Premiere of Big Brother 19

I’ll admit it, I’m one of those people who actually watches Big Brother. I don’t share this fact with many people, so shhhh!

I’m not going to recap the premiere episode because let’s face it, there are tons of other sites for that kinda thing. This season does look a lot better than last years, but I really wish they would stop bringing in old house guests. STOP LIVING IN THE PAST! Unless they bring back Crazy James from about nine years ago, I somehow identified with him…

Anyway, I’m terrible with names. Just ask my wife Cathy. Or is it Kelly? Whatever, she knows who she is. But since my ability to keep track of names is so terrible, I’m keeping my own list of nicknames for this season’s house guests. Frankly, it will be easier this way. Real names just get in the way.

For those of you who follow the show, you’ll notice that I just ignored the poor SOB who got kicked off in the first episode. Knowing my luck, he’ll come back later in another damn twist. Whatever..

CBS Big Brother Cast

Big Brother 19 cast image from CBS

Daily Dose of Dip Weed

On my Facebook page I’ve been sharing my “Dip Weed” of the day, usually in the form of a link to another site. Today my Dip Weed of the day is from a local parking garage.

Not only is this person parked over the line, they’ve been parked that way since yesterday afternoon… in a 3 Hour Maximum parking space. I’m wondering if it will still be there tomorrow, or if it will finally be towed…


A Trip to the Zoo (Hunger Games Style)

I never used to be good around children. You could say that, in a manner of speaking, I never understood the purpose of them. They would always cry, scream, kick, make messes and generally be sticky. Obviously my views changed as I got older and somehow acquired two of the little things, but even with two kids I never really felt that comfortable with other people’s kids. Somewhere along the line that all changed.

Case in point, today I volunteered to be a chaperone for my oldest son’s class field trip to the zoo. I was a bit nervous when I filled out the form, since I generally feel a little weird managing a bunch of other children. Full grown people are easier to manage; kids have a weird super power to look through your soul. I was reassured when my wife told me “it will probably just be our son”. She was wrong. But it ended up being okay in the end, and was actually quite fun.

When I arrived at the zoo parking lot I was surprised to see buses from nearly every school system in the county. I’m trying not to exaggerate, but there had to have been at least two million elementary kids waiting to get into the zoo. It was mass chaos.

After I finally found the group from my son’s school (after a few awkward exchanges with teachers from random schools), I was paired with my boy (woo!) and one of his classmates. WHEW! Just one other kid! Then I was tapped on the shoulder… and asked to take another kid. Crap. Thankfully it was a kid I already knew from my neighborhood. This was actually going to be easy!

We started our zoo journey by heading to the Africa area. For this particular zoo, it requires a three minute drive on a zebra-colored tram, or a 10 minute walk up a hill. The line for the tram was about 30 minutes long and I had three jumpy kids next to me. Time to walk!

It was a good idea for the first few minutes. Then the “kid pains” started. “I’m hungry”. “My legs hurt”. “A snake just bit me!!!!”. I heard it all. We continued our trek, though, sure of ourselves that the journey would be worth it. Up the hill we walked, slowly but surely. The sun rising ever further, the heat penetrating our flesh. It was like something out of a movie about the Donner Party. I knew, at one point, we would turn to cannibalism.

At last we made it to the top of the hill. Africa was within our grasp! That’s when I remembered… we had another five minute walk to get to any of the frickin’ animals! So we continued our walk. This time it was at least downhill, so no more complaints about legs hurting.

We made our way to the zebras. Ooo. Ahhh. Zebras. Next was my son’s favorite: the giraffes! He was so excited, knowing they were just within a few short steps. We could see them in the distance, we were so close! And then we saw the line. It was only about five miles long. Five miles filled with elementary kids all wanting to see the giraffes. Ugh.

Thankfully the wait wasn’t as long as I had expected and we were soon there with the long neck’d creatures. “Can we feed them,” I was asked. “Yes,” I replied, “yes we can”. I bought five pieces of lettuce for $6. Yes, $6 for fucking lettuce. I could buy three heads of lettuce at the local market for that. But hey, they probably washed it with this special liquid called “water”, so it was worth ever dime.


The domesticated giraffe thrives on specially washed, $6 lettuce leaves

Please bear in mind that I had five pieces of lettuce. For three kids. As an adult I understand the math, but three kids and five pieces of lettuce just doesn’t compute. I gave each child one (okay, one kid got two somehow, but I stole it back). Three fifths of my $6 disappeared down a giraffe’s throat faster than I could cough *ripoff*. Two pieces left. Three kids. Shit.

I tried to explain that I had to split up the lettuce between the three of them, but they wanted none of it. All three kids started pawing at me, trying to grasp the lettuce from my hands. I shifted away from them, trying to protect the rest of my giraffe investment. It was so crowded that I accidentally ran into another random child. He tripped and fell over the edge of the fence. It’s okay, the giraffe broke his fall.

Finally I was able to convince the three children that we could split the lettuce. It disappeared in a heartbeat, where they then asked for more. No, I said, I didn’t bring enough gold bars to pay for more frickin’ lettuce.

We continued our journey downhill. I clearly remember there being a bird cage coming soon, and some kind of new lion exhibit they’re building. Well, there should have been. Damn thing was closed, which meant the way through was closed. We had to turn back. We had to go back uphill. Through the crowd of kids, one of whom I already accidentally dropped into the giraffe enclosure. This is going to turn into the Hunger Games if I’m not careful.

Thankfully we made it back without incident, even though it was uphill the whole way. We exited the path and made our way to the return tram line… which was a mile long again. Lunch was in 20 minutes. Dammit.

The walk back was all downhill this time, which you would think would be easier. It started off easy enough, but then the slope got steeper. One of the kids lost their footing and fell, then started rolling down the gravel road. When I finally got to the child, I’ll admit it could have been better. Their nose was broken, arms scraped up, cuts all over the face. I wiped the dirt off their face, which made it look better.

I’ll admit I was a bit panicked, but as we approached the lunch area I found my relief: the face painting booth! After a quick application of a Red Panda face, you couldn’t even tell. The limp was a bit harder to hide, but I passed it off as exhaustion.

Our trip was pretty uneventful after lunch. There was some suspicion when Red Panda spit out a tooth, but they’re in kindergarten, they’re always losing teeth! Not usually their adult teeth, but whatever, those are minor details.

We saw this awesome peacock after lunch. Big and bright-white, with its feathers in full force. It was so lovely and majestic, a true representation of the beauty of nature. Until Red Panda face started chasing after it, teeth missing and limping from what I presume is a sprained ankle.


An awesome peacock, unaware of a crazed child about to chase it

At the end of our day I promised my son he could get a fidget spinner from the gift shop. He’s been talking about it for the past few weeks and swears that he can get them from the zoo. I secretly knew the truth: why would the zoo sell spinners?!? But I let him live in his delusion, getting my letdown speech ready for when they didn’t have them.

They had them. Shit. And I had two other kids who would be heart broken without getting something, too. Double shit. And things at the zoo gift shop are not cheap. Ugh, why did I do this again?!?

We got the damn spinners. One for each kid. And yes, one for me too. What can I say, I’m a sucker for kids now. Mostly mine, but also their friends. Within limits. I just hope it distracts from what the parents see when they wipe away the Red Panda face.


Fidget Spinners, the bane of teachers everywhere. I just bought three for some kindergartners…

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Pumpkins and Pokers

One of the biggest challenges in being a father is meeting the expectations of our children. Last year my oldest son really wanted to grow pumpkins in our garden, and being the loving dad that I am, I planted some seeds and put them into my new pop-up greenhouse. Things were going great; the seeds sprouted, the tiny vines were growing, my son was very excited.

Then the wind came…

We get terrible winds in our neighborhood. On one occasion the wind blew so hard that it knocked the shelf in my greenhouse down to the ground. All of the things I was planting, including my little man’s pumpkins, crashed down and were destroyed. We made up for it by getting some partially-grown mini-pumpkins, but still, our from-seed pumpkins were lost.

This year I got smarter about it and setup my greenhouse in a completely different way. Laying a paver stone floor, I split the troublesome shelf into smaller shelves and moved them away from the sides of the greenhouse. Take that, wind!!

I planted all new pumpkins in little pots and put them into my new secure greenhouse. They started growing, they were doing even better than last year, and our son was even more excited.

Then the frost came…

Apparently I had the plants out in the greenhouse too soon. Or, much to my wife’s disagreement, I needed to have a small greenhouse heater to keep the temperature higher than that of your average ice cube (if you agree with me, please comment and tell my wife that the Opining Penguin Greenhouse 2018 needs a heater!). Either way, all of the little green things I planted, those that were doing so wonderfully well hours earlier, had died.

I did all I could to bring them back. Extra watering. Fertilizer. Mouth-to-stem. In the end they were gone. RIP, plants.

But this year, I refused to buy half-grown plants (except for the tomatoes, I gave in on that one). This year, nature would not beat me! I resolved to win the battle of the pumpkins!

I planted all new seeds in a few of those biodegradable pots. Three little pumpkin seeds all neatly tucked in dirt. Not wanting to rely on my it-likes-to-kill-my-plants greenhouse, I put the potted seeds into my upstairs office space. I pulled back the curtains, cranked the heat, and shut the door. The next day: LIFE.

I let the little guys sit back in the office and chill for a few days and let them grow their little hearts out. Over the weekend I moved them from their warm office suite to the great outdoors. Admittedly I’ve been fearful of how they would survive, but thankfully, after a year and a half of trying, we have ourselves a baby pumpkin!! Yes, it’s only a couple of leaves with its seed pod dangling off of it, but still it’s progress.



Our lovely little baby pumpkin plant

So here’s hoping it all goes well. There’s no frost in the future so these things should live! And my son will be oh-so-happy to finally have a pumpkin that we can grow together and carve when the time comes. Assuming I don’t accidentally kill the thing before then.

Speaking of my son, my wife found the perfect toy that she instantly regretted buying for him. It’s a “pointer”, basically a small Mickey Mouse-looking hand on a stick with the pointer finger sticking out. Apparently it hurts when jabbed into your abdomen. She’ll be okay, the swelling’s going down and she’s able to eat solid foods again.


Beware the finger…

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Mono e Mandolin

Have you ever noticed how easy they make things look on reality TV? Especially on cooking shows, where the chefs move their knives at blazing speeds? I love watching Masterchef and other shows with amateur chefs, where they take their chef knife and chop up a whole chicken in two seconds flat. Look, I say to my wife, you don’t have to be a professional to use a knife!

I guess you can say that I’m arrogant and just a bit cocky when it comes to cooking. Sure I’m not that good at it, but when there’s your own personal reality show going on inside your head you have to impress your “fans”. As I’m sure you can guess, that often gets me into trouble.

Admittedly I’ve gotten better at using my knife. When I first started out, I would cut myself at least once a night, if not more. Bandages were attached to her hip at the beginning. Now I’m more of a “cut myself once every few months” kinda guy.

But I’m cocky and don’t know my limits. So for our taco dinner tonight, I went to the extreme: I used my mandolin to cut some veggies. I know, hardcore, right?!? The thing is, in some of these competition shows you see the cook take their piece of food, jab it on the mandolin, and start shaving at a rapid pace. Whip-whip-whip-DONE! Hell yes!

They have this guard thing for the mandolin. Apparently this is for newbies, because you rarely see a TV pro use one. I’m no newbie, so I grabbed my onion and whip-whip-whip-DONE! One onion, out of the way! I grabbed a second onion, put it against the mandolin, and whip-whi— ARGH!!! The damn thing slipped off to the side, while my hand was still in motion down the blade.

I’ve never seen the muscles inside my hand before. Or blood splattering as much as it did. Seriously, my kitchen was beige before I started cooking, but now it’s a deeper red color. The flappy piece of what was left of my hand just hung there, dangling. I tried to call out for my wife, but the words died on my tongue.

I saw colors surrounding my vision. My body wavered. I stumbled backwards and fell, my head hitting the counter. I could feel the crack in my skull as I lay twitching on the floor. My sons came into the room and both screamed as they saw their poor father spasming.

I love my boys. They try to be so helpful. My oldest poked me repeatedly with his lightsaber, continually saying “you’re dead, Kylo Ren” [quick aside, why did I let him watch that movie?]. My youngest, on the other hand, tried to find me a bandage and started taking off my shoes. I begged them both to find their mother. The youngest giggled; my oldest asked Alexa to find mommy (that damn Amazon Echo will be the death of me).

Eventually my wife found me and was able to save what was left of my hand. There’s extensive nerve damage and I may never use it again. Those damn cooking shows make it look so easy.

Okay, fine, I’m full of shit. I did cut myself on my mandolin, but it wasn’t nearly as exciting a story. In my defense [defence if you’re from Canada or the UK], the blade of that thing was extra sharp and it stings like a mother! They really should put warning labels on those damn things…


I don’t care what you say, it hurt!!

The sad thing is that the cutting of my finger was actually one of the better parts of my day (yes, family, I still love you and you’re all cute and adorable).

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