Guest Blogger: Samantha

Hey there, I'm Samantha. What's that you've got? I want it. No that. No that. I want Froot Loops. No. I want cheese. Give me chicken. No. Pasta. I WANT COOKIES!!!

Anyways, I'm guest blogging today.

I want to talk to you a little about goals. About dreams. I'm over two and a half years old, so I've had a lot of time to live this crazy life and learn a thing or two.

Seems to me this life is just a little too focused on reaching higher, talking more, building stronger, etc. Even around Christmastime, I get books encouraging me to learn. I get toys like Bob The Builder: "Yes we can!"

But you know what I've learned? This: I can't.

Even if I can, I can't.

Yes we can? Now we can't!

Life's too short to pedal your tricycle. Life's too short to feed yourself toast/grilled cheese/pasta/cereal/apple sauce/cookies/mints/pickles/burritos/eggs, etc. That's why god made adults - so they could feed us.

All you need to do is say "I can't." Someone's bound to do it for you. Trust me. And if "I can't" doesn't work, try a little pout and a hand-squeeze while you say it. They just melt.

So, the next time you want to achieve your dreams, don't say I can. Say "I can't."

Check back soon - my brother is working on a post about how much life sucks. I'd write it for him, but you know...

I can't.

Christmas: 'Tis The Season To Piss Me Off

Wow. Where do I start? How about with a little math lesson:

On your typical day that's NOT a holiday, there are three other people in my house:

Samantha: My sister, who insists on having my parents pay attention to her. Come on, kid, you're almost 3. Shouldn't you be in college by now?

And then there's mom and dad.

Again, three people for all you geniuses out there.

Guess how many people I want paying attention to me at all times...

One person: Mommy.

So on a typical day, I have a 1 in 3 chance the right person is paying me full attention. If I'm getting any full attention at all.

OK, but let's face it, Samantha can't give me what I need. So let's just talk about adults.

1 in 2 people. 50% odds.

But I'm a glass-half-empty kind of guy, so as far as I'm concerned, everyday I wake up LIFE IS AGAINST ME.

Then Christmas comes around and guess how many adults there are. How about this: I can't count that high.

Let's just say we've got grandparents and aunts and uncles. What's that? Let's call it 10. Everyone's talking about "let's count to ten this, how many fingers that" anyways, so it sounds right.

So that's a 1 in 10 chance that the right adult is paying full attention to me. That's 10% folks. TEN PERCENT. Yeah, those are GREAT odds. How about I just bash my head against the driveway ten times? Oh wait, that's right, I already did.

And if that's not bad enough, when Mommy is "paying attention to me," she's usually not even doing it right. Hey, Mom, you don't think I hear that you're talking with Daddy? You don't think I can see that you're looking at Samantha?

So you know what? To hell with 10%, 'cos that's a pipe-dream!

The fact is: On Christmas, I have nearly a 0% chance of getting what I want.

Hey Santa, you want my wishlist? OK, here it is:

Stay the hell home, fat man - last thing I need is another adult making the odds worse.

Just thinking about this makes me want to throw myself backwards and shriek in an effort to get Mommy to run over to me and pay attention to me for 24 hours straight. Not that she'll actually do that.

Ah what the hell... It's worth a shot.

My First Post (An Introduction To Baby Ranter)

Merry Christmas. Here's my gift to you: My blog. The sad fact is (and let's face it, there are a lot of sad facts) no matter how loud I scream, not all of you on this awful planet will hear me. Maybe more of you people will hear me out if I start blogging. As usual, it's you, you, you.

Let's just get it out of the way: The name of this blog. "Baby Ranter." A lot of you people out there who do nothing but read blogs are probably all up in arms about how my name is a lot like another blog's name: Copy Ranter. OK, but get this: That blog is about how bad advertisements are. This blog is about how bad life is and how it screws me over more frequently than traffic and weather on the 8's.

So, basically, when it comes to what blog is best: I win. But be sure to head over there to read about what we already know: Copywriters are assholes. And not smart. (N.B.: My uncle is a copywriter. Notice I'm not making any exceptions.)

Anyways, let's move on, 'cos I've got other things to do aside from blogging (for instance, food, and clutching on to my mother like there's an F4 hurricane happening at the same time as a 9.6 earthquake):

What's this blog REALLY about:

I'll make it easy for you. Try to read slow - maybe it'll sink in a little better.

I. Am. Angry.

And you need to know it. I scream, I bash my head on the ground, I fall over, I cry. So why are you people still smiling? Why are you not rushing furiously to attend to my wants? And why are you paying attention to my sister? She's got enough things to keep her busy! AND WHERE THE HELL IS MY MOMMY?!

Anyways, so yeah: Point is, Everyday, I'm going to make an effort to let you know what awful thing - more likely, THINGS - have befallen me.

I hope you've got a strong stomach, 'cos this won't be pretty.

Speaking of stomach. Can a guy get some frickin' breakfast sausage and cookies over here, or do I have to go slaughter a pig and rob a bakery myself?