I am turning into a crotchety old lady.

This is total lame and completely not pit-worthy, so I thought I’d put it here.

I’ve realized I’m turning into a crotchety old lady. How do I know this? Well, since you asked, I’ll tell you.

I’m sitting here, with my mom visiting. I can hear her chewing. It’s driving me absolutely out of my mind, enough so that I had to leave the room, but she just freaking followed me into another one because she wanted to chat. Did I also mention that I like long periods of silence and my mom hates the quiet? So I’m subjected to the sound of her deep, excessive breathing, the noise of the flood slop-slopping in her mouth. Yuck.

Even worse is that she’s supposed to be leaving soon, but she’s found yet another freaking soap opera that she wants to watch. I hate soap operas. Yet here I am, All My Children or some other such travesty playing in the background.

The crux of the matter is that I was earlier thinking, “God, she’s so set in her ways that every time she visits, she has to have the TV on, has to eat what she wants with no regard to others, blah blah blah.” Then I realized that if I weren’t so set in my ways and so crotchety at only 32 years old, I wouldn’t be thinking this.

Yes, I could be worrying about much more serious problems. The banking crisis, my lack of a job, the war in Iraq. But all I can hear is slop, slop slop, breathe, breathe, breathe. I could be much more sympathetic, and my son will doubtless feel this way about me when I get older, if not more violently so since I’ll probably be certifiably insane by then, but I can’t stop. Hearing. The chewing. Gah!

So, any other grumpy old people (age is irrelevant) want to air what ails them in a non-pitworthy manner? Extra points for creativity, which I am clearly lacking today.

Are you me? I can’t stand to listen to anyone else chew. I can’t abide soaps. I can’t handle most other people’s habits and eccentricities–hell, I don’t like my own at times.

I have it on good authority that I am old, if not crotchety, so this is nothing new to me.

I can’t stand when someone goes over something with me that we’ve already discussed. If I hear one more time how the movers lost my mother’s shoes, I’ll scream. I’m all for listening–but I cannot listen more than once (for something like shoes anyway).

I am also suffering from a paucity of creativity today, so this is dull. Sorry. :frowning:

Yep, I’m a card-carrying member of the COLC (crotchety old ladies’ club).

People’s speech patterns are at the top of my pissy list. A woman’s office is near our lunchroom at work. This woman has a droning, lecturing history teacher kind of delivery. She uses the phrase "It’s just . . . I mean, it’s just . . . " over and over and over again as she drones. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cut my lunch short so I don’t have to hear that irritating speech pattern.

Another woman (thankfully fired now) couldn’t utter a sentence without punctuating it with a sort of hissing, shrieking giggle. And she sat right next to me, too.

Unfortunately, the SO is getting on my nerves now. He’s aging with the rest of us, and has started the “What’s the name of that actor . . . he was in that movie with that other guy . . . you know, that guy who had the weird eyes and he got killed . . . you know who I’m talking about . . what’s his name? . . .” way of rambling.


One of my goals in life is to become a crotchety old man. I don’t expect it to happen for another decade or more though.

I am a mere 31yrs old and am old and crochety. I realized the “old” part when my chief forms of entertainment became public radio and knitting. It’s only gone downhill from there.
Since when did 31 become the age at which the children have to start minding the parents’ health? My mother is a grown up. I should not have to remind her to see a doctor about potentially life threatening health problems that she brushes off so blithely.
I am also too young to be casting a jaundiced eye (over my spectacles, no less) at the fashions the young whippersnappers are wearing. Especially in church. I’ll admit the girl had the figure to pull off shorts so short she should have worn a hair net, but is that really appropriate in a house of worship? And the “Playgirl” emblazoned mini t-shirt? I’ve got a bikini (uh oh, losing my “old” cred) with a bottom that covers more flesh than those shorts.
It put me in such a mood that I saw fit to argue with my spouse over the nutritional content of McDonald’s milkshakes. I don’t care if they have calcium, a single 16 oz (we argued over appropriate sizing as well) beverage containing 550 calories composed primarily of corn syrup is in no way to be considered
“healthy” for a 2yr old. Or her 4yr old sister.

Thanks, I feel a little better. Now where’d I put that Geritol. . .

I realized I was getting old and cranky the first time I walked out of a store because the music was too loud.

Now I yell at drivers who honk their horns for every trivial infraction committed by their fellow driversand mutter at people who block the sidewalks and subway platforms. It’s pathetic really.

I don’t know if I’m old and crotchety or young an appalled … but yesterday I had to spend the entire Mass staring at the back of a T-shirt of a gray-haired man which read:

This was in the company of my 14-year-old niece and 13-year-old daughter.

Not that I’m easily shocked, but this was church God Damn It :wink: and I didn’t want the girls thinking about some guy’s wang all though church. Hell, I didn’t want to think about it! :mad:


Not if it’s cold water…

I am a disapproving old biddy. I know this. I don’t care. I will tell kids to keep it down in a store. I will say, “please” if you give me a command w/o using courtesy. I figure it’s my little way of fighting ignorance.

I like my reading glasses because I can look over them now. ha!

I’m seriously thinking of sitting on my porch for a few days with my hose and spraying every jackass who permits his dog to walk into my garden for a territorial whizz.

You see, at some point, some jackass let his dog pee on my spirea bush. Which, of course, means all other dogs must also pee on said spirea bush, because that’s what dogs do when they’re out for a walk… pee where every other freakin’ dog in the neighbourhood has paused to pee before them. My poor bush looks like hell, because dog urine is a piss-poor fertilizer (if you’ll pardon the pun).

Maybe I’ll spray a few kids who walk on my lawn while I’m at it.

(besides, the fact that I even know what a spirea bush is and can tell it apart from other shrubbery is in and of itself an indicator of my impending crochet-dom)


It reminds me of Patsy Stone’s (she’s a fashion magazine editor) line:

“All I have to do is snap my fingers, and hemlines are raised so high that the world’s your gynecologist!”

Director, fashion director (as she admonished Eddie on their visit to her office)

Sad thing is–I actually want to be Bubbles… her world must be nice, no?

Oh yes, I remember watching her on the…box, you look at it, it has pictures that move…

As I age, I’m 61, I’m becoming less crotchety.
Ms Hook suggested that I substitute ass hole for crotchety.

Does that mean you graduate eventually from being crotchety to being an asshole? I’ve got no problems with that. :smiley:

I knew I was crotchety when I stopped tippy-toeing around other people’s feelings. When someone forwards you a hateful e-mail and you Reply ALL instead of just to the sender – I think you’ve graduated to crotchety.

I became a crotchety old lady because somebody gave me some crotchet hooks and a ball of yarn for my 60th birthday and I just had to try 'em out.

Gotcha beat by 30 years! :smiley:

(actually… make that 35, seeing as I’ve been crocheting for about 5 years now)

How about Old Fart? Is that between Crotchety and Asshole?

I have found my people, at last.

My husband once pointed out to me that, whenever my mother is telling a story that she thinks is funny, she will start laughing during her telling of the story—like it’s so damn funny that she can barely get through it. And hers is no restrained tee-hee, let me tell you.

Now when I talk to her, I can’t NOT notice this speech pattern. It makes me want to scream. She also repeats the last few lines of the story, with extra laughing.