Grumpy Old Man
Grumpy Old Man
Recently, I realized that I am a grumpy old man. I went on a rant about brunch on Sunday because, well, I hate brunch.
I can’t stand people that choose brunch over lunch or breakfast. Combining meals is bullshit, and you miss out on a meal if you combine them. And you’re adults. You can eat eggs and bacon for lunch if you want. And if you want to get drunk in the morning, just admit it.
“But I want to drink bottomless mimosas and Bloody Marys at 10:30 in the morning because I have a drinking problem. It’s the only way I can numb the pain of my horrible job. My boss is an asshole, I got a degree in English, but now I’m pretending like I give a shit about Brenda in Ohio on the phone. I sit in traffic for five days a week so I can afford my car that looks like every other car. I live in my apartment complex with the swimming pool, it’s cool I promise (just ignore that minor in historic preservation), and shop at Trader Joe's and H&M.” This is how I view brunch people. So, anyone want to go to brunch?
Some of my friends attributed this to my lack of sleep, and while that may be true, I feel like fatherhood has definitely changed my feelings on a myriad of topics. I often post short rants on Facebook, sometimes dealing with fatherhood. In the past, my 1,000 or so Facebook “friends” could chime in and I wouldn’t give it much thought. Now it’s a little different.
Sometimes, the advice given on Facebook is genuinely helpful. I’ve been able to ask friends and acquaintances for advice. I would’ve never thought to purchase the NoseFrida (or heard about it) if I hadn’t posted something about boogers and children. That was a super helpful comment. Other times, the comments can be downright stupid, inane, or vacuous (the old thesaurus is working overtime, boys).
New rule to every parent out there: if someone posts a rant about their child crying (example), just take it as a rant. Here’s how one of those works. “Virginia hasn’t stopped crying since my wife left for work, I haven’t eaten since 6:00 p.m. yesterday, and I slept for two and a half hours. Operation fatherhood is not in its finest hour.” Offer sympathy, condolences, empathy. Don’t say something as fucking dumb as “have you tried checking to see if she has a messy diaper?” Yes. Yes, you asshole, I checked to see if my child was screaming because she had a messy diaper. I also thought to myself, “I wonder if she’s hungry,” and “oh my god, I wonder if she has a fever” because, while I might not be a rational person, I am going to think about some of the obvious factors that would lead a child to cry.
Cue "Imperial March," drops mic.
*Clearly, some people are saints: Beth Carroll, Kathleen Gilbert , Reggie Bush from 2006–2010, St. Marcel of Paris (Invoked against vampires!), and Barry (the dog).