My thespian talents are wasted on conversations with my dentist about whether I floss regularly.

People who say “people who say they’re bored are boring” bore me.

Cheetah print lingerie? Sexy. Tiger striped lingerie? Also sexy. Giraffe speckled lingerie? Not sexy. There are rules people

“These dishes need to soak” – liars.

Mom, meet my kids – they can troubleshoot your iPad. Kids, meet my mom – she can buy you apps. Now I don’t want to hear from any of you again.

I’m the SEAL Team Six of fighting pajamas onto an unwilling three-year-old.

Who keeps dog shampoo in the shower? Related: my coat is now lustrous.

Maybe if I just stay in bed long enough, the kids will somehow evolve past the need for breakfast.

 

Well you see son, when a man and a stuffed unicorn love each other very much . . .

I can’t decide if I’m doing things right or wrong when my kids accidentally call me “Mom”.

When I figure out which of my kids keeps secretly unplugging the lamps, I’m going to blow his or her college fund on a trip to Thailand.

My kids expect me to hear them when they’re all talking at once, even though they don’t seem to hear me when I’m the only one speaking.

There are far less terrifying ways to learn that raccoons eat wasp nests.

I can get a pizza delivered, but not a margarita. We can do better America.

If pool water gets in my kids’ eyes, it’s no big deal. If bath water gets in their eyes, it is a FUCKING EMERGENCY!

Walked in on one of the maids inexplicably digging through our trash. First thought: eww.  Second thought: did I throw away any sex toys?

For someone who is not actually in fifth grade, I sure do have a lot of fifth grade homework.

I can’t be the only dude who thinks he’d be sexier with a fro and a fu manchu.

It’s an immutable law of the universe that once you may legally do so, shotgunning a beer becomes the worst idea you’ve ever heard.

Heineken? What am I, Gore Vidal?

Revising a contract while walking on the treadmill with a conference call droning through my iPhone – thug life.

“No, no, no. Just because you say it in that voice doesn’t make it sexy” – Erin, Dream Crusher.

I could sustain myself solely on the food I wipe off my children’s faces.

Dear 25-year-old me, 30-year-old me, and 35-year-old me, thanks for nothing you lazy, nacho-eating bastards.

Based on the size of our order, the takeout guy assumed we were a local business. “No, no, we’re just morons who had four kids.”

His grades, character, and confidence notwithstanding, as long as my son ties his cleats like a moron, I’m a failure.

I don’t have many hard and fast rules, but if you want me to ghost write a letter for you, it will be in Times New Roman when it goes out or you can die where you stand.

“Dad, do you think maybe you have a self esteem problem, but in reverse?”

It’s time to reevaluate your priorities when you consider dressing up in work clothes so the carpool moms won’t think you’re unemployed.

The only thing harder than doing P90X is watching your wife start it and do everything better than you.

It’s hands, not pants kids – “Throw your *hands* up in the air”

Having dinner with another couple that also has kids is like a freaking act of congress.

I can’t wait until my kids are adults with places of their own where I can visit and get sand in their beds.

Tonight we played our version of charades, which involves my kids acting like morons, but one at a time for a change instead of all at once.

If confidence is sexy, then . . . I guess there’s more to life than being sexy.

Doc told me to fast for 12 hours before doing blood work, but I decided to only use my left hand while eating because that’s hard too.