very same platform. That’s alright, all my genius writing is moving to my website soon, and you’ll regret losing me and never curating my wit, Medium “curators,” or whatever the fuck you do for a living. “Swearing is un-necessary” — excuse me, but I am a bit dumb, and swearing fuckin helps me express, okay? As Ricky from Trailer Park Boys puts it, “Your honor, if I can’t smoke and swear, I’m fucked.”

Tell me you didn’t get something done because you were doing drugs all weekend it’s fine. Tell me you can’t meet because you don’t feel like it.
I think “I don’t feel like it” should be a legitimate answer to a lot of things.
“I’m not coming into work because I don’t feel like it.” Okay, bro, see you tomorrow. “I’m not going out because changing from my current look of a half-dead mountain man into an actual woman is not something I feel like doing” — enjoy your night girlfriend, I’ll see you when you want to emerge from your cave. But you all are making me come up with excuses, too, because I know it’ll “be rude” to say, “I don’t really like hanging out with you that much. Let’s both stop pretending we want this.” Now we’re back to the social intelligence part, and I’m yet again a walking contradiction.

Just let me run the world. I got it all covered.

I play nice at www.onedayitinerary.com. Identity crisis once a week guaranteed. Twitter @romieooh, romanaromiracic@gmail.com

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