Maryland sucks for many reasons. First, there’s the decline of Baltimore into the world’s largest shooting gallery. The taxes are flat out murder. And the weather is a fucking joke.
The weather in Maryland is more erratic than Margot Kidder gobbling diet pills, chasing them with Everclear, and downing a bottle of wine.
The spring is actually enjoyable because you know summer is going to suck.
Summer time is bullshit. One day it’s hot as balls, the next it’s about 60 degrees and raining. You get about two weeks of nice weather and then you feel like you’re trooping through the hills of Laos.
Autumn is nice, for about three hours.
Winter brings lots of nothing. Or fucking blizzards and cold weather that would put frost on a polar bear’s balls.
The very worst part of the weather in Maryland is when it snows. Ages ago, during a legitimate blizzard, Marylanders rushed into stores and bought milk and toilet paper. Now it’s a joke, except people take it seriously. They are imbeciles.
Schools close due to two inches of snow. This past September they closed BECAUSE IT WAS GOING TO RAIN A LOT. It didn’t. So, we get lots of snow days in this hellhole, and that means my children are home.
Since I’m “working from home”, Mrs. Fozz can still go “out in the field.” I think she sits at a Panera eating overpriced salads and laughing at my plight.
Sidenote: If I could I would burn down every Panera in the world. I fucking hate them. They’re packed with people who shouldn’t be wearing yoga pants; elderly people who get 23 refills on their water; and middle management shitstains who occupy entire tables and hold meetings. And there are kids running around being obnoxious.
So, what happens when my kids stay home and don’t have to attend school? Plenty of bad, sorrowful events that age me rapidly. Here is an hour by hour, kind of, journal that does its best to chronicle a snow day.
Sidenote: People who use the word “journal” as a verb should be forced to live in the sewer system. Fuck yourself, okay? The only reason you tell people you “journal” is to appear intelligent, different, and edgy. You are not. You are the equivalent of the green pus oozing from a chancre sore on the tip of a hyena’s dirty dick.
7:00
Children rush into my room; scream they are off and immediately start a fight at the foot of my bed. I have seen my two oldest emerge from a fight bloody and bruised because one wanted to wear a particular knit hat.
8:00
I ask someone to shovel the walk – remember it’s about three inches of snow – I get more excuses than there are individual snowflakes on the ground. I shovel the walk and come inside for coffee.
8:15
As I lift the first cup of coffee to my lips, Mrs. Fozz indicates I need to clean off her car. Why? She’s not fucking crippled. Yes, after I finish my coffee. Nope. THE SNOW NEEDS TO BE CLEARED RIGHT NOW MY FATHER CLEANED THE CAR OFF TWO SECONDS AFTER THE FIRST SNOWFLAKE HIT! Her father is a fucking OCD lunatic.
8:45
The boys have converted the first floor into a fort and the dog has been let in, but she is soaking wet from the snow. For some reason she is covered in mud. I noticed someone has gotten the Air Fryer out and attempted to cook an entire chicken breast in it. A pan on the stove holds the carbonized remains of eggs.
9:30
“I’m going out, Fozz. Can you: vacuum the house, fold the laundry, shovel the back porch, empty and load the dishwasher, feed the kids, and host all of the neighborhood brats who will show up demanding food?”
10:00
Sixth cup of coffee. I’m thinking about bolstering the seventh cup with bourbon. I check my email – 37 unanswered. Also, four texts from my wife asking, “how are things?” Inside the fort, the dog has taken a mighty shit.
11:15-11:23
All three boys go out into the snow to sled. The youngest returns bloody and crying with the other two behind them saying he’s a pussy. The little guy’s head is soaking wet and his face is a combination of blood, snot, melted snow, and mud.
Noon
I burn a pizza, make ramen. Complaints all around. I tell them all to fuck off. Throw a can of tuna and can opener at them. “Figure it the fuck out.”
1:00-2:30
The younger one curls up in front of the television, asks me for my phone at least 5 times. The older boys are upstairs playing video games, and then alternating with various fights. The oldest winds up breaking an Xbox controller, announces he’s going to Wal-Mart. Blessed silence.
3:00-3:13
I manage to write a paragraph for one of my asshead clients. The youngest has mown down a sleeve of crackers and cookies. The dog wakes up from a nap, destroys a cardboard box and an old football. The two oldest go outside to see if they can stand in the snow barefoot for 15 minutes. I encourage that because I hate them.
3:30-4:30
Laundry folded while watching Letterkenny. Vacuum up crumbs and torn pieces of cardboard. Ignore BBQ sauce spilled on hard wood floors as it’s now dried and crusty. Think about the first cocktail of the night, which I will drink out of a bucket.
5:30
Exhausted. The house is fucked. Empty dishes, melted snow everywhere, winter clothes scattered throughout the room. The blanket fort has been demolished and I think the dog has runaway. I go into hurricane mode, get everything back in order.
Mrs. Fozz calls from driveway needing help unloading groceries. My sons disappear like rats. She’s had a long day and wishes she could be “home on days like this and snuggle with the boys.” I think she might be high.
6:00
Showered and shaved, I feel human again. Walk down the steps and wife says, “So how did the boys do with their remote learning today?”
Yup, completely forgot about that. Who needs school anyway?
People who “journal” also “trek” instead of hike
I can smell this story. House full of kids on a snow day. Wet dog. Outside to soak up fresh melted snow to mingle with winter coat sweat BO. Smells like a childhood WI winter.
I can’t believe he let them go in and out of the house. We were kicked outside and told to stay there, we were only allowed one exit and entrance for the day. Good thing we had such a large warm dog to huddle with in the dog house, although he could get irritated at us as well.
We were usually made to strip down into skivies at the door standing on a big old bath towel. It’s why I can’t bare to watch prison entrance processing scenes in flicks. Only thing missing was getting the hose taken to us.
I would have really hated that, we did have to take the coats off outside and leave them (due to the dog smell).
Upside was, in looking back at it, those hours of snow forts, vicious snowball fights, sledding, etc… Made my “Cold Weather Training” in the Alps an absolute breeze.
I still love cold weather and actually prefer to be slightly cold over being warm, being fat may be part of that. I like sleeping in a cold room as well, if I had my way the house would be set at 60 degrees in the winter.
This has nothing to do with anything, but I have to share it. The form here is just friggin’ legendary.
https://twitter.com/RadkowNow/status/1483849244750585857
Wicked underhand wind up and throw. Notable accuracy too.
Indeed. That’s excellent!
Grade school we played: Bombs Away and another death match game called Hunters and Tigers. Yup, chasing each other around and absolutely crushing a kid.
Did I ever tell you that the nuns made us homemade bean bags out of corduroy and we would use them on the playground as weapons?
Nothing like taking one of those on the face on a cold winter’s day.
Better than what a lot of Catholic school kids take to the face.
I had MSNBC on in the background. Judging from the ads no one watching their programming can get it up or shit.
They have a captive audience.
Reading these makes me glad we beat our kids.
(my kid would likely kick my ass)
Horatio, you’re bad for America:
https://twitter.com/vcunningham/status/1483823944582971392?t=hvee0yI1GxdGWIH2CiLbVA&s=19
I was considering ending it early, but now that I know the New York Post is against it I might extend it through February.
(I am absolutely not going to extend it through February)
The banner picture is strangely appropriate.
Winter Isn’t Coming
If she had flowers or a woodland tiara it would be a profile pic for a Ukrainian dating site.
I have two close friends who have 3 children. Both had 1 then the couples decided for one more and both had twins. In your estimation which is more difficult 3 boys under 7, or 3 girls under 7 as that is how they are split?
The father of the boys is a GM at a winery and eats edibles all day to cope. The father of the girls is divorced so he only sees the girls on weekends but they take after their mom and are going to be blonde handfuls.
I’d say the boys. My sister has three daughters and when they were young, I’d see them quietly coloring, doing some type of craft, giggling.
Boys are different. Mostly because they are assholes and can NOT exist within the same space with another boy without punching, kicking, yelling, or antagonizing.
The challenge with girls comes when they hit 13, then watch out. Because they turn into titanic size bitches.
The oldest daughter is already there. She takes after her mom so much. The twin girls are as you stated, calmly coloUring etc. The boys are wild as fuck.
I’d be wrong to admit that I revel in this all male environment. Never a shortage of farts, burps, and punches.
Plus, the 8 year old has excellent accuracy in the “That’s what she said” line.
Yeah, I heard from multiple sources that boys are harder when little, then get easier as they get older. Girls start out easier, then get harder. My personal experience matches up with the earlier messages – my daughter didn’t do crazy shit as a little kid like bb gun battles or setting the cat on fire, but has had her share of drama from adolescence to freshman/sophomore in college.
as a father of 2 teenage girls, I would say that they were much easier than boys when younger, but now are much much more difficult. With boys, it was physical fighting, with my girls it’s all mental stuff and holy fuck am I not ready for it. Everything has like 38 other meanings, that aren’t said, but I’m magically supposed to know, somehow. Just say what you fucking mean and we can go from there. I’m probably raising future Karen’s, but way too fucking late to change that course now as they are to set in their ways.
We had one of each and then I got my nuts clipped. I think the lack of gender-based competition did a lot to keep the house calm.
Vasectomies rule.
Doctor walked in to perform my vasectomy and I said, “How are you feeling, doc?”
“I’ve had three Bloody Mary’s, so I’m feeling just great.”
That was the last laugh I had for the next 24 hours.
Got the laser on the sack. The we were to drive 6 hours to my wife’s hometown. Well, in the mountains there was an accident that delayed us 5 hours. That night I shot out of bed like someone had taken a hammer to one of my nuts. I was in pain all weekend and drove like a bat out of hell to get back to the doctor. He asked whether I had put heat or ice on it, and obviously I am an idiot and did the wrong one. also he noted that to be seated in the same position for 11 hours was detrimental due to blood flow.
Gumby’s doctor told him “9 out of 10 men feel nothing. The other one feels a horse kick to the groin.” I heard him scream from the waiting room.
With my doctor, it was a couple of minutes with a pair of bolt cutters and it was all good.
Seriously, between bags of frozen peas and watching a lot of TV, everything was fine.
Same. I took the dog for a walk later than night.
Then my kid accidentally hit me in the groin.
As I was lying on the table, feeling like my nuts were being removed with a pliers, a PIECE OF MY VANS DEFERENS FLEW OUT OF MY BALLS!
Doctor said, super casually, “Nurse, make sure we get that off the floor.”