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 Thank you for visiting Chronically Irritated! If you have any questions, comments, or would like to collaborate, feel free to reach out to me. I'd love to hear from you!


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📧 chronicallyirritated@outlook.com

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Daughters: Glitter, Drama, and Absolutely No Conditioner Left

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 Let me just say this: raising daughters is like living with tiny besties who might shank you for looking at them the wrong way during a hormonal thunderstorm. I’ve got two—ages 10 and 13—and while I love them with my whole heart, sometimes I swear I’m just a glorified chauffeur, therapist, and shampoo supplier. You are my wildest hope, my fiercest pride, and the reason I believe in magic. The Best Part? Built-in Girl Gang. Honestly, having daughters means I always have a partner-in-crime for last minute Walmart runs, lunch dates, and spontaneous “let’s get our nails done because we survived another Monday” therapy sessions. They’re mini versions of emotional support humans—until they’re not. Sisters or Frenemies? Yes. They don’t argue with each other much—probably because they’re too busy tag-teaming arguments with their brother . Sometimes they’re BFFs, planning adventures and giggling over secret jokes. Other times, my oldest slips into full “mom mode” and starts scolding her yo...
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Welcome to My Brain: A Place No One Asked to Visit

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 Hi. I’m not here to inspire you, change your life, or sell you a course on how to manifest inner peace using moon water. I’m just here to say things out loud that most people only whisper in their minds. This blog is for the ones who are chronically irritated — not in a rage monster kind of way, but in a “why is everything kind of stupid lately?” kind of way. I’m sarcastic, honest, occasionally kind, and often confused by society in general. Expect a mix of things I love, things I hate, and things I pretend not to care about but maybe secretly do. Today, we’re starting with a few mild irritations, just to set the mood: ●People who respond to serious texts with “lol” Oh good, I was hoping my emotional crisis would be treated like a stand-up set. ●Bluetooth devices that never connect when you need them But sure, randomly sync to my neighbor’s speaker at 3 a.m. again. That’s cool. ●When someone says “you look tired” Thanks, Janet. So do you. But I’m polite enough to lie about it. ●Ap...
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Walmart: Chaos, Carts, and Customers Who Know More Than the Staff

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Walmart. The land of low prices, high blood pressure, and spiritual tests I did not sign up for. I swear, it’s like this place has a secret ritual: Before you can even make it past the entrance, you must first fight the wonky-wheeled buggy beast. Every. Single. Time. You’d think I was auditioning for Nailed It: Shopping Cart Edition. The front-right wheel always has dreams of spinning off into traffic while the other is doing its own interpretive dance. And that’s just the welcome mat. Then there's the self-checkout situation. Look, I didn’t clock in. If I wanted to be a cashier, I’d have applied. But here I am, scanning, bagging, moving like I’ve got a shift to finish, while Karen in front of me is arguing with the scale because it refuses to recognize her cantaloupe. And God forbid the line for the actual cashier is shorter than self-checkout—that’s the only time I’ll reconsider my stance, but only under extreme duress or if I’m feeling nostalgic about human interaction. Now let’...
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