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August 13, 2007


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To Karl Rove...you aren't leaving soon enough, and I wish wish wish you were leaving in handcuffs rather than as a puffy, bloated, lying sack of shit still in possession of his freedom. Fucker.

Jenn Benn

To my persistent little dog:
Stop jumping on the table when we're away and eating the tomatoes from the decorative bowl full of fresh farmer's market organic veggies. I have been wondering for weeks how it's possible we're eating four a day, but I found out today that we're not that healthy when I caught you red-mouthed on the Flor. It's really cool that you like veggies and all and I'm proud that even my dog has transitioned to organic but they're heirloom tomatoes I was looking forward to devouring them with some balsamic tonight. I'll get you some grocery variety tomatodone to wean you off if you need it. I love you sweet dog, addiction and all.


Windows Vista...I fucking hate you. It takes so long to start up my computer, I do it before I go take a crap. Also, how come I can't find anything on the network anymore? Hell, half the time I can't even find the network. You suck!

Rachel E.

To God:
Please stop allowing my family members to become ill with terminal diseases. A simple cold once in a while will suffice. (I know that's a downer but that's where I'm at.)


That's awesome. This is mine from a few weeks ago:

To anyone giving me dirty looks in the grocery while I was holding my vocally crabby infant and pushing his stroller: Yes, I know it looks stupid, Yes, I know he's annoying to listen to, I know this because I spend several hours a day listening to it. You get to go home. Blow me.

To the woman in the awesome dress with her daughter in a wrap, who was chatting with a random stranger (In one of those conversations all new parents get stuck in with strangers), thank you for not rolling your eyes at my predicament and acting superior b/c you were baby wearing and I was not. I forgot my wrap at home which is what caused the predicament in the first place. I am one of you.

To the man who came around me in the self check out to see the vocally crabby infant and then joke with me "are you going to feed him that sushi?": Dude, do I LOOK like I'm in a mood or position to joke. I think not. Help me scan my groceries, or get them out of the bottom of the stroller while trying to not lose my balance while my son filets my face with his fingernails. I'll love you forever. But thank you for saying as you walked away that he's cute as a button. I wish you would have led with that, you would have gotten the thank you that etiquette owed you.

To the cashier who wouldn't stop talking to her friend when my card was failing and the check out said "wait for cashier". Who kept talking to her friend when I pushed the call button. Who finally walked over when the pissy laser beam mom eye glare burned a hole through her and got her attention: fuck off. I DID press CREDIT you biatch. I'm out of high school, undergraduate and graduate school. Don't look at me like that because I procreated, and I won't report you to your boss that you SUCK at your job.

To my boy - who managed to laugh for me in the midst of all of this. A new sound from his little self. Thank you. You always make me glad you are around JUST at the moment I contemplate praying for gypsies to kidnap you.


To Chicago bus drivers:

The fact that 30 of us are squished standing next to you and in the doorway in the front of the bus means that you should NOT stop at the next stop and try to force another 5 people onto the bus. If I had anywhere to go, believe me, I would. I would find a nice air-conditioned spot where I did not have a smelly guy with his armpit 2 inches from my nose and where some lady is not poking her frickin handbag in my back. And please do not yell at me to "move to the back"- I am not a moron. There is NO ROOM TO MOVE - NOT EVEN 1 INCH.


To the library: Get your thumb out of your ass and close my fucking branch already. The interminable indecision and instability are making me physically ill and I'm about to go all government worker rage on your ass. The one with the thumb still in it.


You'd think the title, MetroDAD, would have clued the haters in. I think MetroRANT or MetroDUDE as your title, may have been better if you were never going to discuss said child. Maybe they just can't read?

Ok, mine:

To the dude in the elevator: The elevator is not your home, bathroom or private office, so please stick a cork up your ass. It's only 17 floors, I know, but I needed an eject button to shoot me out of the stink.

To my lovely office co-workers: When I say I'm too busy to chat, please get the hint and don't call me every five minutes to see if I "have time now?" What are you five years old?

Dear relatives and friends: Please refrain from sending me emails that end in, send this on to 12 people or your ass will explode. I delete them every time and my ass is still attached to my body, so I think you're a lying idiot.

To Blogger: You suck, I should have gone with Typepad. I'm quitin you, I am, just as soon as I can figure out how.


To my annoying neighbor:

My quick hello at 6 p.m. every day is not an invitation for you and your satan incarnate daughter to come to my house, make a mess and empty out the fridge and talk my ear off. I am coming back from a full day of work, have two small kids to attend to , dinner to cook, house to tidy up. Why don't you one day invite me and my kids over to your house, you doucebag? Why don't you get a fucking hint and exit at 7 p.m. when I loudly announce that the baby needs to nurse and I need get my older daughter's dinner ready? And why don't you ever put away one of the million fucking toys your daughter manages to pull out? What am I? Your personal chef/entertainment center? I am glad you are moving back to CT at the end of the month. Can't wait to see you go. Until then I dread every evening, my heart sinks when I drive up the driveway and see you and that spawn of yours conveniently perched near our garage so you can push yourself into our house again. Go away and don't come back.


dear ups: at first i thought you kept refusing to deliver my packages as scheduled because you envied my seemingly awesome tastes in shoes and other random electronical devices. however, now that you refuse to give me my gmat prep book, i know it's because deep down, you just hate me. now knock it off.


To the able bodied and ambulatory folks at the Mall of America Saturday night...could you please use your legs that fucking work and leave the elevator for my wheelchair bound husband? Thanks. Oh, and if you are still feeling lazy, there's an escalator about 100 feet behind the elevator.


To lolismum: That's fuckin' creepy.


To all the nimrods in my building who don't know how to ride an elevator: Did you hear what MD just said about the subway? Same thing goes for elevators. Let me the fuck off the elevator before you start cramming your asshole selves in.


Regarding the naked showers in the rain: it only happens in Connecticut when I do it. C'mon up and join us.


To my hypocritical Catholic parents who can't accept that I live with my fiance!!! Get over it and move on! I don't care and I'm not going straight to HELL!

Ten Feet of Steel

To the indignant Midwestern family in the 50th & Lex Subway station: I didn't push you because I hate white people or because New Yorkers have no manners. I pushed you because you stopped at the end of the escalator, formed a bizarre family scrimmage line, and ignored the urgent "Excuse me"s behind you. An escalator moves people mechanically. Its riders cannot stop and wait for you while you act like yokels who have never taken mass transit. As the volume of people building up behind you reached critical mass, you were displaced. I was merely at the crest of the breach. Please learn some basic physics. And some consideration for people who are not you. Also, the best way to lose your precious children in a crowd is to have them all link hands and form a wall in front of an escalator-powered wave of NYC commuters. May I suggest single file as a more practical configuration? Or better yet, the avoidance altogether of the subway during peak hours?


To the pushy mom who shoved her way into the elevator before people exited WHILE I was explaining to my daughter that it's good manners to wait until they're finished before we get on: My five-year-old already knows that rule. I gave her the lecture so you would hear it.

To my shrink: You are so completely awesome when it comes to male-female relationships. You saved my marriage and I will be forever grateful. But you don't know shit about open adoption, so stfu. I'm not 'insecure' because I want my daughter to know her birth mother, I'm MORE secure because I know that my daughter knows who her Mommy is and I'm not going to make her choose between us.

To my mother-in-law who keeps sending me right-wing email forwards: I AM A DEMOCRAT. DEAL WITH IT.

To my grandparents who have spent my entire life making me feel like I am not good enough to be loved: I am special and it has nothing to do with my weight or how clean my house is. If your love is something that has to be earned, then maybe it's not not something I need anyway. I have spent so many years in therapy learning to love myself and would you like to know why? Because I have no idea what unconditional love is, having never received it as a child. Now that I have a child of my own, it is even more inconceivable to me that you could be so cruel. Take your check, tape it to a brick and shove it up your ass sideways.

Thanks, MD... I needed that...


To crazy ladies in the grocery store who "have to" see our baby, please back off.

To all the parents we run up to on the street asking if they have any childcare/babysitting suggestions, we do so out of love and desperation.


Ah. Reading all of this is like a good therapy session. Thanks MD!


To the office loudtalker:
Please stop talking to every single person who goes in the break room to heat up their lunch. It's like you're taking hostages and the ransom is a conversation about your favorite subject: you. The room amplifies everything you say, racial slurs included. So, please, pretty please with a cherry on top, kindly shut the fuck up. Thank you.


To my friend that won the lottery, money has made you a dick. You're the main reason I didn't attend the huge reunion this weekend.

To the publishers that keep passing on my book idea, this shit is awesome, and some day when it reaches the Michael Jordon level of perfection, take a look at Sam Bowie on your fucking bench.

To the people that think a dad being out and about with two kids is an oddity, the only oddity is that random strangers feel they need to comment on the occurrence. I'm just trying to buy formula and beer, guys, not start a movement.


To the Jackass(es) on the 3rd floor of 1150 First Avenue, King of Prussia, PA:
Every day that I come to work, I enter the restroom mid-morning and find that stall #3 is UNFLUSHED and the seat is UP! Did I mention this is the LADIES ROOM? Stall #4 usually has shit in it. What the fuck is wrong with you people?! This is a PROFESSIONAL building. How do you ladies not flush the goddamn toilets?!

To my possibly terminally ill mother: While I admire that you want to say that you did it "your way" right up until the end, you are being a gigantic pain in the ass. Telling the truth would be a great start. Letting me help you would be even better. Nothing says "controlling" quite like having me write down the names of the 15 people that you want me to INVITE to your funeral.


To the kid on the playmat in the mall who rubbed my son's head and said, "Nice Haircut": That's hair by chemo, asshole.

To the parent who sat on a bench eating fast food, scolding their child from afar as he pushed my son: "Parenting" is a verb, which connotes action. Otherwise, get your fat ass of the bench, put down the slurpee, and keep your kid in line.

Thanks, MD. This was quite cathardic!

Angry Mom

To the cliquish PTA clan...fuck you! Your lives are so shallow and meaningless that you've created drama in the form of PTA politics. I don't care that I'm not invited to your dinner parties, pool outings, or playdates. I'm on the PTA to look out for my childrens' best interests. Yeah, I know you think I'm weird and strange. So what. I think you're all weird and strange too. You suck.


To My Boss

Asking me if I have recently lost weight because my butt looks less big.

Is not cool. If you can't say anything nice, don't say it all.


I HATE people who don't let people out first. They deserve major wedgies (like the ones involving flagpoles).

To anyone even thinking about using the grocery store self-check out lines:
If your dexterity or brain capacity has ever been called into question, don't even think about it. Same goes for those who aren't sure what those self-serve bakery items you took are called. There are regular check-out lines for you.


I'd never heard that Dennis Leary quote before - what a beauty.

Jamie E.

"if you push my little daughter again, I'm going to give you an eating disorder."


Angie in Texas

to the jackass who gave me the finger and then threw garbage out of the window after i honked at you for cutting me off: fuck you(!) i called the cops and now they have your license plate number and a description of your road-rage ass.

to the parents of childre who run wild at the store: i am not too shy or afraid to stop them from running into danger . . . fuck you if you don't control them, but i'm not letting them get into danger just 'cause you're a jack ass.

Julie H

To the tween, pre-teen and teenage boys at our community pool: the zero entry area is for kiddos under 5. So take your GD waterballs and throw them somewhere else because if you hit my child again with one I am going to open up a can of whoop-ass on you like you have never seen. You can touch in the 4 feet and over section so go over there!

To the above boy's moms: Hell, yeah, I am going to correct your child for playing in the baby section of the pool. If you don't like it then get your ass up off that lounge chair and teach them some manners. Oh and if you don't like it then talk to my atty husband after he sees the HUGE f-ing knot your son left on my 2 year olds head!!!!


To my full time babysitter of four years who had told me she would work for me part-time starting this September when both kids are in school full time, who I was going to pay way more than any part-time babysitter should be paid -- just because my kids love her -- to my babysitter of FOUR YEARS who just fucking QUIT to take a FULL TIME JOB!!! And has left me trying to explain to my children WHY she will no longer be with us! And WHY she does NOT love the baby more than them. And no, they will not visit her like they visit Daddy. Thanks a whole fucking lot for this whole other new fun issue I get to deal with.



holy web-rage MetroDad! It's like "The Good Samaritan" Frasier episode (and those 90's tv nerds will know what of I speak).

Regarding naked showers in the rain... you really should try it. Perhaps not in Manhattan, but believe me, it's quite nice. Rural Ct might just work. A few bottles of nice, but not precious wine will help matters immeasurably. Having a 'bath buddy' also makes matters much nicer.

As far as Kimchi, soju, and cheap smokes go; it sounds like a reunion on the DMZ for a few buddies of mine. NOTHING I've discovered yet on this earth is as bad as a soju hangover.

The only rant I have is an angry shout out to those in this world that, because I stay home with my son (Teufelskind), think that I lost my job (men) or that I'm sweet, but spineless (women).
Get bent. I'm home because despite the fact I made more than my wife, I was gone for a 1/3 of the year, I hated my job, and my benefits were non-existent. I'm also a better stay home parent, as I cook, and don't go ape-shit insane reading the same story 40,000 times in one sitting (Thomas the Train- I've got your number).


Oooh, I was hoping you'd ask...

To the "Older than Dirt" couple, the "We're sooo in Love" couple and the "Bald, and Burly" guys... You're eating in Fucking McDonalds. So don't give me that look when my two-year-old daughter decides to have a little fit because I cut her hamburger in half. If you don't want that kinda shit, try cooking at home.


One more, 'cause I'm on a roll...

To the McDonalds in Huntington Beach, CA... You are a restaurant where people bring their young, not-yet-potty-trained kids. Install a fucking changing table in your bathroom if you don't want me to change my kids' diapers in a booth.


To my MIL...PLEASE stop calling our house 20 times a day. PLEASE stop offering your unwarranted parenting advice. PLEASE stop criticizing my parenting methods. PLEASE STFU!

Because you know what? You were (and will always be) a terrible parent. Two of your kids no longer speak to you. One hates your freaking guts. And the only reason my DH even tolerates is you is because he's such a caring, nice guy that he feels sorry for you.


Kelly took mine. Damn.


to the Jacques Torres Malted Milk Balls that cost $20 but were totally awesome and so now I want them every day: WHY? WHYYYYYY?


That Denis Leary quote is fantastic.

As an African-American single father living in a predominantly white neighborhood, I'm always amazed to see little kids who speak innocently but clearly have racist parents at home. Like they always say, the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree.


No rant here - just a note that a lot of us grew up with a parent of a - shall we say - less than tolerant nature.

After spending my pre-teen and teen years squirming, my twenties and thirties angry and confrontational, I'm now in my forties and reconciling. All I can say is it stopped there and won't go any further. And if that is all I achieve in raising my daughter that's ok.

Of course, my sweet-pea is going to give the Peanut a run for her money for that last spot at Juliard so get ready to eat metro-dust!


to Bumpy Knuckles: how'd you get your knuckles so bumpy?


I heart you, MetroDad. Part of the reason I love your blog so much is because you're the exact opposite of the emasculated Asian man.

Go Rice Daddies!


I don't have any, you took them ALL...even the ones that didnt' happen to me.

That was fucking awesome.


I love to start my week with a few laughs, MD.

Dear crap Sunset minivan drivers: the reason I am spewing spittle on my windshield from the inside at 7:30 in the morning is you almost T-boned me-- again. That big red octagonal thing is called a Stop sign. I'll bet if you Google it you can find out what Stop means. Hint: it's not a feature on the phone that is glued to your head. You're gonna give me a fucking aneurism. Is it too much to ask that you follow the rules of the road? Why do you drive like you have embassy plates? Pull your heads out. Oh, and thanks for making me teach my kid in the carseat every naughty British word I know. Wanker, arse, bollocks, shite--he's a hoot at daycare. It's your fault if he gets booted. Can he remember his last name? No chance. But he's got an awesome soccer hooligan vocabulary. The inlaws are coming and I am toast and it's your fault you douchebags.
Great idea for a post, MD.


To the city of London: Pick a side already! Left or right! At 9 months pregnant, I'm tired of being pummeled by wayward Brits veering madly while running to catch a train!

JJ Daddy Baby Momma

To just about Every Single Person I Encounter On A Daily Basis:

Yes, Chang and Eng are twins. No, that one's not friendlier, more outgoing, smarter or more shy.

The fact that they look exactly alike, and tend to even be dressed alike might give you enough of a glimmer of a clue that perhaps, just this once, you could refrain from asking.

And that other one? She's far more than "Mommy's big helper." Her name's Little Mary Sunshine, not freakin' Cinderella.

Ah. Relief.

Rodney Blevins

To all the moms here in Holland who, while riding your bikes in heavy traffic with a little one on board and another one riding their bike next to you: please do not sprint across the street in front of a whole line of oncoming traffic because you're too impatient to stop and wait until there's a proper break in the traffic or until someone stops for you (which we're not legally required to do, but we just might out of the kindness of our hearts). Please stop acting like you're invincible even though you live in a country which is very bike-friendly.

Yes, we're not supposed to hit you, and trust me, I will do everything in my power to stop on time but when you behave so recklessly, it's just an accident waiting to happen and I don't think I could ever forgive myself if I ran into you and your children. Furthermore, if I could, I would have you arrested for endangering the lives of your children.

Oh yes, and to all of the bike-riders in Holland in general: you are not Bike Almighty and you don't have the right-of-way in all situations, especially when riding down a walking street in the middle of a busy town center.

BTW, MD, I loved the one about the overweight guy and the wet t-shirts.

Joanne K.

To my insane younger sister....STOP with the effing drama, ok? You think your life is so stressful and demanding. You have NO idea! You're 25, single, and work as a secretary for an ad agency. I'm 33, a single mother of two, and I'm working my ass off just to put food on the table. I don't want to hear about your "problems." Suck it up!

Phew...thanks, MD. I needed that.


RE: the last point - audible gasp in my cubicle.

I feel you. Last week, a new co-worker asked me - after 40 seconds of acquaintance - if anyone had ever told me that I look like Lucy Liu. I said no, because I don't. And then I shot him Laser Eyes of Death.


to my daughter's deadbeat dad:

i'm glad you send your daughter letters, but how does that make up for you not being in her life?


to the complete strangers who continue to send me linkedin invites...leave me the fuck alone. i rarely use the thing and have no memory of any interface between us in the first place. i can understand how you might boast about the size of your linkedin network in your circles, but just so you know, that does nothing for the size of your stuff downstairs.


To the mother of the kid that drives me insane: Your son lies. A lot. He's got a flat affect to his speech. He's NOT a nice kid. He's defiant. He doesn't listen... to ANYONE and it IS your fault because you baby him WAY too much. Please, keep him AWAY from my son. I know they like to play but I'm tired of having to correct attitude problems and behavioral problems that he never had before they started hanging out. I've tried being polite... but that stops NOW.

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