Why Texting is Better Than Calling

Why Texting is Better Than Calling

I hate talking on the phone. I hate it so much that if we are in the middle of a conversation via text, and then you call me, I will ignore the phone and continue texting you.

First of all, talking on the phone is the literal worst. Second of all, whether you respond to an email with a phone call, respond to a text with a email, or respond to a phone call with a text, changing mediums MID-CONVERSATION is the height of rudeness!

Well, actually calling someone is the height of rudeness, but switching mediums midstream is a close second! Anyway, here are three scenarios illustrating why texting is better than calling.

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In Defense of Being Tired

In Defense of Being Tired

I’m tired.

I just turned 40. I have a six-year-old (as of yesterday!) and an eight-month-old. I have a full-time job, a full-time blog, and a full-time wife. I am tired.

I’m tired because I rarely get enough sleep, but I’m also tired when I get a full eight hours. I’m even tired when I get extra sleep, because all that does is remind my body how much more sleep I need! I was tired yesterday, I am tired right now, and I will be tired tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, the rest of this decade, and for the foreseeable future.

But maybe that’s not such a bad thing?

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Underrated Milestones

Underrated Milestones

My second kid turned eight months old yesterday. He has a few teeth, we’ve started easing him into baby food (with disastrous results), and he’s looking to crawl any minute, which is going to severely complicate my life and increase my stress level.

Meanwhile, the original kid started first grade last week. He is about to lose a few teeth, tried oysters for the first time over the summer (loved them!), and, most significantly, is dangerously close to being able to read the channel guide, thus preventing me from lying about his shows not being on.

This is all very momentous, obviously, but when do my kids’ developmental milestones start benefiting me?

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The Death of Cool Dad

The Death of Cool Dad

Today, I turn 40.

This used to be a big deal. It used to mean middle age. But I’m not really sweating it. Sure, there are some things I’m disappointed I haven’t accomplished yet (*coughMYBOOKcough*) but 40 is the new 30, so I still have some time.

But there is one thing that bums me out about today’s milestone.

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I Say No Too Much

I Say No Too Much

My name is Dad and Buried, and I’m a No-aholic.

I tell Detective Munch “no” too much, I say “stop” too much, and I scold him too much, and I bark at him too much. Basically, I’m one big buzzkill for a normal five-year-old kid with energy to burn and a small space in which to burn it.

It’s no wonder he prefers Mom and Buried.

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