Friday, July 29, 2011

Dirty French Friday

Oui, ce sont de vrais seins, et arrête de les mater avant que je t'en mette une.

Yes, these are real breasts, and stop staring at them before I slam your face.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Dirty French Friday

Bonjour. Je suis Charles. Je viens du North Carolina, et je suis pendu comme un âne. Tu veux voir mon tatouages?

Hello. I'm Chuck. I'm from North Carolina, and I'm hung like a donkey. Want to see my tattoos?

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Millions of Peaches, Peaches for Free

My neighbour Kelly's peach tree has erectile dysfunction.

Don't know if he gave it any Viagra, but he sure got some good wood under it.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Video Blog ~ Kyna's Garden Tour

Complete with a soundtrack of cicadas, crunchy grass and witty commentary!

Colin Firth In a Bathtub

Because sometimes life calls for it.

I'm so glad today's my day off. I need it.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Friends Don't Let Friends Pull a Kanye


Manners are something that I just assumed that all parents teach their children from a young age.

I'm not talking about the kind of etiquette you need to study up on in the doorstop tomes of Emily Post. Which is the proper silverware to use with which dish, or how to phrase a proper thank you note.

I'm talking about basic manners. Like just using silverware when you're eating something that requires it, or saying 'Thank you' to someone that's helped you out or given you something.

Manners don't need to be fancy, they can be very very simple.

I would have had no idea of the oceans of people that lack simple manners, if I didn't work with the public.

Lack of manners cross all socio-economic demographics. Rich people, poor people, young people, old people, people of all religions and ethnicities.

No one is safe from lacking manners.

As I said above, the act of saying 'Thank you' has gone the way of 8-tracks and rotary phones.

I help you find what you're looking for? You should say 'Thank you'. You ask me for directions? You should say 'Thank you'. Do I have the time? Yes, it's noon, and where the hell is my 'Thank you'? I will even accept a 'Thanks'.

The same goes for 'Excuse me' and 'I'm sorry'.

Now, I have to dish out extra 'sorrys' because I'm paid to, it's part of my job. Even if I am in no way sorry.

Plus, I'm Canadian. Our stereotype is being overly polite. I think as far as stereotypes go, that's the best one we could have hoped for. We like not being hated.

Jacksonville is full of very young people with very many children, as it is a military town. People push strollers that are bigger than SUVs. I've been nearly run over countless times, and maybe only 50% of the people pushing them say 'Excuse me' or 'Sorry'.

In one instance, a woman looked back over her shoulder at me and said snidely, 'Excuse you', after she had just about plowed me. Lady, I'm not the one maneuvering my stroller like it's a weapon.

The other bit of widespread rudeness is due to the cell phone.

I HATE cell phones. Actually, let me take that back. I don't hate them, because if I did I wouldn't have one. I just hate what they do to people.

When I'm in a dark movie theater, and all I see are bright, flashing, glowing screens? I want to yell, "Dammit! Why did you pay to see this movie if you just want to text your buddies or play Angry Birds?? Quit ruining it for me!'

When I see people walking into sign poles or other people because they're walking with their heads down, playing with their phones, I want to ask them if they realize how ridiculous they look. After I laugh at them of course.

The worst and most unforgivable thing someone can inflict on me with a cellphone (besides shoving it up my ass) is when they walk up to me, and attempt to conduct a transaction whilst still talking or texting on their phones.

I want to take the phone and bitch-slap them with it. LOOK at me when you're interacting with me. Say 'Hello' and 'Thank you' or even a 'How's it hangin'?'

Put. The. Damn. Phone. Down.

Oh, what's that? You're a heart surgeon on call? Then what are you doing in a store? There's a heart waiting on ice in a cooler and you're wasting time buying things whilst someone is slowly dying.

Oh, what's that? Your husband is calling from Afghanistan and you never get to talk to him? Then that's obviously way more important than buying shit, right? I know it would be if my husband was away fighting in a war. You can buy your stuff when you guys hang up. Right?


There is absolutely no situation that is important enough that you need to be on the phone in a customer service situation. If it's that important, you shouldn't be in the customer service situation, you should be taking care of whatever that important call means to you. And then come buy your shit.


Sorrys, thank yous, and cell phones aside...

The thing that makes me see red the most is when people interrupt me. You might as well slap me in the face in the middle of the conversation. I might be less pissed off with a slap than an interruption.

I'm not a slow or monotonous talker. I also am a considerate talker. I possess that chip in my brain that tells me, "Hey. That guy's eyes are glazing over. They've looked at their watch twice. Time to stop talking, because they want to do something else."

I mentioned this on Facebook the other day, and I think I made a few of my friends feel bad because they say they're interrupters and they can't help it.

I agree with that. I don't think most people are such assholes that they interrupt on purpose. There's a spark in the brain that just says, 'TALK NOW!' and they do.

I love my interrupting friends/family, but I can't help how I feel either.

Why ask me a question and then interrupt me as I'm answering your question? Don't ask the question then!

Interrupters make me batshit crazy.

Chuckles is an interrupter. Bigtime. The Interruption King. And I love him more than I love myself (which is a lot, because I really, really love me).

He says he interrupts because he's forgetful, and he doesn't want to lose his thought before he can relay it to me.

"Chuck, I really hurt myself today. I was in the receiving room, and this open box full of sharp box cutter blades started to fall on me, so I quickly reached up and-"

"Look, Kyna! A chicken!"

That's how most of our conversations go. Drives me bugfuck.

I KNOW he can't help it. But tell my blinding inner rage that.

When I'm interrupted, it's like I'm a bull, and you're waving a red blanket of disrespect in my face.

All I want is to finish my sentence. That's all. I don't mind if you don't agree with what I'm saying. Or if you've been thinking about feeding your cat the whole time and you haven't really listened. Or if there is, indeed, a chicken nearby. Even if the chicken's on fire.

Just please let me finish my sentence. Don't be a Kanye.

I'm interested in what you guys find totally rude, that you absolutely can't stand?

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

I Cayenne't Live Without Hot Peppers

Yesterday was the 4th of July, and naturally I used the celebratory American holiday as an excuse to whip up some fattening food.

I baked cookies. I made pan-fried pork chops and garlic mashed potatoes. But my favourite of the day was the sour cream & salsa dip.

Sour cream by itself is fantastic. Ambrosia. It should be it's own food group. In fact, I think I'll write a letter to the President about that after I'm finished with this.

Adding salsa to the sour cream? You're getting into 'my panties have spontaneously caught on fire' territory. Someone call the fire department!

And tell them to bring extra hoses.

What's the secret ingredient behind my dip of champions?

Homegrown freakin' cayenne peppers.

Mince up two or three of these babies, and stir 'em in. The seeds are optional (if you're a pussy).

Get some tortilla chips and go to town on it.

One bite and your underwear will not only be incinerated, but music will fill the the sound of two angels making sweet, sweet love in a meadow full of rainbows and unicorns.

Wait, you're asking what the hell that sounds like?

You'll find out if you taste my dip.

I love spicy shit. Which is interesting, because before I hit my 20's, I couldn't stand any heat in my food.

Now? I can't get enough. It's one of the greatest feelings in the world to eat something that's so spicy that you're crying and your nose is running and you just want to lean over with your hands on your knees and hold your mouth open so that saliva is just streaming out of your mouth onto the ground. All at once.

For me it's like having a good hard laugh, or a good hard sneeze, or a good hard....well, I'll let Mr. Stewart fill in the end of that sentence.

I've done better growing my own cayennes this year than in any previous years. I usually grew them out in the fenced in back garden.

Every year, regardless of the fence, something would eat all the leaves off the top of the plants. Completely sheared them. I'd only get a couple of peppers out of it.

This year they're in a drywall bucket right outside my back porch. Whatever was eating them won't venture up this close to the house it seems. Muhaha!

What about you guys? Do you like-a da pepper?