My Grandmas are Absolute STUDS

Delores and Jeanne, you absolutely, positively, fucking crush it. Five kids each, all of them still alive with all ten contributing to society. I have two now, the second having arrived in May, and my wife and I are physically and emotionally CRIPPLED. Zombies. Whiny little bitches waiting for fairies to come and help us somehow. May as well just curl up inside a liquor bottle and cry. Actually I already tried that for a few weeks and it didn’t work, so I laid off the sauce. And mind you I’m of the modern man generation who actually does stuff. My grandpas were olde timey men who “brought home the bacon” and wouldn’t know how to work a diaper if they took an entire semester of Diapers 101 in college. So largely my grandmas were on an island. I haven’t a fucking iota how they did it and still made dinner and didn’t hang themselves from the ceiling fan. If given the choice of a life of celibacy from this point forward or a third kid; well fit me for a monk’s habit and call me “Brother”. Fuck. That. Shit. The baby doesn’t sleep worth dick and the three year old bitches from sun up to sun down. She starts bitching at us before her bedroom door is even open in the morning, and it is coin toss whether her last words of the day will be “Good night” or “I hate you mom and dad go away and die” (not really that, but the sentiment is the same). My parents were in town for a night this week and when my wife was given the opportunity to drive into the city to pick up pizza and sit in parking lot rush hour traffic withOUT any kids in the car, the excitement with which she jumped at the chance was similar to if Bradley Cooper walked up to her on the street and asked if she wanted to run away with him and get married. When we were in Maui two weeks ago I was pretending to use the bathroom while actually scanning flights on the iPad to Guam. One-way flights. One ticket. My grandmas had 2.5 times this many kids. Why? Whatever insane answer they have to that question my hat is off to them both.

*Don’t any of my cousins get cute and actually show this to our grandma. I’ve got enough to deal with and don’t want to add the stink –eye from grandma at Thanksgiving dinner for my foul mouth to the list.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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