Well, I live in Dallas, so there aren’t many tourist attractions, but on the odd occasion when I’m in the West End (of downtown), it’s always amusing to see the tourists blithely walk out into live traffic on Elm St. to look at the X-es in the road where JFK and John Connally were shot.
It’s like they honestly don’t realize that the road’s still in use, and one of the main East-West ways to get from downtown onto the freeway (just like in 1963).
I live near the centre of Edinburgh. I love my city. I love that lots of people want to visit and enjoy it. There are tourists most of the year, but in August it gets towards unbearable.
The weather doesn’t help. What’s worse than crowds of tourists milling around unsure of where they are going and what they are doing? Crowds of tourists milling around… with umbrellas.
The Edinburgh festivals are currently in full swing. I try and avoid the centre of town at this time, but the local council helpfully has some of its offices right on the Royal Mile. When I had to sort out a visitor’s parking permit at short notice last year, it was hell just trying to get to the place. No, I don’t care if you’re juggling chainsaws while on stilts - just get out of my freaking way.
For a few short years after college, I lived near the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall in Philadelphia, just about the same time they were building the Constitution Center. The hoards of tourists were unavoidable, you just learn to deal with all the camera-toting gangs of foreigners and out-of-towners. Sometimes it was a pain in the ass walking down the street with some place to go and there is a family s-l-o-w-l-y m-o-v-i-n-g in front of you and spread across the entire sidewalk.
And I’ll go there in two weeks’ time. 
Anyone who lives near Abbey Lane will get this view!
http://www.abbeyroad.com/visit/
(can be amusing during the day time)
I worked in Crystal City for several years and quickly learned when to avoid the food court during tourist season. You know how bad the food court in Pentagon City can get with all the tour groups? Picture them taking turns in the tiny Crystal City food court.
Story told before:
The Grandpa from Hell wasn’t easily surprised, but he once came home with this dazed look on his face. It was early January; with Barcelona’s usual 95+% humidity, the chill factor was a bitch, yet he had run into a group of tourists who he guessed to be “Eskimos or some such” (his actual line was “esquimales o de por ahí”, remember we were talking in Spanish), as they had Asian features and wore Hawaiian shirts and bermudas. Their conversation had consisted of:
them: “Gaudí?” while making a wavy up-to-down movement
Gramps: “¿La Pedrera? Todo recto pallá”, making a choppy movement with his wholly-extended arm to show it was all straight going, no turns at all.
Them: show of gratefulness, followed by “Gaudí?” with the four fingers of one hand uplifted
Gramps: “Ah, mala suerte 
La Sagrada Familia, topallá”, same movement but in the exact opposite direction.
Them: talk among themselves, apparently trying to decide where to go first
Gramps, interrupting: points to La Pedrera, makes movement a couple of times. Points to Sagrada Familia, makes the same movement several times. Apparently they understood what he meant (La Pedrera was closer), for that’s the direction they went.
I also have stories of encounters with little old can’t call them ladies who were yelling “does anybody here speak my language?” on Passeig de Gràcia (“you’re the one who’s abroad, yelling at people won’t make them understand you any better”“yells at me”“sorry, I can’t hear you when you yell”“sputters”… once they calm the hell down, I give them the directions they’re trying to get, except to one who didn’t want to calm the hell down); of explaining very slowly to a dude who seemed to be from Texas and think he’d just stepped off the set of Bonanza that no, Spanish BKs don’t have BBQ sauce, as the young lady has explained it’s ketchup or ketchup, so you’re going to apologize to her and you’re going to take your ketchup (this was on Plaza del Sol in Madrid); several instances of assisting Guardia Civiles in Barajas and El Prat with idjits who insisted that their reproduction of Tizona wasn’t a weapon (“it’s a sharp rod of steel, yes it’s a weapon; now give it to the nice cop who’ll give it to the nice stewardess who’ll give it to you when you get off the plane” - I still wonder whether they didn’t realize that only because the dude in green is being nice it doesn’t mean he can’t throw your ass in jail, after sticking your Tizona up it).
Tourists in Oxford are generally OK. During the summer there are bus and coachloads by the score, but they tend to congregate in the colleges and around offstreet attractions like the Radcliffe Camera. And I know backroutes to avoid certain streets during the summer.
What do get me crazy are the bloody foreign language students. Large groups of teenagers are always a nightmare, but for some reason the Spanish students (sorry Nava) seem to be the worst of all. Thousands of the fuckers, milling around, getting in the way and wandering into the street in front of cars, screaming at each other on public transport. They’re happy though, and at least they’re not drinking, puking and fighting like us Brits would.
Yeah, I know: we’re the only ones who are even louder than the Italians and also seem to be the group most likely to break out some guitars and start singing. If no guitars are available, clapping is what hands are for.
I always feel like apologizing to the people around when I see a group doing that (or when I find myself being part of one), but they often join up. My brother’s group was told to “keep it down, prego” in Assisi - apparently the first thing the cops asked was “Spaniards, huh?” Oopsies
However, just because people may be from Colorado doesn’t mean they can drive in snow. My cousin was born and grew up in the suburbs of Denver, and damn near killed us when he took an unscheduled tour of the oncoming lane, sliding all over the road on the way down the mountain in a snowstorm.
The snow in Denver doesn’t stick around long enough for anyone to learn how to drive in it. (Why we let him drive I still don’t really know. Maybe because it was his mom’s car.) Obviously, this doesn’t go for those of you that actually live in the mountains.
I live near a big state park. We have names for the tourists. A mup’ere is from Pittsburgh and a mover’ere is from Cleveland. (As in I’m up here from Pittsburgh, or I’m over here from Cleveland.)
People expect wine in a grocery store in Utah? Seriously? I’m still shocked that the liquor stores in Idaho are open on Sunday at all, though I find it hilarious that they close at 7PM on other nights – I think it’s 5 on Sundays, but I’m not sure. I guess you have to plan ahead if you live here and want to consume that eeeeeevil alcohol. (Dude, I’m vaguely contemplating being an Episcopalian. Bring on the booze!)
And yes I live here. Year round. Though my Saturn doesn’t do well in more than about six inches of snow. If I can get to the highway I’m fine, though, the state’s really good about plowing that road.