Category: Food

My Circus Sideshow


Dear Diary …

Now that I’ve been raising kids for a couple years … I’ve learned one thing above all else … old me is dead. Now I’m not saying it’s necessarily a good thing or a bad thing … it’s just a different thing. Meaning … “Old Me” … the one that played video games for hours, went out drinkin’ and eatin’ all the time, slept till noon … Yeah … he’s dead.

And you could probably argue that ”new me” is a lot better in a lot of ways by not doing those things. And it probably is … though that doesn’t mean I don’t miss old me from time to time (all the time) … I mean every now and then.

The wacky thing about “new me,” is that I’m not just one person.

I’m not just Dad … As far as the children are concerned, I’m a cast of characters … and weird ones too … like the kinds you see at the Circus sideshow …

[[[Circus Music]]
Hurry hurry hurry … step right up! Ladies and gentleman … boys and girls … people of ALL ages … Come with your own eyes and witness the wonder of the world … the freak of the family … … the servant of the shelter … the parent of tiny children!

Yep … welcome to the circus. Cuz I’m not just me … I’m a collection of sideshow characters. For example … I’m The Human Remote Control …

The children tell me “It’s my turn to pick out a show” … and then it’s time for the human remote control to get to work. I stand there, while they just bark orders at me while I scroll through the menus of their crappy little television shows. And they flip their little hands in the air … bossin’ me around …

“Go that way. No … the other way! Go back. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

For the love of God pick out a show!

And my son is the worst, at least my daughter has a pretty good idea of what she wants to watch. I find it … and she watches it.

Meanwhile, he’s three, so the names of things in his head aren’t what they are in real life.

First of all … we start with “I wanna watch Snowflarx!”

Do you know what that is, Diary? That’s Netflix. I figured that out the hard way as he kept yelling about “Snowflarx!” until I got it right. Problem is … once we get to Snowflarx, now he just says things like “I wanna watch ‘The real Mickey Halloween one.’”

And do you know what that is? Me neither! Because I showed him every freakin’ Mickey Halloween thing we had .. and he didn’t want any of those. No idea what he’s talking about. Eventually I just hit play on something and walk away so he can whine about it on his own.

OK … it doesn’t stop there … the cast of characters continues because I am also The Human Menu when it comes to the world of snacks. I will say this … my son is at least cute about it when he starts. Yesterday he says to me …

“Daddy … does we have snacks?”

Well yes, we have snacks.

“Does we have snacks for boys that are healthy?”

Sure … we have snacks for boys that are healthy. What snack do you want? And here’s where it takes a turn …

“What do we have?”

You know what we have! We go thru this conversation five times a day. It’s the same stuff as the last time. But they don’t wanna tell you what they want. They want The Human Menu to rattle them all off so they can shoot you down over and over again.

We have apples. No.

Banana. No

Strawberry. No

Chex mix. No

Pretzles. No

Popcorn. No.

Oh my God just tell me what you want!!!

You know how they say you spend half your life sleeping and pooping? Well I spend the other half just standing in the pantry acting like a menu.

OK finally, above all else, at the end of the day, I’ve learned that I am The Human Garbage Can.

Because once my son finally picked his snack … cheese stick by the way … he sat there with that thing in his sweaty little hand … smooshing it all around while he’s eating it. Cuz kids are disgusting when they eat food.

Finally he gets his fill, and there’s still this slimy little nubbin’ of cheese stick left. To which he looks at, “Ew … That’s asgusting” And promptly tosses it in my lap.

Oh thank you your Royal Highness! Thanks you for bestowing upon me Ye Royal Saliva and Cheese Leavins! So gross he doesn’t wanna touch it … but The Human Garbage Can is here for his disposal.

Yep … “old me” … dead.

R.I.P. Old Me.

Miss you … bunches.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye

Why Bother?

Dear Diary …

Today I’d like to introduce a segment called “Why Bother?” This is for all the silly things that we do, that when you stop and think about it, are pointless. Why do we even bother?

Take car alarms for example. What is the point?

“Oh it’s to protect your car from thieves when they try to burgle you!”

Sure … in theory. But I heard a car alarm yesterday … and you know what I did? Nothing! Same thing everybody does when they hear a car alarm … NO-THING!

Actually we don’t do “nothing,” we all do the exact same thing, which is that we think to ourselves “would that person please shut their STUPID alarm off now? It is annoying me!”

That’s all we do. I mean … if they are bein’ burgled … that alarm ain’t helpin’ … so why do we even bother?

OK here’s another one to throw into the “Why Bother?” pile … Car inspections. Can’t we all just agree that we’re beyond this ridiculous sticker? I mean c’mon … the people that do ‘em don’t even wanna do ‘em. EVERY time I ask to get my car inspected, that face they make at the car place and with the eye rolling, it’s the same reaction I get when I ask one of my kids to pick up their toys. “Oh man … why do I have to do it?” Because you’ve got that little sticker with the “9” on it in the window. Look … I don’t wanna be here either. Just inspect the stupid thing so we can move on.

C’mon … we don’t need these things any more.

“Oh but they’re SO important for safety, and emissions, and blah blah blah”

Fine. Then make ‘em easier to get. Put a nerd with a clipboard at a drive-thru inspection place and slap the dang sticker on. 95% of the cars on the road need about two seconds from an eyeball test to pass. And for those of us … myself included … that drive a POS … you can check us out for a little bit longer. There … you happy?

Here’s another “Why Bother?” … Asking men for advice.

Why do women do this?

They ask men for advice, and then all they do is immediately go ask their Mom or best friend the exact same question, and then do whatever that person advises. So just eliminate the middle man … and I do mean the actual man … just boot us out of the way and go right to the source you’re actually going to listen to.

And ladies … It’s your own fault when you complain about stuff like how your man never offers his opinion and all he says is “I don’t know.” It’s because we know … you don’t care about our advice anyway. So skip it.

And finally Diary … Why do we bother with this whole fascination with “secret menus?”

You see posts like this all the time online … “Oh the McDonald’s secret menu has been REVEALED!” … and then for some reason we get all excited like we’ve found buried treasure or something because somebody tells you to “order a double cheeseburger, but then tell them to but a McChicken patty on there too! It’s called the McChickaBurger!”

OOOOOOHHHH!!!

Yeah … you know what? I can do that to where I just make up silly combinations of ingredients that they have on hand and then give it some goofy name. Hey … order french fries … and then tell them to put chocolate ice cream on them. It’s called McIce Cream Fries!

And I am aware … Dumb name. But the whole concept of the “secret menu” is dumb in the first place.

You do realize, that all your trying to do is add some sort of mystery and glamour to your annoying special orders you’re always trying to get people to do? You … most difficult fast food orderer of all time. That’s all this is.

And difficult special menu person … “They always mess up my order”

That’s because your order is dumb! Order what they have and either 1) Learn to like it, or 2) Pick off the ingredients “you don’t like.”

Or what about this for a crazy idea if you’re so specific about what you can and can’t eat … Make your own food. That way the only person you’re annoying is you.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye

Overhyped

Dear Diary …

It’s good to be excited about things … To look forward to stuff. It’s certainly better than just being some apathetic lump of “oh whatever” for everything you see and do. That said, we got a problem these days where we can’t just be excited about something … we gotta go overboard. We can’t just look forward to something … we have to lose our minds over it.

An example … McDonald’s breakfast. As you have probably heard, McDonald’s is going to start offering their breakfast menu all day. And I’m sure you’ve heard this, because we are covering this story like it’s one of the greatest achievements in the history of mankind. Everywhere you look … McDonald’s will start serving breakfast ALL DAY!!!! Countdown to October 6th when McDonald’s starts serving breakfast ALL DAY!!!!!!!

I mean, you would think the Pope was coming to all of our houses individually for a cookout where he will give us the secrets of life after death AND anoint us all into Sainthood, when in fact we’re just talking about the ability to get a McMuffin at 2 in the afternoon.

Now don’t get me wrong … McDonald’s breakfast is awesome, and I think it’s pretty cool that you’ll be able to get it all day. But our excitement level over this is just a wee bit too high. I mean let’s be realistic … how many times in a year (non drunk or hungover) are you actually gonna order McDonald’s breakfast outside of breakfast time? Once? Twice? Which again, it’s pretty cool that you can, but chill out about it.

We love to just go crazy over little things … like remember that “Dress” on the internet? It’s black! No, it’s blue! No, it’s black! AHHHHH!!!!!!!!

OK … moving on Diary … musical taste is very subjective. Some people love a song, while other people hate that very same song. It’s a personal thing, and that’s cool, but every now and then, songs come along that just make me mad. It’s not that I love or hate them, they anger me because of what the song says.

Like Andy Grammer’s “Honey I’m Good” … I mean one could totally argue that you don’t “like” that song because of the hookie dookie “Oh no honey I’m good … blah boo dingle dong bingle blah blah should.” But for me … it goes beyond that. The song makes me mad … cuz of the words.

So here we got a guy that’s all proud of himself cuz he DIDN’T sleep with the random girl in a bar, who I like to point out he’s been flirting with all night while his girlfriend isn’t there. Where is she? Anyway, he says no to this girl and he’s all proud of himself, but goes on to say “cuz if I stay I might not leave alone.”

“Oh look at ME … I’m a good boyfriend … cuz I stayed faithful to YOU, honey! Granted, if I stayed for one more drink, I totally would’ve slept with that random girl I was inappropriately flirting with while you were home alone. Lucky you!” What a lousy boyfriend!

Also … who “bids somebody adieu” in a bar? What is that?

If I’m that random chick and he’s says “well I bid you adieu,” personally I’m relieved that I avoided hooking up with this dorkpile of a cheating loser.

Honey I’m good. No you’re not. You stink!

Look I know it’s just music and it’s not responsible for healing all the problems of the world, but sometimes the words are just so annoying. Like that song by Pitbull and Ne-Yo songs “Time of Our Lives.” He knows his rent is going to be late, and he doesn’t even have enough to pay it. So what does he do? Go to a club and waste all the money that he has. How is that responsible? see … this is why your rent was late in the first place because you don’t financially plan properly.

And don’t even get me started on this Jeremih and his “Don’t Tell ‘Em” song. Look … you and your secrets and your lies and your “Shhh … Don’t tell ’em.” As a father of a daughter, I very much don’t appreciate this line of singing there Jeremih!

Hey for as dumb as that song is … that whip and the ne-ne … at least it ain’t telling you to get evicted or cheat on your man and keep secrets. A little stanky leg never killed nobody!

Till next time Diary … I say … goodbye.

The Best ______ Ever

Dear Diary …

I start this week with a warning, because this is a cautionary tale of trust, and how most people don’t really deserve yours. Here’s the deal … I fashion myself a bit of a foodie. I like food … I like eatin’ it. And I like makin’ it.

So as someone who makes food, I’m always on the lookout for delicious new recipes to try. Enter the internet … which is a phenomenal place to find recipes. In theory. The problem being, you don’t know the person on the other end. Much like when you think you’re having sexy chats with a pretty young lady, and turns out that lady is an ugly old dude with a porn-stache who’s got a thing for catfishing unsuspecting men like yourself. That’s what you actually get. So I’ve HEARD of course, because I would NEVER use the internet for naughty things. That’s just … um … wrong or something.

But back to the recipes …

Here’s the wisdom I pass along to you …

Any recipe that is titled “Best ____ Ever” or “Easiest _____ Ever” … anything like that … RUN AWAY! It stinks!

And here’s how you know it stinks … they say it’s the best. Because we can all agree … we got a lotta dumb people in this world … right? Probably more dumb people than there are smart people. So why in the world would we listen to their opinions? They’re dumb! So if they think it’s the “Best Lasagna Ever” … it ain’t. These are paste-eaters we’re talking about here, so clearly they have no taste. They eat paste!

You must get your recipes from a trusted source. And that trusted source is very rarely Pinterest. That place is just chock full of dingalings making lousy food and trying to pass it off as the “Best Ever.”

But I’m a sucker, and I keep going back. Lately I’m on this kick of making things that go in jars … hot sauces, simple syrups, pickles … stuff like that. So I see “Easiest Dill Pickles” ever. Oh and course they say “they are sooooooo delicious.” Excessive use of the letter “O” in their “soooooo” should’ve been a simple tipoff for me, but I dive in anyway.

And what do I end up with Diary? The nastiest jar of pickles I’ve ever tasted in my life. I open this thing … I kid you not … It smells like a horrible combination of dill and farts. And that’s what it tastes like too … Dill pickle farts. Horrible!

But it’s my own fault for trusting this goofy recipe in the first place. Lousy Pinterest … nothin’ but a bunch of wanna-be food bloggers coming up with their craptastic recipes thinkin’ they’re gonna be the next Rachel Ray. Out you go, Pinterest! Trust noone!

OK … Moving on Diary …

When I am King … as you know there are gonna be sweeping changes … and here’s another one to add to the list …

You know those signs on the highway that tell you the restaurants that are at the next exit? Well they are gonna be required by Zackmerica law to put in BIG writing how far away that restaurant is from the exit.

Yeah … I know they do it when you get OFF the exit, but you’re already committed at that point, so they got you trapped. And I’m done gettin’ trapped.

On my last road trip I pull off to get something … and the place is 3.7 miles away. I’m sorry, but that don’t count as “right off the exit.” And furthermore, I kept track, cuz I was mad, and it was 4.1 miles. So they LIED even!

Hooked and me and got me all ready for a cheeseburger, then dangled that thing in front of my face like donkey and a carrot for 4 stinkin’ miles.

Well no more of this in Zackmerica! You WILL put your distance on the sign BEFORE the exit. And anything over two miles … you ain’t even gettin’ on the sign, cuz you’re too far away! Don’t like it … move closer to the road. The end.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

Super Specific Booger Eaters

Dear Diary …

When you raise children, there are some experiences that you simply can’t even put into words. Like the feeling you get when … after a long day of running around … dealing with their every demand of juice … and snacks … and TV shows … and you’re doing this by yourself, because your wife is busy with work and hasn’t gotten home yet …

You finally get them upstairs … Tuck them into their little beds … pull the blanket up to their adorable little chins … and say “Goodnight … I love you” … Words cannot describe the feeling you get when they reply with “When’s Mommy coming home?”

Yup … love you too!!!

Oh hey … if you need anything, I’ll be downstairs on my hands and knees picking LEGOs out of the carpet while you’re up here dreaming away of swingsets and sugar plums. Have a nice night!

There are so many things I don’t understand about little kids … Like why are they SO specific about certain things? I get being BRAND specific about something. I mean … Helluva Good French Onion Dip … best dip on Earth. Dean’s? Pshht. I spit in your Dean’s. Dean ain’t got nothin’ on Helluva Good.

That I get … they taste different. You know what doesn’t taste different? The same food served on two different colored plates. I also have it on good authority that milk tastes exactly the same in a plain cup as it does in a cup with a picture of Queen Elsa on it.

I had an argument with my son the other day because he wanted his milk in a blue cup. No exceptions. No compromises. He did not want the cup I had.

Oh wait … did I mention that the cup I had was also a blue cup? Cuz it was! It just wasn’t the blue cup he was pointing at. Same brand … same shade of blue …

“No .. not that one. Want THAT one!”

Look here ya little puke … I could play three card monte like a street hustler with your cups behind my back and you’d have no idea which cup was which. Use the cup!

He drives me nuts, because he’s also a terrible eater. The kid eats hot dogs and candy … that’s it. Well … and fruit … but that’s it.

The other night I couldn’t get him to eat pizza. Pizza! And those are the ridiculous nights too as a parent where you’re not even saying “Eat your broccoli and then you can have dessert.” I’m sitting here saying “Eat your greasy triangle of cheese and fatitude before you can have a piece of chocolate.” Man I am strict!!!
And that little turd … he just wants the food to go to waste. That’s what makes him happy. Last night I make him a cheeseburger. Wouldn’t eat it. OK fine .. It’s delicious. I’ll eat it then.

“No! Leave it on da table. It stay right here.”

Why you gonna eat it?

“No”

Well then Daddy’s eating it … too bad!

I should point out by the way, this is a kid who freely eats his own boogers and then happily brags about them being “all gone in my tummy.” You’ll eat that, but you won’t eat the delicious food I make for you? You make no sense.

I mean … hey … maybe he’s full. I see some of those nasty things he digs out of his nose … they’re like the size of a grape. Maybe they’re really filling. I’m certainly not gonna find out for myself. But maybe they are!

I don’t. know. Because that’s ultimately what I do know above all else … I don’t know.

Anything.

Ever.

Till next time Diary … I say goodbye.

Snacks Rule The World

Dear Diary …

Now that I have ‘em … I’ve learned something about kids. There is one thing in their lives that is far and away the most important thing in their existence. OK … actually the blanket answer here would be “themselves,” because they’re selfish little cretins that only care about the little world right in front of their faces. But if I’m being specific … the single most important thing in their lives is food. Mainly … snacks.

All day … every day … their life revolves around snacks.

Twenty minutes after my daughter has finished her breakfast … 7 o’clock in the morning …

“Daddy can I have a snack of maybe some Doritos?”

Doritos? For breakfast? What are you … a stoner college kid? You just ate!

And all day with this … they’re asking for snacks again at 10. And lunch at 11. And a snack at two. And another at 4. And dinner at 5.

It’s like my house is the training grounds for the 4th of July hot dog eating contest or something with the volume of snacks these little heathens are demanding.

And my son makes me extra crazy because he’s two … so he’s a lousy communicator. He just stands in the pantry and says “Want dat one.”

Well which one? Triscuits?

“Dat one”

Cheez-Its?

“No … dat one”

“Dat one” is not a food … pick a food! Instead … like an idiot … I’m just holding up every single box and bag of everything until I can successfully find “dat one.”

And that’s the other thing … Even though I own the house we live in and pay the bills … To them, I am nothing more in this household than the butler.

And not even like the butler you love and treat with respect like the one on Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. I am the butler snobby rich people throw food at and tell me I’m not allowed to make eye contact with them. I’m like a Kardashian butler.

Take this weekend … Butler has to serve the children breakfast. Actually … I should point out that my daughter had already had breakfast, but the food beast was already requesting her, quote, “second part breakfast.”

Anyway … I make them each some french toast sticks as requested … or should I say “as ordered,” cuz I’m having a hard time remembering where the “please” was located before I forced it out of them.

So Butler Zack brings his and her royal highnesses their plates as they sit in front of the television … festooned in a lovely array of comfortable pillows and blankets that they’ve made for themselves. My son gets his plate, looks at it, and says …

“Hey! Where’s my milk?”

To which my daughter adds …

“Only two french toast sticks? That’s IT?”

Oh well you’re welcome to both of you! Butler’s gonna lose it in here!!

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the classic “there’s starving kids in Ethiopia” has almost exited my mouth on several occasions!

The other thing I can’t stand is that these stinkin’ kids wanna eat too early. You know what time dinner is in my house … at least according to his and her highness? 5 o’clock. And not 5:01 or 5:02 … because that becomes “Is dinner readdyyyyyyy? I’m staaaaaarrrrrving!”

I always said I’d never be one of those parents that makes one meal for the grownups and one for the kids, but … I don’t wanna eat at 5 o’clock. Old people eat at 5 o’clock. I don’t want the early bird special!!!

So I end up just giving them what piece of crud I can heat up in a toaster oven. Fish sticks. Who eats fish sticks? They do.

Cuz Diary … my grandmother is 100 years old, and you know what time she eats dinner in her nursing home? 5:15. I refuse to eat dinner before a 100 year old!!!

Oh but don’t worry … Before Mommy and Daddy … oh I mean “The Help” … actually get to sit down to eat, my daughter is saying, “Can I have my bedtime snack?”

Bedtime snack? It’s 6:15. You wanna go to bed? Be my guest!

In conclusion … they have tapeworm or something. That’s the only explanation. Parasites.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

Gardening Pics and Fishetarians

Dear Diary …

Here we are, smack dab in the middle of summer. So we’re right at the time one annoyance starts popping up all over the place … Gardening.

Now I’m not hating on gardening. You wanna plant some stuff? Go ahead and plant some stuff! Me? I don’t wanna. I’ve done it in the past … and it’s just not for me.

“Oh but you save so much money cuz you don’t have to buy any produce from the store!”

Yeah sure, in theory, but when I was done buying dirt, and plants, and insect sprays, and fungicides, and tomato cages, and blah blah blah … I wasn’t saving any money. Then … add in the fact that I’m out there workin’ the fields all the time, gettin’ eaten alive by mosquitos just trying to keep these plants alive.

Then … when I finally have something growing, every big fat jerk squirrel in the neighborhood just comes in and eats everything. And whatever they didn’t eat just got that tomato butt rot disease instead. That’s a thing … look it up!

Point is … gardening is just a joy!

But hey … If you wanna put up with all that garbage, and you still like it … that’s fine. Good for you. I got NO problem at all with that. But for the love … Do you need to post a picture on Facebook every single time you pick a bean from your stinkin’ garden?

“Oooh … look at all my squash!”

Yeah yeah yeah … we’re all so proud of you Green Giant. You know … I got squash too. Tons of it. At the grocery store. You don’t see me posting a picture of that, do you?

I gotta be honest here … I’m the smart one. You do all the work. You deal with mosquitos and the butt rot, and whatever else, and I’m the one that swoops into the Farmer’s Market and eats it. I’d say the score is currently me 1, you 0.

OK … Moving on Diary …

Since we’re already talking vegetables … Let’s tackle an issue I have with the biggest veggie lovers of them all … Vegetarians.

And if you are one … fine. Definitely not for me, but if it works for you, that’s great. I mean … I eat vegetables. I like kale. But it’s not my main dish.

Kale is a side dish. I mean … What would you have as a side with kale? More kale?

Whatever. The issue I have is not so much with vegetarians … It’s with what’s known as Fishetarians. Or as I call them, “Biggest Hypocrites Alive.”

These are the people who say …

“Well I’m a vegetarian … I don’t eat meat … Except of course fish, which I eat all the time.”

What the heck did fish do to get such a raw deal from these self-proclaimed animal lovers? Why don’t they count? Fish are way more majestic and graceful than some loud ugly chicken, but apparently that doesn’t matter. We gotta save that chicken, but we will eat that fish’s face and not even think twice about it.

I even had an argument recently with a fishetarian who said to me, “Fish isn’t meat … it’s fish.”

OK genius … then what food group does fish go into?

Grains? No.

Fruits and vegetables? No.

Dairy? No.

There’s only one left … meat. YOU ARE EATING MEAT, YOU HYPOCRITE!

Look … I don’t care if you eat it. I eat it. It’s delicious. But don’t hide behind some sort of moral compass that makes you think you’re a better person than me just cuz you don’t eat a cow.

Make up your mind … either eat meat, or don’t. Or if nothing else, just be quiet about it. Of course you’re entitled to your own dietary plan. Just don’t preach it to me.

I don’t shove bacon down your throat. (Which would totally be a favor by the way). So don’t pressure me with your quinoa agenda either!

Till next time Diary … I say goodbye.

Speak To Humans / Pineapple On Pizza

Dear Diary …

The story I’m about to tell you … It’s not so much about me trying to teach you something new. It’s about me trying to remind you about how the way things used to be (and still should be).

The other day I was having a conversation with someone. In person. To their face. Two humans … speaking to each other.

And Diary … you know me, I’m not normally a big fan of people, but this guy was a competition pro on the BBQ circuit. Nerd alert! Nerd alert! And not for him … I mean nerd alert for me Zack Jackson, BBQ nerd. I love BBQ. Love cookin’ it. Love eatin’ it. Love talkin’ about it. I’m legitimately excited! (And that rarely happens)

For me … celebrities … I don’t really care. Hey wanna meet Justin Timberlake? Nah, I’m fine. But … hey … wanna meet an eight time BBQ Grand Champion? [[[SQUEAL]] Yes!!!

So I see the guy, and I start talking to him. Then, 30 seconds into the conversation, he gets a phone call.

At least … I ASSUME he gets a phone call. Because all he did was look at his phone, and turn and walk away. The end. Conversation over. Wah-wah.

This has become a real problem. Now I understand, you get a call and you need to take it … that’s fine. But how about you at least say to me, “Oooh sorry, I gotta take this call. Hang on one second.” You don’t just walk away as if I was a lamp, and you don’t even have to say anything. I am a human!

So here’s where the reminder comes in … because the way it used to be … and the way it should ALWAYS continue to be … You speak to humans before you speak to machines.

It’s all we every do anymore when we’re around our friends .. scroll thru our phones.

Hey … you got somewhere better to be or something? Well maybe you should be there! It’s called “being in the moment.”

And sometimes I’ll be somewhere and one of my friends will be doing this, and I think … Who are you even talking to on that thing? We’re all here … it ain’t us … and you don’t know anybody else!

The moral of the story is simple … put your phone down and talk to the humans in front of you. And yes … every now and then it’s a call you really need to take. But let’s be honest here … how often is that? Two percent of the time?

And when there’s a human in front of you … a friend, or even a complete stranger that happens to be the person that’s about to make your sandwich for you at Subway, or whatever … how about you show a little respect for them and put down your stinkin’ phone for two seconds?

OK … moving on Diary …

While we’re here fixing the world, how about we also just get real and once and for all accept that this whole “putting pineapple on a pizza” thing was a fad and it should be over. Forever.

Pineapple is such a weird food. Because … it’s delicious … by itself. But with anything else? Awful.

I could sit here and ask why, but I’m not here to understand the weird science of the pineapple, I just know that fruit don’t belong on pizzas. And don’t gimme this “Tomato’s a fruit” … No it isn’t. It’s a vegetable.

Fruits are fruits, like strawberry. You wouldn’t eat a ham and strawberry pizza, would you? Well then it’s the same exact thing for pineapple.

Pineapple belongs in only two places … in a bowl all by itself, or on top of that lady’s head who wears all the fruit and sings the Hoochie Coochie Chiquita banana song. That’s it.

Till next time Diary, I say goodbye.

Kids and Dogs Hate Sleep / Pinterest Is a Liar

Dear Diary …

So answer me this … And this is probably one of life’s biggest mysteries … Why do children and dogs hate sleep? Oh and not THEIR sleep … they get plenty of that. They just hate YOUR sleep. Especially on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Why do they do this to us?

Their loyal, giving parents who spend all week bustin’ their hump for the man to pick up a not big enough paycheck, and to keep them flush with their Barbies and their Milk Bones and their Frozen soundtracks. The week finally ends, and all we wanna do is sleep until … oh I don’t know … all the way until 8 am. Oooooh … sleepin’ in!

But noooo … apparently that is an unreasonable request.

One of my dogs throws up EVERY Saturday morning at 6:30. Doesn’t throw up during the week. Doesn’t throw up any other time of day. Just Saturday. Every Saturday. And just at 6:30am.

And the 6:30 vomit alarm? Oh well you’re lucky if you make it that far, because half the time my son is already awake and just in his crib, yelling …

“Momma!” “Momma!”

And guess what he does on weekdays? Sleeps! My wife has to wake his butt up to get him ready for school.

But Saturday?

“Daaaaaaady!” “Daaaaaaaady”

The one silver lining to all of this is that it finally answers that question I always asked myself when I was 16 years old and I wanted to sleep till noon … “Aw, ow come my Mom is vacuuming at 8:30 in the morning? She knows I’m trying to sleep!” Yeah she knows … which is exactly why she was vacuuming. I stole her sleep … and I she was just returning the favor. And I will be doing the exact same thing to my children.

OK … moving on Diary …

Let me pass on a warning to all of you about something that tries to pose as helpful, but is actually evil. Pinterest. Oh Pinterest tries to be your friend …

“Hey look at me … I’m all beautiful looking and fun to use!”

It’s a liar. Don’t listen to it.

Now … If you’re unfamiliar with Pinterest … It’s a website where women post pictures of arts and crafts projects that they’re never actually going to do, but always tag them with things like “Totally going to do this.”

That’s half of Pinterest. And then the other half is a place where people post terrible recipes and trick you into making them by making the pictures look pretty.

And there’s my warning .. never trust Pinterest recipes. 99% of them stink. And even with that percentage, I am still the idiot that goes diving back in for more all the time.

Hey that looks good!

Well it isn’t.

Like the last one I made … some casserole. I don’t even remember exactly what. Doesn’t matter. Point is, when it was done it was a flavorless, watery mess. And even as I’m making it, I’m thinking “Sure does seem like a lot of liquid.”

Well sure enough … it was.

Do these people actually make these recipes? Or is it that their standards just set much much lower than mine when it comes to good food?

Cuz everything is always “the BEST cassserole EVER!” or “BEST crockpot meal” or whatever. I mean … opinions are often relative … So maybe they’ve just never eaten good food before … so them it actually is the best casserole they’ve ever had?

I dunno. Point is. Don’t trust your friend Pinterest. He’s like that bad boy you dated. He’s all cute on the outside, but he’s a big liar on the inside that will break your heart and make your tummy hurt.

That’s your bad boy Pinterest. Be warned!

Till next time Diary … I say, goodbye.

Your Loud Barking Dog

 

Dear Diary …

I am a dog person. I have had dogs my entire life. I love ‘em. I think they make great pets. As for cats? Nope! Not for me. Fine if it’s for you, but not for me.

But here’s the thing … dogs aren’t for everybody, and I understand why. It’s not the dogs that make you dislike dogs. It’s the dog owners. Too many of them are lousy. They don’t treat the dogs right, and more importantly, they don’t respect their surroundings.

And yes, I’m speaking directly to you … dog owner with a loud, barkin’ ass dog. The one that sits outside all day, all night [[WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOFF]]. Horrible! And here’s what I don’t understand … how do you not hear them? Because everybody else in your neighborhood hears them, and it’s driving them crazy. Why does it not drive you crazy?

And on what planet would this be acceptable … “Hey it’s two o’clock in the morning and my dog is outside barking. Yeah … I’m OK with that!”

Are your ears broken? “Oh I don’t hear it.” Well you know what … If that’s actually true … HOW? Do you have a REALLY loud air conditioner, or soundproof windows, or do you just drink a bottle of vodka and crash into a semi-coma? Whatever it is, please let the rest of us know so we can do the same thing so we don’t have to listen to your yippy little devil machine.

And full disclosure … I have a beagle. And she’s awful. BOWWWWWWWWW!!!! It’s the worst sound on Earth, but you know what? I hear it. And I don’t like it either. So I bring her inside and make her be quiet. And at night, she goes to bed. That’s how you’re supposed to do it.

OK … moving on Diary … This is for all the people out there that are in charge of making dinner in the house. Like me.

Now … We don’t mind doing it. Most of us enjoy cooking. But there is one part of meal preparation that is far and away the most annoying … picking out the meal. Oh it just hangs over your head constantly … what am I gonna make tonight? Ahhh I got no ideas, I’m not excited about anything, I don’t wanna have to go to the store. It’s agony! And the ultimate kick in the stomach is that once you pick out a meal … well you just gotta start planning for tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. And the next day. It never ends!

So here’s some advice to you non-meal preparers … on those rare occasions that you step in and make dinner … which we love … what we don’t wanna hear … “I don’t know what to make? what should I make? Just tell me what to make and I’ll make it.”

Oh no you don’t … you’re on dinner … you figure it out! This happens to me every time I’m not making the meal. My mother was in town just last week … and says she’ll make dinner. Great! “I don’t know what to make. Whadda ya have in the house? What are you in the mood for? Whaddya want me to make?”

What I want is for you to stop asking. Stop it! If I’m gonna come up with the whole menu … I might as well be the one makin’ it.

So remember this … when you’re on dinner … YOU’RE on dinner. Don’t talk to us. Don’t consult us. We’re already dreading the 647 pots and pans you’re gonna leave for us to wash, so at least let me sit in peace for 10 minutes and not have to come up with the meal. I don’t even care if the meal stinks. I just don’t wanna pick it.

Till next time Diary, I say … Goodbye.