Based on the many phone calls I’ve been receiving since I started this blog I am of the opinion that we are all cranky.  Everyone has an idea for me on what to moan and then write about with lists of things they find annoying.  I like annoying.  I’ve been annoying my whole life and now I get to write about it.

Annoying is when I go to a salon for a facial and walk out with $250 worth of products promising to tone, tighten, lighten, and firm my dull, loose, age-spotted skin. After clearing out my medicine cabinet of the arsenal of products from my last facial which promised pretty much the same results, I am now armed with a sack of new products promising to fight everything about my face these specialists tell me I shouldn’t like. The problem is I can’t remember what the application instructions are for the 32 products I just purchased.
Is there a consequence if I use my morning recovery complex in the evening? What will happen if I exfoliate for dermal repair on Tuesdays and Thursdays instead of Mondays and Fridays? What if I lose interest after a week? I absolutely need a spreadsheet and it must be taped to the bathroom mirror.

Annoying are designers using 20 year old models to try and get me to wear jeggings in bright red or orange for the Fall season, jeans below my waist, or skirts above my mid-thigh . Anyone who is 50+ does not want jeans below their belly button for reasons I don’t need to elaborate on, and we will wear pants in one color and one color only… black. If we are really feeling adventurous, we may try dark brown, but red and yellow? Are you kidding me? When designers can make 50 year old models that are 5’3”, are 15-20 pounds over their glory days weight, and have more rolls than the bakery section at Shop Rite look good, I’ll buy the product. I’m not impressed they can make Angelina Jolie look good….try making women like me look good.

Annoying are all the plug-ins I own. I am drowning in cords for my phone, my navigation system, my iPad, my iPod, my Bluetooth, my Nook. I remember when all I ever had to plug in was the iron. It never had to be recharged, uploaded, downloaded, synched with the toaster and I never lost it. The iron didn’t need to be programmed and I didn’t need an app to install it. The iron didn’t need a password to operate, didn’t need to know if it could save my location or push notifications to me. It ironed my shirts. Period. End of story.

I find it annoying that despite the spreadsheet on my bathroom mirror and the $250 worth of products I’m still referred to as “ma’am” when I’m out at a restaurant. I secretly want them to say, “here’s your table babe”, and not, “here is your table, ma’am.” I want to scream, “listen buster… ma’am is somebody your mother’s age” but then I look at him and realize that I’m probably older than his mother, so “ma’am” it is. This summer I went to a Mets game (talk about an annoying team) and I was asked to show ID when I bought a beer. Seriously, I almost kissed that vendor. I walked back to my seat thinking, damn girl you must look good, until I found out that they asked my 80 year old father for ID too. Yup…”ma’am” it is.

Annoying is that lately, I notice I can’t remember why I am standing in a particular room. It’s not like it’s a room that there is much to think about either…It’s an unfinished, dark, basement. “Think “I tell myself, “think, think, think…there must be a reason you are standing in a dark, unfinished, basement you fool!” And then the light comes on…the freezer, yes I came down to get something out of the freezer. Now if only I coud remember what it is I plan on doing with the food that I got out of the freezer. I will check the spreadsheet in my bathroom. Perhaps it’s something for my skin.