The Grossest Thing On Earth

Dear Diary …

When you have kids, your tolerance level for all things gross goes WAY up. The simple fact is that kids … are nasty … and you gotta deal with their nastiness to the point that it becomes a simple everyday activity that is no big deal. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat at the dinner table and talked to my wife where we say … “Mmm … this lasagna is wonderful … so did Lennon poop today? He did? And it was a big poop? OK great … can you pass the parmesan cheese? This meal is delightful!”

That said … I’m not immune to all the things they do, because quite frankly, I’ve never seen anything grosser in my life that my four year old son eating a bowl of Cheetos. It’s agonizing!!

Diary … it’s as if he starts that bowl with a mission … eat these Cheetos as messily as possible … with my entire hand jammed in my mouth and cheese dust smeared all over my face.

Oh … and the noises …

[[[[This is where you here gross munching sounds of you’re listening to the playback of this]]]


How can you even stand yourself while you’re sitting there like a blob covered in orange goo?

But he don’t care one bit. Just jams his cheesy fist into his face, munches them all down, and then casually demands … “Wipe” … with his orange fingers in the air.

I don’t even get a “please” … It’s basically … “Slave … come over here and serve your Lord.”

And Diary … while we’re talking about kids and parenting … can I just go ahead and say something that I know all parents are thinking but are afraid to say because they think they’ll be judged as horrible parents? We hate doing crafts!

Now I’m sure there’s a handful of mutant Pinterest-obsessed parents that actually like doing little craft projects with their kids, but most of us hate it. And here’s why … 99% of the time, we’re the ones that have to sit there and do all the work!

The whole point of these stupid crafts is supposed to be giving the kids something to do to keep them occupied, but their unskilled little hands stink at it, and we end up having to help them. And by “help,” I mean now I’m sitting at the table and doing it all while they’re in the other room watching TV and yelling “are you done yet?”

Same with things like Play Doh. Man my opinion of Play Doh changed dramatically when I became an adult. I thought … ooh … I LOVED the Play Doh Burger Maker when I was a kid … let me get it for MY kids! Yeah … terrible idea!

Now I’m sitting there like a dummy for an hour building things for them with the Play Doh Burger Maker and then dealing with all the dried up Play Doh nastiness that builds up inside that cheap piece of garbage. Oh and speaking of “garbage,” that’s exactly where the Play Doh Burger Maker ended up one day while everyone was at school.

Oopsie … problem solved!

I hate to say it Diary, but you know what’s really good at keeping them occupied? The iPad! iPad don’t sit there and make me do a bunch of origami swans like a dummy. iPad lets me take a nap. Thank you, iPad!

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

Gettin’ Froze Out

Dear Diary …

I am gettin’ froze out! I’m King of my Castle … Lord of My Manor … Ruler of My Kingdom … oh who am I kidding? No I’m not. I got no control. And even worse, I’m being held hostage by an eight pound demon.

Yup … tiny dog is freezing me out!

You see Diary, we have a little dog named Francie, and she is seriously about the size of one of those dogs that rich 21 year olds carry around in a $1,000 purse while they shop on Rodeo Drive. And “dog” really isn’t even the correct term, she’s more like a rat … or a weasel … or some other kind of rodent. Because despite her tiny size … she is totally controlling my house. Specifically … my bed.

Now … I like dogs. But I don’t like ‘em in my bed. I’ll hang out with ‘em all day long, but when it’s time to go to sleep. You go in your bed, and I go in mine.

The problem is, my wife’s philosophy on this is “Oh you’re such a cute little squinkitude!! … You love to snuggle don’t you?” Which in lady language translates to, “Me no listen to husband.”

So now … this dog is in my bed. And not just “in my bed” … but right in the MIDDLE of my bed. By my head. Like a human. And in between me and the wife.

And Diary … I’m a happily married man. And I like showing that fact off fact from time to time with a little “mashing of the potatoes”. But now, I’m gettin’ totally froze out by this attention-hogging maggot who is Zack blockin’ me from any action.

And her being in the way would be bad enough … but that little rat grows at me when I get near what she defines as “her” space. YOUR space???? This MY bed, yo! I don’t hear you doin’ no Sleep Number commericals to pay for this thing!!!

And sure, I could just pick that weasel up and toss her off the bed, but that’s not exactly a subtle, spontaneous romantic move. I might as well broadcast [SIREN] … “Red alert! Red alert! Husband on the move!!! Look alive people!!”

That’s not exactly a chapter in 50 Shades of Grey … let’s just put it that way.

So there you have it Diary … you spend your whole life busting your butt to get a good education, find a good job, make some money, and provide a life for you and your family … only to have it all controlled by an evil 8 pound kingpin who lays around all day and still manages to dictate every minute of your entire life.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

Things We Don’t Need Anymore

Dear Diary …

Times change. Technology changes. And I’m sorry, but that means certain things that used to be important, just don’t need to exist anymore. So for the love of God stop throwing the Yellow Pages on my front lawn!

How is this not littering?

I didn’t ask for this book, and now somebody just tosses it on the ground on my property.

If I walked by my neighbor’s house and just threw a random book in his yard … that would be frowned upon, wouldn’t it? So why do we let people do it with the Yellow Pages?

And who are these ninjas that deliver that book anyway? Cuz nobody ever sees ‘em. And Diary … I’m awake in the middle of the night. I see the newspaper guy. He’s not the ninja. (And if he is, then he’s Dual Identity Ninja.)

I guess on the bright side, whoever it is that delivers these things can have a job working for the government, sneaking behind enemy lines to locate sensitive information. Because back here at home … your services are no longer required!

Freakin’ littler ninja.

I mean all I do is take that thing and throw it in the recycling. So I can only assume that it just goes back to the giant pile of Yellow Pages and gets sent out again the following year.

Why are we even letting this happen?

Shoot … even your grandma knows how to use the internet now. “Let me look in the Yellow Pages” … NO!

It’s done!

And if your grandma doesn’t know how to use the interent, would you help her please?

At the very least … you should at least have to ask me if I want the freakin’ thing.

And here’s another thing we don’t need any more … receipts. I mean yeah you need proof of purchase for some stuff that you buy, in case you need to return it, but with most things there’s really no point to hang on to that ridiculous little piece of paper.

Like when you buy gas … Would you like a receipt? No. No I would not like a receipt!

And don’t try to tell me “oh I need it for work” or something silly like that. You paid with a card. That card tracks EVERYTHING you do and purchase. There’s your receipt.

And furthermore, you all know darn well all you do is take that little piece of paper, stick it in your wallet next to all the other random pieces of paper from other purchases, and then once every couple of months throw them all out when you can’t close your wallet anymore.

See … all you did was transport garbage everywhere you went. Why do want to go about your life with trash all over you?

Don’t take ‘em in the first place, and we don’t have this problem. Ta-dah!

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.