So now that I’m knee deep in kids and chicks and debt and pain and Rogaine, I figured it’s about time I reconnected with the universe I now find myself buried in – the world of formerly cool fathers who are now nothing more than a mini-van away from giving up any vestiges of the testicles they once held so dear.
Face it, fellas, you’re never going to convince yourself or the other loser dads that you’re really happy in this new life that requires you to go to sleep at 8:30 pm and walk the dog before the sun comes up so you can show up on time at the job that pays your wife’s tanning bills. You long for the days that you woke up at noon with a pocketful of bar tabs, a railroad spike in the middle of your forehead and a vomit-stained cheerleader snoring at the foot of your bed. Hate to tell ya, though–it’s over, dude, and you, like me, are pissed off about it.
The good news is that we’ll now have a place to gather and commiserate over our receding hairlines, disappearing bank accounts, and rapidly diminishing testosterone counts. We’re Mad Dadz and the world will know our pain. I’ll write about my life and you can respond with your vitriolic, poorly written, grammatically incorrect comments. The world won’t give a shit about us and we’ll still end up driving our miserable, sniveling brats to 30% of their play dates but………but…….um……there is no “but”, we’re fu**ed no matter how you slice it.
It’s difficult for me to imagine that there are too many straight dads in their forties reading my blog, but perhaps you know one you can pass this on to.
My favorite is the bit about vitriolic, poorly written, grammatically incorrect comments, but you knew that already.