Friend: there are good listeners, bad listeners, and people like you, who are bad listeners but *think* they are good listeners.
Me: how about Thai food?
Meant to put wife in “the penalty box” for having a fancy work dinner all night while I dealt with kids. Drank a bunch of wine, then rambled and inexplicably called it “the friend zone” instead. So, so pissed.
So how do I run for pope?
For today’s performance, the role of “dude about to lose his shit in the middle of a Target” will be played by Mike Hamilton.
When the harpers sing the tale of this weekend, they shall call it the re-fattening.
Weekend mornings: when the desire to sleep late slams into the equal and opposite desire to beat the line at the Ol’ South Pancake House.
40: the age at which the fear of regret trumps the fear of failure.
Wine: the cure for caring whether the kids hate the dinner you’re serving.
“You put that temporary tattoo on your arm on Saturday. I’m surprised it has survived the shower.”
“Shower?”
Wife’s boss: kids don’t have any filter on what they’re willing to post on Facebook.
Me: ha, yeah . . . stupid kids.
It’s less that I’m learning to make lattes and more that I’m learning to drink the lattes I make.
See? The second ingredient of St Ives facial scrub is walnuts. It therefore violates my policy against having nuts on my face.
Look, it’s an emotional night. 30 Rock is over – like, for good. So when I say I’d do “ridiculous things” to Tina Fey, just let me have my moment.
I am so tired of people I love divorcing other people I love. I mean, isn’t “how is Mike going to take this?” the first question they ask themselves?
Me, every June: what are we doing with all these plastic eggs in the closet?
Me, the day before every Easter: WHY did I throw away all those plastic eggs?!
I’ve got plenty of time to pick up the kids.
10 minutes later: I’ve still got plenty of time to pick up the kids.
10 minutes later: Oh my God, I’m late to pick up the kids!
99% of my job is just exercising common sense; the other 1% is selectively disregarding common sense.
Being an adult is less about being too mature to throw tantrums, and more about knowing precisely when it is most beneficial to throw one.
Nothing says “I hate you Mike” like leaving me a voicemail that’s over ten seconds long.
Is there a gesture or gift that says “I’m sorry I backed our new car through our driveway gate?” Because my wife owes me whatever that is.
If I were a centaur, I’d fart at will, dress like I don’t give a crap, and look down my nose at everybody. Wait, am I a centaur?
“I packed you a snake bite kit, but they don’t make grizzly bear bite kits so run like Hell. And have fun” – me, dropping daughter at camp.
I keep my appreciation for musicals discreet just in case I suddenly find myself in a world where middle school rules have been reinstated.
My son wants to grow up to be “like Harry Osborne – rich, with lots of Green Goblin gadgets.” My failure as a father is now complete.
My three-year-old just climbed on top of my prone form, sat on my head and began gyrating while singing his own version of an Alicia Keys song: “This Butt Is On Fire!” – there can be no doubt that he is my son.
A vodka martini? What am I, a fictional British spy? Say the word “vermouth” into a glass, drop in a lemon peel and pour gin over it.
There may come a day when I will be able to use the same tube of Super Glue for more than one application before it becomes dried up and useless. But this day is not that day.
The key to happiness is having a fuse long enough that you’re not frequently perturbed, but short enough that nobody screws with you.
Hey! What have I said about using your stilts on the stairs?!
No ski vacation could possibly be worth the preparations required for a ski vacation.
5 out of 6 Hamiltons agree: Texas Toast IS the entree.
Chance that I’m listening to you = percentage by which what you’re saying is more interesting than continuing to think about centaur sex.
You can be with the same woman for nineteen years of bliss, and then one day she insists you try on ski pants.
Fly home from maddening and interminable business trip. Stride to vehicle and eagerly turn on NPR to find . . . the pledge drive.