Crunch Crunch Crunch

Dear Diary …

I’ve never really been one of those people that freaks out over the sounds of other people chewing and swallowing or whatever. Then I had children. And I am relatively confident that these children are out to destroy me, or at least weaken me mentally to a place where I will give in to their every whim and demand.

Like I said … those noises never used to bother me, but my children have figured out a way to do them as LOUDLY as humanly possible. I don’t know how my son manages to make Cheez-Its sound so loud, but it is [[[CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH]]] and it feels like it is directly inside my soul.

I swear that kids edges closer and closer and closer to me on the couch, like he’s trying to eat directly into my ear. [[[CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH]]] Ahhh … stop it!!

And my daughter, she’s no better. I’m just in the living room … minding my own business … and she sits down RIGHT next to me with a can of soda and starts [[[SIP SIP SIP]]]

OK … you’ve GOTTA be doing that one on purpose! Nobody slurps a soda can that loud without doing it on purpose!!! And why you gotta be so close to my head???

I’m over here trying to concentrate … writing stuff for work … and [[[SIP SIP SIP]]] is driving directly into my skull.

And I know why they do this … because when I’ve finally reached my limit of the torture, I just say “Hey kids … why don’t you go downstairs and play video games all afternoon?”

“Sure thing Dad!”

Oh and let me just throw in one additional gripe. I usually get home from work a little bit before I have to get the kids off the bus. So when I get home I …. AHHHHHH … finally take a well-earned seat on the couch. Mmmmm … so nice.

But when I go get the kids, my son runs down the street, gets in the house first, and plops down RIGHT in MY spot … right in the middle of the couch. “I want Goldfish and milk please.” Oh you think so? And if it ain’t him, it’s one of the dogs. All you creatures get outta my spot!!!!

And even if I manage to shove my son off to the edge of the couch so I can at least sit there too, he’s just over there [[[CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH]]] throwing down Goldfish and dropping a bunch of farts in the process. Ugh … kids are so gross. How can they even stand themselves?

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

A Salute to the Service Industry

Dear Diary …

Consider this an open letter to the people who work in the service industry … and I’ll start by saying, “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry that you should have to go through things like this even once in your life, and I’m even more sorry that the sad reality is it probably happens way more than that.

I watched something go down the other day at the grocery store that still bothers me today. I can’t stop thinking about. The behavior I witnessed was rude, disrespectful, and completely uncalled for. And this came from a grown woman … probably 70 years old … definitely old enough to know better.

She was in front of me at the deli counter, and she wanted to get some “low sodium beef … Boar’s Head.” And I know this, because she probably barked out that order about two dozen times … “low sodium beef … BOAR’S HEAD!” … all while flailing her arm in the air like she’s some sort of whacked-out Communist dictator when they give one of their crazy speeches.

And as sometimes happens at the deli counter … it takes the person a minute or two to find the thing you want, because it’s down there in that giant tub o’ lunch meat in the storage container that they have. Not a big deal, right?

Well to the self appointed Most Important Person in the World, it’s a huge deal. Lady Low Sodium Beef starts yelling … “Get somebody over here to help this person! Get me what I want … low sodium beef … BOAR’S HEAD!” … while also adding the charming, “And get me a friggin’ tranquilizer … what’s going on in this store today?”

I’ll tell you what’s going on in this store today … a grown woman is acting like a rotten three year old … fully on display for the whole world to see.

And the irony here is, if I told her to shut her face and quit being such a hateful troll … which is what I wanted to say … I’m sure she would’ve responded with, “How DARE you speak that way to me!” Because you know … she can speak any way she wants, but don’t you DARE disrespect Lady Low Sodium Beef!

I’m sorry, but there are people in this world fighting cancer, dealing with tragedy, struggling with addiction, or depression, or whatever. You should be on your knees thanking GOD that you get to be healthy, and also live in a country where you’re free to go to a grocery store and be a miserable wench in the first place.

To you … Lady Low Sodium Beef … I hope this somehow reaches your thick skull and makes you realize it’s time to make some changes in your life.

People who complain that “they always mess my stuff up” … yeah … did you ever stop to think that maybe it’s the way YOU act that causes this? Maybe if you changed the way you acted toward others, these things wouldn’t happen all the time?

You know what I got on Friday? A free t-shirt. Yup .. for no reason other than the fact that I’m respectful and treat people the way I want to be treated and want my kids to treat others. So somebody gave me a free t-shirt. It’s that simple.

So … to the service people … grocery store, restaurant, customer service call center … whatever it is … let me say this …

I know you spend most of your time thinking you are disrespected, looked down on, and unappreciated. And I want you to know … not everybody feels that way. Those of us that are grateful for what you do … we’re out there … we just aren’t as loud as the disrespectful minority. We know you’re out there busting your butt, and probably aren’t getting paid enough to have to deal with all the crud being slung at you on a daily basis by people that are too dense and too self absorbed to step out of their own bubble for ONE second to think about the lives of the people around them.

Keep fighting the good fight. I can at least make you this promise … when you get to me next in line you’re gonna get a please, a thank you, and a have a nice day. And hopefully the majority of your customers will do the same.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

Three Bags o’ Bread

Dear Diary …

Every night of my life, I’m in a battle. So basically this is a non-stop war … Me vs. the sheet on my bed. Every single night when I go to bed, that sheet is where it’s supposed to be. And every single morning when I wake up, the stinkin’ corner of the sheet has been ripped out of the bed and my toes are sticking out. Every night!

It doesn’t matter how hard I yank that sheet and how deeply I stuff it down into that corner, that stupid thing is flappin’ all around come morning. And you would think it’s not that big a deal .. it’s fine if your toes are just touching blanket instead of sheet. But no … it’s not fine! It’s not fine on any level!!

I don’t know why it’s a big deal, but it just feels all weird and wrong on my feet and I’m not as comfortable if I have blanket toe instead of sheet toe.

What happens every single night to cause this? Am I flopping around the bed like some sort of fish out of water? Or is there a more devious plan at hand … some sort of sheet conspiracy between my bed and this evil evil sheet?

As you can imagine … I’m going with the conspiracy, cuz that’s way less my fault and way more me blaming the sinister forces of the evil sheet and it’s catastrophic plan to ruin my night’s sleep.

I don’t really have anything else to add … and I have no solutions to the problem either … so I’m just here complaining about it. What the heck goes on with our bodies in the middle of the night, and why are they so stupid and uncooperative?

OK … moving on Diary …

Speaking of wars … I’m in another one in my house … this time with the family. Yeah … as you can see I got a lot of battles going on, but that’s the price you pay when you’re doing it right and everybody else is doing it wrong.

And in this situation, I know without a shadow of a doubt, I’m in the right and everybody else is doing it wrong.

The rule at hand is simple … If you open a package of something … let’s say a loaf of bread. You eat that loaf of bread until it’s gone, then you start on a new package of bread. Right?

Well apparently not in my house, because right now I’m starting at THREE different loaves of bread. All the same brand … all the same kind … and all three of them are open. This is not how this is supposed to work!!!

My kids in particular drive me crazy with this. Every single time I bring a new package of something into the house, they wanna immediately open it before the current package is empty.

“Daddy I want the new milk.”

Absolutely not! This other milk is like two days old. It’s not as if I’m asking you to drink month old milk. You finish the open one first, then you move on!

But guess who listens to me? Yup … nobody.

Nobody listens. They never do. Sigh.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye

Down With the Phone

Dear Diary …

I love texting. For me, it might be the single most important advancement in my life when it comes to communicating with other people. And the reason is simple … I hate talking on the phone. Always have. There’s really never been a time where I was one of those people that just wanted to just be curled up with a phone jammed to my ear, talking for hours on end with friends, family, or whatever.

Heck … I didn’t even want to be having those boring lovey-dovey calls with people you were dating. Remember that whole … “You hang up first. No you hang up first. No YOU hang up?”

Yeah … here’s how it went with me …

“You hang up first.”

Alright … Cool … bye.


That’s why I love texting. I can still communicate with people, it’s done way more efficiently, and on your own schedule. I don’t care if it takes all day to have the conversation, I get to do it on my time, plus when you add up the actual time it took to have the thing, it was roughly 17 seconds of my life.

And that’s way better than some marathon phone call that also leaves you totally convinced that your cellphone has managed to zap a four pound tumor into your skull after holding it up to your head for an hour.

So here’s the problem I have … people who want to talk. My Mom LOVES to talk on the phone, to pretty much anyone and everyone that’s available in her life. Late night chit-chats with friends, long work calls, heck she’ll even have a ten minute conversation with my 5 year old son and he brings absolutely nothing to the conversation.

So yesterday she calls me, and I was busy … um … doing something? I dunno. I didn’t answer the call cuz I didn’t wanna talk. That’s the other beauty of texting … you get to know the person’s intentions right away, because they have to state them in writing. Phone calls are a total bamboozle. You have no idea if the person just wants to say hi or wants you to help them move a couch. And since I’m not a fan of ambush, I prefer the written contract version of this.

So she calls … leaves her message … and a few minutes later (gotta prove I was … like … busy and stuff) … I respond and answer her question.

And what do you think immediately happens? My phone rings.

Confound it!!! You have trapped me!!!!

Now I have to answer because I have proven myself to be alive.

You are ruining the sanctity of the texting agreement … No call backsies!!!!

So I answer, and then proceed to have a 30 minute conversation about pretty much nothing. All of which could’ve been accomplished in about 9 seconds on text. Actually, it HAD been accomplished because I had already answered the question.

Ugh. I’m actually holding on to hope that someday they invent a cellphone that does everything our current phones do, but doesn’t actually have the ability to use it as a phone. The “phoneless phone” … bring it on!

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.