You Are So Lame

Dear Diary …

I have held my tongue for long enough, but I can’t do it anymore. And a lot of you aren’t going to like what I’m about to say, but you need to hear it. You … are LAME! You used to be cool, but now you’ve grown up, and you’ve grown up TOTALLY lame.

What hapened to you?

For example … I had a friend on Facebook the other day complaining that “there aren’t any G rated movies in the theater for me to take my kids to.” G??? Are you kidding me with this? You can’t take your kids to see Kung Fu Panda? “Oh but it’s PG, what if there’s a fart joke in there?” Oh my God … do you hear yourself right now? You sound like the lamest person on Earth. I got two kids, and their life is one big fart joke. I think if a cartoon panda drops one down, it ain’t gonna make one bit of difference.

The world ain’t G rated … deal with it. You don’t have to take ‘em to see Deadpool, but there’s no reason to be so uptight about the whole thing. Actually Deadpool is another great example where you have grown adults saying, “Oh my God the language!” Would you unbutton your corset for one second and chill out?

I got another friend asking everyone on Facebook … “My daughter wants the new Taylor Swift album. Do you think it’s appropriate for a 10 year old?”

Who do you think Taylor Swift is targeted to? Any older, and she doesn’t wanna listen to her anymore anyway! You are SO lame!

And I got news for you Lame-O parents that think you’re protecting your kids from all the bad stuff … YOUR kids are the ones that get older and go buck wild. Cuz you didn’t let ‘em do anything when they were younger, and now they just can’t control themselves.

“My kids aren’t allowed to have sugar!”

Yeah … well guess what? They gorge themselves on it when you’re not around!

And you with the G-rated no bad things ever said or done ever ever?

Yeah … I went to college with your kids. They’re the ones that go to their first party and up losing their pants and falling asleep inside a dumpster cuz they’re SOOOO excited to sip beer for the first time. There you go. Hope you’re happy. Good job keeping ‘em away from Kung Fu Panda … that totally worked out!

And this is all an extension of the bigger problem … the internet. Yup … I blame the internet for pretty much all of our problems. And in this case mainly because it is now way too easy to complain. Wanna boycott something? Just click here to sign a petition. Wanna complain about something you don’t like? Just start blathering on on your own Facebook page.

I miss the good ol’ days of having to write a letter. And not because I want to write letters. Cuz I don;t.

It’s because I know most people are WAY too lazy to actually sit down and write a letter. In the good ol’ days, their silly little complaints used to just drift away once a shiny object distracted them from whatever it was they were mad about. Now … they can complain right from the convenience of their smartphone. No thank you.

The moral of the story? Loosen up! You got one life to live … stop living some lamely!!! You’re bringing the rest of us down with your loser talk.

Till next time Diary … I say … goodbye.

Seeing the Baby

Dear Diary …

I’m in trouble. Yup … big trouble. Me. Screwed.

I … am a TERRIBLE person! Why?

Because I know two different couples that have recently had a kid … and I … have not gone to “see the baby.”

Ooooh … Lock me up in Jerk Jail everybody … I’m the worst! Because I confess … I don’t really like “seein’ the baby.”

Look … I’m happy for these people. Congratulations … you guys are awesome! Isn’t that enough?

Why I gotta come over and look at the baby? Yep … there it is … it’s a baby. Ok now what?

And I know I sound like a 90’s sitcom talking about this … but I just don’t see why this is such a big deal. I mean … correct me if I’m wrong … but babies got wicked low immune systems and it’s really bad if they get sick when they’re this young. Right? So then why in the world are we exposing them to a parade of every single human we know? Going out into the germ-infested world and then coming in and touching all on the baby and talking all up to the baby.

And furthermore … babies … are boring! They can’t even hold up their own heads! What kind of fun is that? Yup … there he is … layin’ there.

I mean if I buy a new pair of shoes … I don’t expect you to come over and “see the shoes.” And shoes at least do stuff by being on my feet and looking all awesome … babies … again … just layin’ there.

And what’s the fascination with trying to get me to hold your baby? I’ll hold my own kids. But other people’s kids? Why???

I had a coworker once … got all mad at me. Brings her baby to work … “Hey Zack … wanna hold the baby.”

Nope. I’m good.

WHAT??? I can’t believe you don’t wanna hold my child!!!!

Nope. No thank you. Kinda Smells like diaper. I’m good.

See you in Jerk Jail!

OK … moving on Diary … Since it’s currently the time of year where everybody gets sick … I’d like to point out an observation.

People who say “I never get sick” are always the ones who get sick!

“I don’t normally get sick”

Well you are … and this is the fourth time in the last two months that you’ve been on Facebook whining about how your throat hurts and going back to this “I never get sick” thing that you’re always hanging your hat on. Guess what? You DO get sick! Accept it and move on!

It’s not even that I care that these poeple are sick. I care that they think they’re some sort of higher class of being that never gets sick.

Quit trying to act like you’re some sort of X-Man than doesn’t succumb to normal human germs. You get stick just like the rest of us.

And furthermore … STAY HOME! You’re gross!

Till next time Diary … I say … goodbye

Children Are Terrorists, Part 2

Dear Diary …

I’ve said it before, and I will say it again … Children are terrorists. And really in a lot of ways, their level of psychological warfare might be more devious than that of any actual terrorist organization.

Diary … you remember a couple weeks ago when I had that meltdown about how my son was never gonna poop in the potty in his entire life? Yeah well guess what he did the very next day, and every day since then? Poop in the potty. Of course!

Why? Because he knew. He broke me. He won. I lost. And once he realized that he had crushed me emotionally, he moved on. That is pretty terrorism-y if you ask me.

So now he’s moved on to a new brand of mind control … asking me questions that make no sense.

Like yesterday … “Daddy what time is it?”

It’s 4:30.

“Why 4:30?”

What do you mean “why?” That doesn’t make sense. It’s 4:30 because that’s what time it is.

“Why we have it the same this day?”


What are we even talking about anymore?

Look I get it when kids use different words for certain things. But as the parent, you hear it enought hat you understand it. My son calls Chewbacca from Star Wars “Tukka-bacca.” Yeah … I understand that. This isn’t that. This is nonsensical mind control.

Here’s another question I got yesterday …

“Why did they go to the red?”

The … wait .. who?

“THEY! With the red!”

The red what? I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore. What is this red that you speak of?

Is you’re brain melting yet? Mine is!

This is warfare, people! An extension of this is to demand things that we don’t have, and then defiantly insist that we do.

The other it was “I want grapes.”

I’m sorry … we don’t have any grapes.

“Yes we DO!”

No … we don’t! Believe me, if I had a way to magically pull grapes out of my bum right, I’d be doing that right now to end this conversation and make it go away.

Oh and of course I cave and buy grapes the next day at the store. And this is where my daughter can enter for her portion of the psychological warfare.

I don’t know if you knew this or not Diary, but it is scientifically proven that it is impossible for two children who are related to agree with each other … Ever. Cuz she only wants RED grapes, oh but he only wants GREEN grapes.

And because I’m a sucker … I buy both grapes. And guess who eats them? Nobody! They never wanted grapes … they just wanted to ruin me. Both emotionally and financially as their stupid grapes rot into little raisins in the refrigerator.

Bath night … every night in my house … you cannot win. Because if one of them wants to take a bath first, well then so does the other one. And they will fight to the death over which one of them gets to take that bath first. So of course … what happens the next night? One of them wants to go second, and the fight to the death is on again.

And what I’ve learned above all else, is that no matter who eventually wins … that person is never me. I never win. I lose.

This is how I know time travel will never be invented in the future. Because if it was invented, then I guarantee you that future me would’ve already come back to warn pre-kid me of all of these things to make sure I was truly prepared for the war ahead. And since I ain’t got my visit, I know it ain’t been invented.

Till next time Diary .. I say … Goodbye.