Herding cats is not a very difficult thing to do. Every night before going to sleep, I wrangle my two little beasties into my bedroom using only one foot and a lot of yelling. It’s as easy as pie.
Which, for someone with my baking abilities, is not easy. But I’m speaking purely in metaphor here. This shouldn’t surprise you. If you’re confused by where this is headed, that shouldn’t surprise you, either.
But in both its figurative and literal forms, “herding cats” is a leisurely endeavor compared to most of the things I do between 6:30am and 4pm, Monday through Friday. Not because my job is more difficult than the average dad’s, nor is it more stressful or time-consuming than what white-collar pep-peps are normally expected to do during business hours.
I’m just a ridiculously immature, incompetent, dumb ass.
Side note: I have never spelled “incompetent” correctly. Spell check has to save me, every time. I believe this writes volumes into the ever-expanding encyclopedia of “Ironic Ways In Which Hannah Can Condescend Upon Her Own Intelligence.”
I also spelled “encyclopedia” wrong the first time I typed that sentence.
See? Life is complicated when you’re this much of a Tool. If you’re frequently overwhelmed by the complexity of functioning at a toddler’s capacity in a very grown-up world, I have a few pointers to toss your way
(“Hooray! Hannah’s making a list! What an original, inventive, witty way to showcase her charm and intellect!)
Moving along from my make-believe peanut gallery and onto my equi-ludicrous advice, to assimilate your unprepared baby self into the dad-o-sphere–
1. Make the worst jokes possible. While it takes a genuine individual to understand a quality quip, only the most elite of the human race find beauty in terrible humor. You can easily weed-out who’s worthwhile in the adult world by telling animal puns. See pointer #3 for elabradoration.
2. When people ask for your opinion on something about which you’re clueless, or demand an immediate answer to a question like, “What’s the trajectory for March’s year-over-year spreadsheet memo fax machine?” look at them very seriously and say the absolute first thing that comes to mind, even if it’s “What the fuck did you just say.” They’ll be intimidated and either stammeringly explain themselves, or– even better– walk away.
3. Realize that everyone else around you is just as immature, though equally as dependent on adult-world (not porn, this time) success as you are. This will make mostly every other concern irrelephant. I’m not lion. I have the koalifications to snake my opinion into this aardvargument.
4. Don’t use those puns.
5. When people ask you how your weekend was, don’t tell them the truth, because, “I slept for thirty hours, then went on the internet,” isn’t what a grown-up weekend sounds like. And whoever asked probably spent their weekend on StumbedUpon, too, so the’re looking for an answer they can live a little vicariously through. So, lie. Or just yawn and walk away. That’s what my cats do when I ask them what’s up, and it shirks me pretty effectively.
Speaking of cats…
6. Talk about them all the time. (This is actually a bad idea, but I do it anyhow because there is little else going on in my life to share with people who have children, mortgages and cars that aren’t constructed of expensive failure.)
7. Realize that you’re the only one who notices– or cares– that you’re buried in your under-qualifications.
I’m full of unwavering, unfounded confidence in myself, so I can say with pointless authority that adhering to these nonsensical tidbits will inevitably lead you into either corporate glory or a nightmarishly awkward and irreversible situation with your coworkers.
Regardless of which way it leads you to, I’ll have directed you toward a wicked story to tell some day.