Crystal Coast Gardener

What I Did on My Winter Vacation

2012-01-26T11:49:00.002-05:00

After being off for 12 days, getting back to work was super fun.

Most people were saying to me, "Oh, but aren't you glad to go back? I'd be bored out of my mind!"

Two words: Piss off!

I LOVED my vacation. I would've been happy to have another couple of weeks off. I pretty much got paid last week to play on the internet. I have a feeling I sort of looked like this:

I started a new blog on Tumblr in an attempt to stop irritating the fuck out of everyone with talk of Sherlock and Teh Cumberbatch. I've gained 80 followers in like...6 days. Took me almost 2 years to get 119 over here.

Apparently I've been writing for the wrong demographic. 17-year-old fangirls think I'm hilarious. So there.

(Oh, shut up...:P)

I've also done some fiction writing. I haven't done that in quite a few years, just sat down and wrote about something that didn't happen to me. It's nothing of any import, but I'm lovin' it. (I sound like a McDonald's commercial)

I had a rough few days there last week when my co-worker Hannah died, so all of these things were a nice escape. I still don't think I'm quite right about it all. I've still been sad a lot. For a lot of reasons.

So I am happy to be back at work where all my friends are. We spent the last couple of days laughing a lot. Well, I spent the last couple of days trying to make everyone laugh and succeeding. Yesterday morning I had all of my makeup cried off (from laughter) by 8am.

I think they missed me. It's nice to be missed.

It's also a good thing I'm back at work anyway, because I think I was starting to turn into a man. A filthy, lazy bachelor. If I could've grown a beard, I would've.

I kept forgetting to eat because I was on the internet so much (I really need to market 'The Internet Diet'...had my hands in so many tech cookie jars, that I didn't have any time to stick them into real ones).

Anyway, at one point I thought I had better tear myself away from the computer for some victuals or starve to death, and I found myself staring into sort of an empty fridge.

We did have a large bowl of cold roasted leftover potatoes and onions in there. I was too lazy to put them in the microwave, so I stood there in front of the fridge, eating cold potatoes out of this giant bowl with a fork. There may or may not have been cold gravy involved as well.

So yeah. Not much exercise got done last week. But with the forgetting to eat (and also the cultivation of a serious tea habit) I think everything got balanced out.

It's really died down at work, traffic-wise. Occasionally you can hear crickets if you listen closely.

Kind of nice not to be run off my feet the first two days back, but the days seem loooooooooong after what I was used to for the last few months. I shouldn't be surprised, it happens every year and I've been there for four years.

But, you know. I suppose it's like a having a baby. You go through a lot of pain, and then promptly forget how much pain you went through so that you can do it all over again next time.

I just compared bookselling to having babies. Wow.

Anyway, thought I'd give you an update on Kyna. You know, just in case you missed me. ;)

Sexual Innuendo Magnetic Poetry Monday

2012-01-23T10:31:00.002-05:00

Warning: Serious Kyna Ahead

2012-01-20T11:46:00.008-05:00

Went to a funeral last night for the first time in 10 years. Last one was my dad's in 2002.

A girl named Hannah that had been working with us at Barnes & Noble (usually I don't say the name of where I work, but since most every other bookstore is gone I might as well, right?) for the last few months died in a car wreck last Friday.

She was riding in the car with her boyrfriend late that night and they turned around at a really bad spot in the road (car accidents happen at this particular intersection all the time) and the passenger side where she was located got plowed by another car. Her boyfriend lived and she died at the hospital she was taken to.

Extremely sad. The girl was only 21 years old.

Last Saturday, Chuck and I and a bunch of B&Ners went to a concert out in Atlantic Beach (I mentioned it a couple of posts ago).

While Chuckles and I were driving, there was a lull in conversation. I was silently looking out the window at the darkness, watching the beach houses go by. For no particular reason, I started wondering what would happen if one of us at B&N died. What if I died, actually.

Would the company send flowers? Would they close the store for the day? Would my co-workers show up for my funeral?

Yeah. Exactly. Why the fuck would I be thinking this? We were driving up to see a fun concert and hang out with friends. I guess it's just one of those uncontrollable things that brains do when they're bored.

Anyway, we get up to Atlantic Beach, and Chuckles and I stop to get a couple of subs to eat before the show.

I had to pee, and while I was in the bathroom my phone went off with a text alert in my bag hanging on the back of the stall door. The venue for the concert was in the same parking lot as the sub place, so I thought maybe one of my friends saw us drive in and wondered where the hell we were.

It was a text saying Hannah had been in a car accident the night before and had died.

Talk about a punch in the fucking gut.

I came out of the bathroom in total shock. I had just been thinking about the death thing on the way up there, and then I get this text?

Yeah, I know. Coincedence. Synchronicity. Or maybe I just felt something. I don't know. It all gets chalked up to 'freaky'.

I'm not going to pretend Hannah and I were best buds or anything. She hadn't worked at B&N for very long. If it had been one of the people I'd known there since the beginning, you'd be scraping me off the floor with a spatula right now. I'd be completely non-functional.

But Hannah was a sweet and lovely girl, and only 21...there one minute, and gone the next.

Do you know how relieved I am that I was nice to her the last time I saw her?

Last Wednesday (the night before my vacation started) she was my person for customer service and I was the manager for the evening.

Hannah had been having a very bad day and was not herself. Normally the girl was like sunshine personified...like a happy puppy (and I'm not saying this just because she's dead, she really was one of the most positive people I've ever met) but she was just so sad that night.

She asked me around 7:30 if I wouldn't mind her going home. Since it was pin-drop quiet (I normally would use the term 'dead', but in this case that's inappropriate) in the store that evening, I said sure and that I hoped she had a better night. And she died the day after that.

I'm so glad I didn't make her feel bad about asking me to leave or anything like that. Not that I'm a fucking doucheface all the time or anything, but at work sometimes we can all get under each other's skin and say things to each other that we don't mean when we irritate each other. I'm glad this wasn't one of those times, because I would've felt like an asshole forever.

B&N is my family. We all love each other like family. We get on each other's nerves like family. We fight with each other like family. We spend more time with each other than we do with our 'real' families.

Last night, pretty much everyone that didn't have to work (the store did indeed stay open through the funeral...I think maybe if she had worked there longer, there may have been other arrangements made) went to the service. B&Ners took up two whole rows of seating. I was proud of us.

There was an amazing amount of people there to pay their respects. We stood in line for about 30-40 minutes to file past the open casket to the seating area.

Poor Hannah did not look like herself. I know it's a cliché thing that people say when viewing a dead body, but she just didn't. The effects from the accident were very apparent.

I didn't think it would affect me that badly to see her. My heart started beating really fast. My knees and hands started getting all shaky and I started tearing up. She was just so fucking young.

And they were playing what I assume were some of her favourite songs while we were waiting for the rest of the people to file in. The girl loved classic rock, and apparently she had a huge vinyl record collection. We remarked to each other that a few of us would have to alter our iPod playlists. I can never listen to 'Break On Through' by The Doors or The Beatles' 'Yellow Submarine' again without thinking of Hannah lying there in that casket.

It's amazing how much you learn about a person at their funeral. Oh, I know it's all the good things about a person and never the bad, but that's ok. I think all of us deserve a time to have wonderful things said about us, that everyone can hear.

I don't think any of us at work knew just how talented she was. She loved music and art. They had quite a few pieces of it on display. She was very mischievous and fun-loving and what Southern people like to call 'wide open'.

Even though I wasn't close with her, I lost it twice. The first time was when they played 'Come Sail Away' by Styx in between eulogies. Jesus, I don't know why that one got me, but it did.

And the second time was while they were describing what kind of person she was. Independent, different, spirited, living life to the fullest, was always trying to make people happy...I felt like I could be sitting at my fucking funeral. That's what I imagine people might say about me. That took away the rest of my mascara...

We all had to hug it out in the parking lot afterwards.

I came home with no makeup and a headache. There's nothing like facing down your own mortality to give you a good one.

The day before the funeral, I also got a text saying that a good co-worker friend's sister had died on the way to the doctor that morning. Two death texts in one week. Jesus. I'm afraid to open my phone now.

Some good news though. The dude that was in the band that we went to see? Bennie? He became a father that very same day.

Two lives end and another one begins.

Yes, by all means, cue up 'The Circle of Life'...

I'm going to really need a new damn dress though. I wore the same dress to two weddings and a funeral in the past 6 months.

Two more weddings, and I'd have a Hugh Grant movie.

Anyway, I just had to get that all out. Writing really clears my head.

I know I'm not normally this serious, and I don't like bringing my readers down. But y'all are also my friends, so I figure you wouldn't mind a non-happy, nearly pictureless post once in awhile.

Sexual Innuendo Magnetic Poetry Monday

2012-01-16T13:06:00.000-05:00

Take Me To Your Leader. Oh Yeah, Right. It's Me.

2012-01-14T13:23:00.008-05:00

I've just created a Twitter account (yes, IG, I know. I know. You don't even have to say it.)

I now have a Twitter account (edit:@FreakyKyna, in case you're interested), a Facebook page, I'm running two blogs, I'm juggling a questionably massive Cumberobsession, and multiple people have roped me into playing Words with Friends on my Nook.

I have so many windows open on my computer and have my hands on so many mobile devices at the same time, that I feel like I'm at the helm of Mission Control at NASA.

Or as my friend Nick put it, "...like that god on The Simpsons who's deep underground working a load of computers... That exists doesn't it? I feel like it does. I hope I'm not imagining it..."

I feel like I've taken over the world.

True story, I actually shouldn't have even been born you know. After my older brother Kurt was born, my mum got herself fixed. And it didn't take.

And here I am! *waves*

So you see, I'm destined for greatness. Call it delusions of grandeur if you will. Haters gonna hate.

It's either take over the world from my desk chair, or my head explodes from having my hands in too many cookie jars. ('Cause 'cookie' works in tech puns, dontcha know?)

I'm putting my money on 'take over the world'.

I'd be an awesome world leader. Epic.

~You'd get to see my gorgeous face plastered all over town squares all over the world on giant propaganda banners. My glorious visage will warm the hearts (and the trousers) of all my countrymen. (I don't know if my countrywomen will be happy about it, but tough titty. I'll win them over by giving them all their own private diamond mines and chocolate factories. Just call me Wilhemena Wonka.)

~My worldwide televised addresses to the public would be entertaining, never boring. People will mark the dates on their calendars to watch me do impressions of Sean Connery or Christopher Walken every week. And to occasionally bestow such leaderly wisdom as 'Be excellent to each other.'

~There would be no war. How can anyone blow other people up whilst they're busy laughing so hard at the banter of their witty, visually stunning leader? They can't, it's impossible. My shining charisma saves lives, it doesn't end them. The only acceptable bombs in MY world will be F-bombs.

~My first order of business would be establishing bizarre paid global holidays. Finally, we'd all be properly compensated for 'Sit on Your Porch and Have a Beer Day' or 'Talk Like a Pirate Day'. (Arrrrrrrrrr! Cha-ching!)

~I haven't quite figured out how to eradicate famine as of yet, but I'm fucking brilliant so I'm sure I'll think of something.

Let us pray to the BlogGods for guidance.

Where Can I Find a Free Baby on Short Notice?

2012-01-12T10:40:00.003-05:00

First day of a twelve day vacation.

Woo-hoo!

I don't know what to do first!

Ok, naked cartwheels, but what about after that??

Twelve whole, wonderful, sweet days off. Twelve days that I know will go all too quickly.

January might seem an odd time for anyone to go on vacation, but for me it's the most wonderful time of the year.

I started working for my company 4 years ago in February, and I have to take my vacation time before the end of January every year. The company is actually very generous with sick time, vacation and personal days allowed, but they don't roll over into the new year worked if you miss them.

I used some for my 30th birthday extravaganza last year, but still had quite a bit left over.

Also, almost two weeks off after the Christmas rush is over? My shattered feet are singing my praises right now.

If you put your ear to my heels, you can hear tiny hallelujahs. Like shells at the beach. But weirder.

(PS: Never type 'sore feet' into Google images, you'll get 'feet with sores'. Bleurgh.)

The other nice thing about my vacation is that Chuckles is finally back to work.

Sounds mean, but it isn't. Ok, maybe a little. He was involuntarily off for two and a half weeks until a couple of days ago. It always seems to be tough for drywallers around Christmas (Chuckles and I have had 8 Christmases together), no one is building much of anything for a few weeks.

But some houses are finally ready for Sheetrock. Finally. Thank the sweet baby Jesus in the manger.

I swear, Chuckles is never allowed to retire. He was so depressed by not working, it was driving us both batshit.

He was bored, angry, bored, worried about money, and bored. I had to call him Chuck for two weeks instead of Chuckles, because it just wasn't fitting.

But he's back to work now, conveniently on a house being built just down our street. He should be popping back home for lunch any minute now.

And of course, in Kyna-fashion, I'm starting off my vacation sick. I made it through the whole Christmas season at work without getting ill, and now it's finally happened. But at least I don't have to drag my sorry, sick arse into work.

So what to do first???

I think I'm going to allow a day of sitting-on-my-ass-doing-nothing time. Drink some orange juice. Blow my nose. You know. Sexy stuff.

Then maybe...

~Take down Christmas decorations
~Do some writing
~Clean the house
~Do Sherlocky things (The second season finale is next Sunday, and they'd better not kill him off. I'll be PISSED.)
~Go out for a night of live music...a co-worker of mine plays in a band called Valient Thorr (he's the beardless one in this picture) and they're playing at another co-worker's fundraising event this Saturday. They're actually sort of famous in Metal circles...I've heard a few people ask Bennie for his autograph while he's at work in the bookstore...very hilarious. I like to give him shit about it.

-Cook some real meals. Awesome meals. Chuckles bought me an enameled cast-iron dutch oven for Christmas, and I'd like to make a nice gumbo in it.
-Clean out my garden
-Have some more sit-on-my-ass-and-do-nothing days. Just because I can.

Oh, and I should probably make room for exercising.

Last night, the newsstand delivery guy at work asked me when I was 'due'.

I said, 'Nope. Not pregnant. Just fat.' I think he felt bad, but maybe it's for the best. Men need to learn that they shouldn't congratulate women on their pregnancies unless the woman mentions first that she is currently pregnant, or unless they are watching a baby's head pop out of a woman's vagina.

I envy girls that gain weight in their asses instead of their stomachular areas. Not only is there a male fanclub for that sort of thing, but no one's assfat has ever been mistaken for a pregnant ass.

I joke, but it really hurt. It's not the first time in my life that it's happened, and every time it does, it takes me by surprise. And makes me cry a little. Just a little. I mean, there's just something in my eye, give me a minute...

So, guess who's gonna be scheduling time for the ol' exercise bike?

But not today. I've plan on doing a lot of nothing. If anyone congratulates me on my pregnancy before I start exercising, I'll tell them it's Benedict Cumberbatch's baby. Then I'll end up on the news. And then I'll be infamous. And then when the time comes to produce a Cumberbatchling, I'll have to steal a baby.

So you see? There will be plenty of work for me to do later.

For now?

Whole. Lotta. Fucking. Nothin'.

Sexual Innuendo Magnetic Poetry Monday

2012-01-09T04:00:00.002-05:00

No Sheet, Sherlock

2012-01-03T09:46:00.007-05:00

Someone got her grubby little North American hands on the new episode of BBC's 'Sherlock' that aired in England on Sunday.

If I wasn't obsessed before...

Well, I was of course. But now it's progressed into a full on '12-step program' type of problem.

If you haven't listened to me and watched 'Sherlock' yet, what the hell are you doing sitting here reading this blog post??

Fucking brilliant. This season's started off even better than the last.

Irene Adler is introduced, and she's a trip in this version.

Takes 'crafty bitch' to a whole new level.

Crafty naked bitch.

I've said it before, but it has to be said again. The writers on this program are genius. It's ridiculous.

They even found a clever way to get Sherlock into a deerstalker cap for a second.

Oh, and as you can guess from the title, I got to see a nearly-naked Cumberbatch. I can die happy.

Phwoar x 1000000000.

GO. WATCH IT.

NOW.

Edit: I decided to start my own Tumblr blog to feed my Ben-addiction. Please visit Cumberbitch Sandwich if you suffer from the same glorious affliction.

Last Time I Checked, I Was An Ordinary, Bipedal Hominid

2011-12-29T10:18:00.010-05:00

Seriously, why are people such douchefaces? Why??

I know that all of us have the innate potential for asshattery, but for most of us it's not a constant modus operandi.

Retail workers are human. HUMAN.

We make mistakes. But thank God we're not surgeons, so you won't die from them.

We don't know everything. We're flattered that you think we do, but we don't. I lost my crystal ball a few years back and my clairvoyance has never recovered.

We don't have a direct line to the President of the company. We don't play golf with him every week. He doesn't invite us over for Christmas dinners. We are his minions. That is all. And we're good with that.

We don't keep a huge supply of just what you need up our asses, and then lie about it just to piss you off. Trust me. If we could immediately procure what you need from the shelves of our rectal receiving rooms, you'd hear the thumping sound of thousands of pairs of work pants hitting the floor across the world. Just to make you happy so you'll stop yelling at us.

We don't get off on being abused. We don't walk around with ball gags and nipple clamps in our pockets (well....some of us might, but we don't talk about it in mixed company). No thank you Sir, I don't want another.

We have feelings. We have families. We cry, we laugh, we bleed, we sleep. We don't live in the store, so please, when it's closing time we'd like you to leave so that we can clean up and go home to visit with said family members.

We're not robots. We don't plug ourselves into the wall at night to recharge for the next day.

I think customers forget these things in their crazed lust-frenzies to obtain more 'stuff'.

Do me a favour, my friends, the next time you see a poor retail worker being verbally sodomized without lube, step in and let the abuser know that they misread the 'for hire' sign on the door.

'Asshats Need Not Apply'.

Christmas is dead! Long live douchebaggery!

I Did it All For the Nook

2011-12-25T14:56:00.005-05:00

Wow, that's an attractive thumbnail shot. Yikes.

Anyway, Merry Christmas, bitches! :D

Ps: Apparently I wear the same blue shirt in every photo and video I've ever been in.

You Can Cumber My Batch Anytime, Benedict

2011-12-21T14:19:00.007-05:00

Dear Mr. Cumberbatch,

I really would appreciate it if you'd take a small vacation from my head.

Just a small break will do. You must allow me some time to do other things.

Yes, yes, I know you want me to get straight into bed with you so that you can ravish me, no need to point.

But I have to get some housecleaning done. I can't concentrate on my work.

I've missed entire meals because you'll just happen to pop up in my YouTube playlist and then I'll sit there for hours listening to you read fairy tales with that delicious voice of yours.

Your accent goes straight to my vagina.

I spent the afternoon in the hospital because my ovaries exploded.

And I will never be able to hear 'Little Red Hen' again without it eliciting a sexual response. But I forgive you.

I'm starting to lose friends because I can't talk about anything else.

Damn you and your awesome hair and awesome voice and awesome suit and awesome pink socks.

And the Purple Shirt of Sex. Ohhhhhhhhh the Purple Shirt of Sex!

Non-believers know not the mighty power of the PSoS. Able to incinerate panties around the world in a single leap.

When you reply, please be kind enough to enclose reparation payments for all the underwear of mine that you've burnt to a crisp. I can't afford to buy any more.

And I see from the trailers of next season's 'Sherlock' that you once again wear the PSoS. You might as well send me the money for that now. I may have to stop wearing underwear altogether.

And did I mention the mental anguish I've been given from my husband? I think that he may be jealous of your phwoarness.

He says your eyes are too far apart and asks why I would want to be in love with someone that I'd have to stand on a chair to make out with? He just doesn't understand the dedication of a Cumberbitch.

All I'm asking for is time.

Time to meet with friends, spend time with husband, and to sleep and to eat and to remember to breathe and stuff.

But not too much time. I don't think I could handle it for too long.

Ok, I changed my mind.

Already.

Forget what I said. I was in shock.

You're allowed to take up as much room in my head as you'd like. Stay as long as you like.

But make sure you're wearing the Purple Shirt of Sex.

Or a bedsheet is fine. It's all fine.

Love and kisses and squees and I'd like to climb you like a tree,

~Kyna

Ok. I just had to get that out.

Here's a fun fact: I discovered today that if you search the term 'Cumberbitch' on Google Images, about halfway down there are pictures of Chuckles, most awesomely the one of him wearing the tiara.

Cumberbitches everywhere are going to see the pictures, fall out of love with Benedict, and start drooling after my husband.

Wonder what his fangirls will be called?

Chuckfuckers?

Edit: I decided to start a Tumblr blog to feed my Ben-addiction. Please visit Cumberbitch Sandwich if you suffer from the same glorious affliction.

Bored on a Saturday

2011-12-20T10:53:00.000-05:00

When one is combatting boredom due to lack of internet, one turns to the delights of filming themselves repeatedly.

I picked the video where I talk about something lame, rather than the one I made of myself dancing naked to "Thriller".

You're welcome.

Shameless Plug

2011-12-19T21:01:00.000-05:00

Crunch Time

2011-12-14T11:09:00.006-05:00

And by crunch time, I don't mean that Christmas is in 10 days and it's time to optimize my bookselling prowess.

I mean 'crunch' as in the sound of my fist connecting with someone's maxillofacial area.

ONE more person asks me why we don't have a book in the store, right now, on a subject like...?

~Kilt-making
~Mule training
~Celtic knot puzzle solving
~Blacksmithing
~Manny Pacquiao

...etc, etc, etc.

ONE more person tells me I ruined their Christmas for x reason?

ONE more person says, "Yes, I know you have 5, 576 bibles in the store, but I don't want any of those, it has to be this one."

It's bang, zoom, to the moon Alice!

POW, right in the kisser!

Yesterday a dude came and and asked, "Where are your Elf on the Shelfs?"

I stifled the urge to say, "You mean Elves on the Shelf?" and smiled and told him instead, "I'm sorry sir, we're out. But I can see if there are any available to order."

"Oat?" he said.

"Yes, we're out," I replied, highly aware of the fact he was making fun of my accent. Because I'm not an idiot.

"Oat?" he asked again.

"Yes. And I'm Canadian, I can't help the way I say 'out'. Do you want me to order that Elf for you?"

I was so pissed off. I've never wanted to jersey someone so badly.

There are some good customer stories. One woman came in last week, frantically looking for a 'How to Draw Dinosaurs' book for kids.

"It's all little Timmy wants for Christmas! I hope you have one!" she exclaimed.

I took her into the children's department and handed her a book on drawing dinosaurs. "Oh! OH! You saved my life!" she cried. "I love you! You've made my day! Little Timmy will love this! I would have been SO dead if I hadn't found this! Thank you!!!!"

That made me laugh. "Well," I said, "it's not very often that a bookseller gets to say she saves lives for a living."

But that's how it goes.

People will tell me that I'm the most amazing customer service rep they've met in a long time. People will tell me that I'm stupid and ruined Christmas AND their wife's birthday.

All on one week (last week, in fact). Sometimes in one day.

This year I'm not feeling too Christmassy. Even with the job I have, I usually like it anyway. I enjoy giving gifts and sending cards and decorating and all that.

But I'm so tired of it all. The only thing I enjoy this Christmas is reading by the lights of the tree. I come home, pour a glass of wine, and settle down next to the lit tree with a good book.

Right now I'm in the middle of reading 'The Complete Sherlock Holmes'. All part of the current obsession.

I posted some of the things on my bucket list a little while back, and I mentioned that I wanted to read some immense classic just to say I did.

Well, I'm glad I picked this one (even though they count as several stories and not just one massive one, but who gives a shit about the details) and I'm kicking myself that I haven't read all of them sooner.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (from now on I'm referring to him as The Notorious A.C.D.) was a fucking literary genius. Master of the first line hook. Master of quick, witty dialogue. You can't help but get pulled in, it's ridiculous.

Anyway, I read. I've also been inspired to write again (and not just in the ol' blog, I actually fancy myself a 'real' writer at times). I work. I rest.

No time for Christmas, my plate is full.

Besides, it never feels like it's Christmas here in NC. The temps are still awesome enough to go for picnics and sit on the back porch playing cards. People are still wearing flip flops and shorts (silly people, but they're doing it nonetheless).

10 more days.

10. More. Days. To not punch people in the face.

Some Kind of Wonderful

2011-12-12T09:13:00.003-05:00

Chuck and I have been together for seven years today.

Us then:

Us now:

We're a little older and a little wider, erm, I mean wiser. But we're still happy.

Chuckles and I are awesome together for a lot of reasons.

1) We like to go on adventures. I've been places with him that this Canadian never thought she would ever get to go to.

Standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C.

Chuck on the back steps of Thomas Jefferson's 'Monticello' in Virginia

Spelunking (oh, how I love that word) in Mammoth Cave, Kentucky.

2) Chuckles loves me even though I'm a complete weirdo. He lets me be exactly who I am. I can burst out into song and dance in the middle of the grocery store and he doesn't bat an eyelash. I swear like a sailor. I'm loud and opinionated. He accepts everything and loves me more for it.

3) I admire Chuckles because he doesn't give a shit about what people think of him. He does crazy things because he knows it will make me laugh. He lets me post pictures of him doing silly things all over the internet. I love hearing other people say, "I love Chuck." It's awesome to have a husband that everybody likes, instead of the other way around.

4) We both like the 'little things' in life.

Hanging out with good friends....

The same music...

Going for picnics in the park...

Visiting museums....

Enjoying sunsets from our back porch...

Finding a cool place to enjoy the outdoors and take a picture...

Or even going on a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, impromptu canoe trip.

5) Chuckles loves me for what I strongly believe in...

....And I love Chuckles for what he strongly believes in (*cough*even though the Browns always lose*cough*).

There's no one that I'd rather be with more. Even though both of us aren't easy to live with. I challenge him, he challenges me. We're both challenged. (hehe)

I've been with him through lung cancer. And his oldest daughter's wedding. I don't know which was more stressful!

I think the wedding.

Happy 7 years, Chuckles. Can't believe it's been that long already.

*mwah*

Dirty French Friday

2011-12-09T10:19:00.000-05:00

Kyna parle sans arrêt. Quelle mitrailleuse, cella-là!

Kyna talks nonstop. What a friggin' blabbermouth!

Like a Bear on Skates

2011-12-06T10:58:00.009-05:00

I'm a really messy person.

When I lived by myself, I was kind of a pig. I'd go through every dish I had before I'd wash them. Sometimes it took 3 weeks to go through every dish I had.

I'd end up eating cold cereal out of a saucepot with a fork. That type of thing.

It was the same with laundry. Cleaning the bathroom. Whatever. My mum was always horrified when she came to visit.

I was pretty much a bachelor with tits.

Then I met Chuck. Total fucking neat freak. When I first came down here to visit, every time I put a glass in the sink, he'd pick it up behind me and wash it. I thought he was just being nice.

The longer I spent with him, I saw that it was because he couldn't stand to be in the same house as an unwashed glass in the sink.

You could practically hear the whistle-music from 'The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly'. It'd be a showdown between him and the dirty glass.

Chuck was always quicker on the draw. The glass had no chance.

I asked Chuck if being in the military had made him a neat person, and he said that he'd just always been that way.

The one time he came up to visit me in Canada, I had my place spotless. I took out four garbage bags full of trash the day before his arrival, so he wouldn't see what an oinker I was.

When I unexpectedly stayed in the US and moved in with him after his cancer surgery, I'm sure we drove each other batshit.

In fact, I know we did.

I wasn't working at the time, and my little messes here and there (sounds like I was pooping on the carpet or something, but I promise I'm not that much of a pig) would piss him off. His neatness would piss me off. His lack of a lung pissed us both off. It was fun times.

Don't smoke, boys. You'll end up losing a lung and gaining a messy-ass Canadian wife.

I was actually unable to work for about two years before I got my green card, as that would have been highly illegal.

In that time, I tried really, really, really hard to become a neat person. Chuckles never 'expected' me to clean the house, do the laundry, make him dinner, etc. He knew better than that. I'd had 'the talk' with him when we first met about how I wasn't ever going to be a 'traditional' wife. Expecting me to be the housemaid wouldn't fly, no matter what his previous live-in significant others had been like.

I said that while I wasn't working I would do all these things because I had nothing better to do, but once I was able to have a job, we would be sharing the housework, the cooking, the laundry, etc. I wasn't going to be working full time and doing all the cleaning. Fuck THAT shit.

During this period, something weird happened. I did naturally become a little neater.

I found that indeed, cleaning dishes as you go is a hell of a lot less work than cleaning them after you've used them all and left them sitting for three weeks. And your cereal won't taste like metal. And that peeing in a toilet that you've scrubbed more often than Halley's Comet comes around is quite nice, actually.

I still found a way to be 'me' of course. Stickin' it to the MAN. The man being Chuckles.

I made a deal with him that stated if the rest of the house was clean, I would still be able to have a complete mess in two places and that he couldn't complain about it. Next to my side of the bed and in my closet. No. Complaints.

The current state of my closet...I think there may be a few gay dudes hiding under that mess. And maybe even Jimmy Hoffa.

Chuck agreed, and actually kept his promise to not complain about it. Mostly. (The windows in our bedroom are on my side of the bed, and if he ever has to come around and close them, he'll mention how he has to wade through a pile of dirty clothes to do it.)

Eventually I landed my current bookstore job, and we started sharing the housework more equally. Even though we'd had 'the talk', I think it was hard for Chuck to get used to me not cleaning everything all the time. Of course, he had a full-time job too, and didn't feel like cleaning either.

Do you know what happened? He got a little messy.

He discovered that the dirty glass could wait until the morning to be washed and the house wouldn't collapse around us. We could go to work without making the bed and the Bed Police wouldn't bitchslap us.

I got neater, he got messier. It's interesting what marriage does to you.

Have you ever heard a messy person say, "But I know where everything is! If I clean it up, I won't be able to find anything."

Drives neat people bugfuck. But it's true!

That's because many people who are messy on the outside are really organized in their heads.

My brain is neat as a pin.

Ok, we all know there's a multitude of shirtless hot guys hanging around in there, but on the whole it's a very organized place.

Even though I have a busy life, I never carry a planner. If I need any extra help remembering very important things because my head is too full of shirtless hot guys (who may or may not be kissing each other), I write them down on the back of my hand or put up Post-It notes.

This blog has really helped to clear my brain out every week. Whenever I feel like my head is getting messy, I throw everything out into a blog post and I feel better. For you tree-huggin' hippies, you could call it 'thought recycling'.

One thing about having a tidy mind is not dealing with change well. Big changes, small changes. I've never dealt well with them.

My mum kept a baby journal about me for awhile, and she wrote something like 'does not accept change well' in there. Apparently I also bounced around when Michael Jackson came on the radio and was allergic to cow's milk, but I digress.

I barely ever change anything on this blog. The colours are mostly the same as when I started it almost two years ago. So is the format. So was the header picture until yesterday.

I've been trying to train myself to accept change, just like I trained myself into keeping a cleaner house. I feel like a Russian circus bear most of the time, but you know.

Or maybe you don't.

I forced myself to change the header picture. That's the one place where I will always use a photo that I took myself and didn't lift off the internet. I'm going to change that and my sidebar pictures more often.

So far I like the change. I'd really like to change my blog colours, but I discovered I'd have to change the whole layout to ditch the green background. (Have I said 'change' enough times??) But I like the layout. And I'm not talented enough to make a fancy one that I'd really like.

Dammit! *clutches head*....baby steps Kyna, baby steps...

I always think that if I change anything on my blog, people won't like it and stop reading or something. But I tell myself that it won't happen just because I change the header picture.

Who doesn't want a giant Rodin vagina staring them in the face when they click my link? People who are not my kind of friends, that's who.

I'd love to change my blog title, because it seems like a big lie now. But that one really scares me.

It's like cutting all your hair off and dyeing it pink. It's a big change and not something you can reverse easily. And your friends all think you've lost your mind.

Maybe I could hold a contest. Anyone have some good title suggestions for me?

Cumberbitch Sandwich

2011-12-03T17:14:00.007-05:00

When I'm not posting as often as I should, you can bet that I'm either working or immersed in one of my many (not too creepy) obsessions.

This past couple of weeks, it's been both. Work has been crazy, with Christmas coming up.

I've found also found a fabulous new obsession that's taken up all my free time outside of work.

Most of my obsessions have to do with music or books, rarely TV. And rarely am I inspired to write about my TV obsessions, because I think most people won't give a shit and why bother.

The last time I posted about a TV obsession was in Crazy, Sexy, Funny, where I wrote about 'Black Books', an eccentric Britcom about a small bookshop owner named Bernard Black, who drank too much, smoked to much, and insulted pretty much everyone he met.

This time, my TV obsession is all about 'Sherlock', the 2010 modern adaptation of the classic Holmes literature.

The show stars Benedict Cumberbatch (how fucking awesome is that dude's name?) as Sherlock Holmes and Martin Freeman (the star hobbit in the upcoming 'The Hobbit') as Dr. John Watson. The first season is comprised of three 2 hour episodes.

My friend Kristyn lent it to me around a month or two ago (can't remember exactly, time gets blurry for me sometimes). I kind of kept forgetting about it...

The other day I vowed I would spend my day off watching them. I feel bad when I don't return something I was lent in a timely fashion.

What. A. Fucking. Idiot. I. Am.

For putting off watching them, that is.

When Kristyn lent them to me, I didn't realize they were a modern adaptation. I love Sherlock Holmes, the movies (plural, because the new one is coming out imminently) with Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law are super awesome (anything with Robert Downey Jr. in it is super awesome, I glad he finally got off the hard drugs) as are the original classic stories.

I didn't think this could compare to my love of the movies. Most people who are into Sherlock Holmes love the 80's series with Jeremy Brett. I wasn't as into those, because Sherlock has always been kind of hot in my head (well, my idea of 'hot' anyway) and Brett was never my cup of tea. I'm so shallow.

Anyway, I popped the first disc of 'Sherlock' in, and settled on the couch with a glass of wine. After the first 3 minutes I thought, "Hrm. I don't think I'm going to like this..."

Not knowing it was a modern adaptation, I was a little confused and apprehensive. I may have even yawned.

After the first 10 minutes?

This is 7 minutes later, mind...

I paused the DVD to run to my computer and send Kristyn a Facebook message telling her how fucking amazing and awesome and fabulous 'Sherlock' was and how I may need to make out with her for turning me onto the series and lending me her copy for so long. (Ok, I didn't really tell her I wanted to make out with her, but I was thinking it, and the offer still stands Kristyn! I'll even let you feel me up! Feel free to honk a boob!)

The casting in the show is brilliant. Amazing chemistry between all of the actors. And somehow even though 'Sherlock' is set in modern London, it just fits. It's done by the same people that write 'Doctor Who'.

Cumberbatch and Freeman capture the essence of what make Holmes and Watson interesting characters, whilst infusing things like texting and GPS into the narrative without seeming farfetched.

After I watched them, I immediately wanted to watch them again. In fact, there is a British TV sale starting next week at our store, just in time for me to buy my very own copy and coerce Chuckles to watch it with me.

He's been kind of grumbly about it, "Well, it can't be as good as Robert Downey Jr's Sherlock, can it?"

Well, my answer was that it's just as awesome, just a different sort of awesome.

I love the show for the intelligent, witty dialogue and the fantastic acting.

But I won't lie when I say I want to be the meat in a Holmes-Watson sandwich.

*PHWOAR*

I highly, highly recommend catching this series however you can. The second series starts airing on PBS in May 2012. I heart British television.

Watch. It.

Cumberbatch.

(I had to say 'Cumberbatch' again for no reason, it's too awesome not to.)

Edit: Decided to start a Tumblr blog to feed my Ben-addiction... visit Cumberbitch Sandwich if you have the same glorious affliction.

I Like Big Ducks and I Cannot Lie

2011-11-28T12:01:00.001-05:00

Ok, they're geese. But 'ducks' made a funnier title.

(Make sure you watch on a computer with sound or you won't get the joke.)

Getting into the Swing of Things

2011-11-27T10:20:00.001-05:00

As you may have been disappointed to note this week, there was no installment of Dirty French Friday.

What even could have taken place to have kept me from delighting the masses with my dodgy French?

Oh yeah. That.

The Christmas shopping season has had its official kick-off.

If you've been following my blog for any decent length of time, you'll know what I was not absent from writing this past week because I was a participant in the shopping delights of Black Friday.

I was on the stressed-out, frantic, retail-worker end of things.

The upcoming month is more like I'm an extra in Groundhog Day, where I wake up and every day is Black Friday. I'm even sick this week, just like last year. I don't even know why I'm writing a new post about it. I might as well have just reposted this entry from 2010.

At my place of employment, every single one of us is required to work Black Friday. And you know what? Aside from being extremely busy and wishing I could clone myself between 12 and 3 pm that day, it wasn't too bad.

Oh, it was busy as shit, but customers seemed a little happier this year. Maybe because they had a bit more money to spend? I was just reading an article on the increase in Black Friday spending over last year. My store certainly saw the increase, we were pretty tickled.

The worst encounter I had this past week (and not even on BF) was when a woman yelled 'This is some bullshit!' in my face and then stalked away because we didn't have the hot new toy for the season in stock.

The LeapPad Tablet.

That kid is smiling because his mom didn't have to swear at a poor, harried bookstore employee to get this toy for her son.

Apparently these things are almost impossible to get right now. A kid has to have a tablet just like his mom and dad's!

Whatever happened to getting dolls and bicycles for Christmas? I'm so old.

Remember when Cabbage Patch Dolls were the big toy for Christmas? This had to be 1984/85-ish. I bet my mum had to arm wrestle another mum for these ones. And here I am in my favourite outfit of choice: An Edmonton Oilers jersey, underwear and odd socks. I look like I just ate a lemon.

Christmas concert at St. Theresa School, circa 1987. I was the angel with short dark hair in the top left of the frame. The last time I could don a halo with any sort of authenticity.

Yep. I'm old. The only thing that gives me comfort, is that Chuckles was in his mid 20's at that time. Which makes him really old and kind of a pervy cradle-robber.

Other than the swearing in my face over the LeapfuckingPad, people have been pretty nice. They don't get really pissy until the last weekend before Christmas.

The weekend where they realize that they've left all their shopping till the last minute, and they realize that we're not able to order anything for them in time for Christmas, and "What do you mean you don't have a book on mule training on the shelf?? What kind of second-rate establishment is this??" happens.

They'll start grabbing anything off the shelves at that point.

"Hmm...what to get Grandma? Oh, look! There's one copy of 'Tickle His Pickle' left! That way I don't have to get Grandpa a gift ! Two birds with one stone and all that..."

Now that you're all picturing your grandparents playing hide the trouser snake, I must go. I don't have another day off for a few days, and I have a lot of relaxing to get accomplished before it's time to go to sleep and wake up for another day of retail fun.

As far as my personal Christmas shopping goes, I think this is the plan for the season. I'm sure my husband will go along with it.

Thanksgiving, American-Style

2011-11-24T08:18:00.000-05:00

Chuckles gets to wrestle the turkey this time. I'm the Mashed Potato Bitch.

Suddenly I'm Popular?

2011-11-20T18:46:00.000-05:00

My blog stats blew the hell up today for this post.

I wonder why?

I had to go and check to see if Paul Hogan died or something.

Weird.

Dirty French Friday

2011-11-18T04:00:00.001-05:00

Je donnerais ma vie pour un hot-dog.

I'd give my own life for a hot dog.

I'll Take 'The Penis Mightier' For $100, Alex

2011-11-16T13:31:00.012-05:00

Attending university was one of the best things I've ever gotten to do. If I could pick any time in my life to experience again, that four years would be it.

As I grew up, there was no question that I would end up going to university (in the States, people tend to say 'college', but where I'm from, most people say 'university').

Edmonton is a university city, with a beautiful (to me) sprawling campus at its heart.

The University of Alberta. In case you're wondering what that bright yellow building is, it's affectionately called the Butterdome, and is a sporting facility

The UofA is not an old school, it recently passed its 100th birthday, but it is a well-respected Canadian university.

When I was little, I remember driving by it in the car with my mum, and asking 'Is that where I'm going to go?' and she'd smile and say 'Yes, someday.'

When I finally got there, I fell in love with the place, as I always thought I would.

I loved the buildings. HUB Mall was one of my favourites.

Do you see all those multi-coloured cupboard-door thingies up high, looking out onto the floor of the mall? Those are student residences. The floor of the mall had restaurants, a laundromat, a bookstore, an art gallery, etc. The ceiling was all glass, as you can see.

My favourite thing about the building was how long and skinny it was. My parking garage was located at one end of it, and most of my classes were located in buildings at the other end of it. I could warm up for 10 minutes and not freeze my ass off whilst getting to class in the dead of an Albertan winter.

I loved the people. A lot of my friends were at the UofA, but there were thousands of other new people to meet. Some were local, some from across the world. All walks of life. All studying different things, with lofty dreams.

I enrolled in the Bachelor of Arts program. I didn't know what program I'd eventually end up in, but it was a good place to start.

I would hear people scoff when I told them this, and it would make me angry.

"Arts? Oh, so you want to be unemployed! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

Fuckers.

The reason I liked the Arts so much is that you can get a more open education. English, Math, Science, Social Studies, History, and so much more.

Sure, I could have enrolled in a Science degree program and made out with petri dishes and equations all day, but that just wasn't for me. I wanted a little of that to go along with a plethora of other little things.

I eventually settled on an Anthropology major and a Sociology minor.

What better program for a people-watcher to be in than that one?

And it's funny, because I talked shit about science, and then ended up going for a degree focused in Physical and Forensic Anthropology. Which is pretty much all science.

I loved Sociology too. I could have easily made that my major instead if it wasnt for my love of Human Osteology. I was a bone-fondlin' motherfucker.

Oops...handled that one a little too hard...

Sociology was awesome though.

The most enjoyable Sociology class that I took was Sociology of Media. It took place in an airy, stadium-style university extension building, with a huge projection screen in it.

My professor had a sexy Tina Fey-esque vibe going on, and she had studied pornography as the subject of her PhD thesis.

Every male student's fantasy, right?

Mine too!

Anyway, one week she said that as part of the course, we would be studying pornography and its effect on society and she would play a porn clip on the big screen.

She said she was only allowed to do this if we all gave consent. Anyone who was morally opposed to being shown porn in class could abstain from the lecture with no academic consequences.

She asked for anyone opposed to give a show of hands.

Of COURSE no one put their hands up.

1) We were getting to see porn IN CLASS, on a huge screen. For school! Did I mention that?

2) Anyone who got up and left would be given shit about it forever. We were in our 20's, but that kind of peer pressure never goes away. I don't care how old you are.

3) I'm sure half of the male students in the room already had their hands occupied, and were ready for her to dim the lights!

Yep. I loved university for moments like that.

I had plans to go on and get my Masters and PhD in Forensic Anthro, but I didn't. It's not for lack of discipline.

I was very disciplined and goody-goody, I definitely didn't live the 'Animal House' life while I was there.

My dad paid for my entire education. I was very, very lucky. I treated school like it was my job. I wanted to make sure I earned every penny that he paid. My dad was a difficult man sometimes (ok, a lot of the time), but he didn't make me feel like I had to do this in terms of my education. I've just always been a self-driven person.

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but he died in late 2002, right before my last semester. I was in the middle of finals that week. He'd been in bad health for years and his heart finally gave out.

It was still a shock though. Some people have the worst health habits and still live till they're old. I thought he'd be one of those people.

Swervin' Mervin

Anyway, he left me enough money that I was able to pay for the rest of my undergraduate education and live for awhile without working afterwards. I didn't know what to do with myself. His dying changed the course of my life.

I think everything happens for a reason. I might not feel like that when I'm in a the middle of a tough situation, but later on I do. One of Chuckles' favourite sayings is, 'It all comes out in the wash.'

Am I working in the profession that I got my degree in? No.

Do I have Dr. ahead of my name? No.

Am I happy and have an awesome life? Yes.

I make decent money to sell books for a living. I peddle knowledge.

I have a husband that loves me for ME and all of my weirdness and foul mouth, and is proud of my intelligence and rapier wit.

The people that laughed at me for my choice of university study can bite me.

I enjoyed every minute of it, and it made me a more interesting person. I can have a conversation about pretty much anything.

And I'm a fucking Jeopardy virtuoso.

That's all worth having a degree on the wall. No matter what it is.

If any of you crazy kids out there are hemming and hawing about whether or not college is relevant these days, it is. Even if it's just for the memories and prestige.

Do it.

Do You Promise to Love, Honor, Cherish, and Handle Gross Things?

2011-11-14T12:58:00.001-05:00

Methinks it may be time to get rid of the Halloween pumpkin.

It's leaking all over the place and is covered in mold. There's probably a family of badgers living in it. My cousin said it looks like an old perv.

Speaking of old pervs, I asked Chuckles when he was going to get rid of it for me.

He proceeded to tell me that it was MY pumpkin, and I should get rid of it myself. He'd only do it if I gave him $5.

I told him that the reason I have a husband is to do disgusting things for me like shovel an old, rotting pumpkin off the front porch.

I'm sure it was mentioned in our wedding vows...

Moon Over North Carolina

2011-11-12T19:28:00.000-05:00

Took this pic of the full moon the other night from my front porch.

I read in the Old Farmer's Almanac that November's full moon was traditionally called the Full Beaver Moon.

"November's full Moon was called the Beaver Moon because it was the time to set traps, before the waters froze over."

Did I nod my head and appreciate this interesting bit of information?

No.

I laughed. Of course I laughed!

'Full Beaver Moon' doesn't sound dirty to anyone else?

Just me?

Oh, ok.

Dirty French Friday

2011-11-11T04:00:00.003-05:00

Mon équipe potable a un problème de hockey.

My drinking team has a hockey problem.

Hell Week

2011-11-09T13:16:00.001-05:00

I fucking love fall.

It's my favourite season of the year.

Being a gardener, you'd think spring would be my favourite season of the year.

Being a North Carolinian gardener, I say balls to spring. Balls!

It's too damn short.

"Fuck, it's freezing!...Ooh, it feels nice outside...Fuck, it's hot!"

It happens that quickly. Then you're in for 5 or 6 months of hellacious heat and humidity.

If you ever have the magnificent good fortune to meet up with me in person in the summertime in North Carolina, you may notice the exotic fragrance that surrounds me everywhere I go.

It's brimstone. You get used to it.

Here, fall lasts a little longer than spring. We get a good three months of nice-ish temps before the Frozen Tundra of January happens.

Not really. It doesn't get all that cold, and the ground never truly freezes.

I just wanted to hear the collective scoffing sound from my Canadian friends.

Yesterday, I planted an assload of bulbs.

I planted more of these parrot tulips, because they were so awesome last year:

As well as more of these daffodils (wow, that's an old picture...it's from when I first came here. I was so proud of myself):

Those 'fucking daffodil bulbs' I mentioned in the last post were ready to be put in the ground!

The only problem was that there were 50 of them. Which turned out to be more like 80, once I counted what was in the bag.

Plus the 36 parrot tulip bulbs.

I started at about 8am yesterday, and didn't 'finish' until 12.

And by 'finish', I mean I got maybe half of them planted. I sweated more than Chaz Bono on 'Dancing with the Stars'.

I wanted to get the rest of them in the ground, but my back wouldn't cooperate.

"Fuck this shit!" said My Back.

"Shut the hell up. Quit complaining. I want to get this done today!" I said.

''Don't you just want to go on the computer or something? Sit in the nice comfy computer chair and bullshit with your friends? Post pictures of lolcatz? Did I mention the chair is comfy?"

"No. I hate wasting my day when the sun is shining. I want to be outside. I want to make my yard pretty."

"Fuck the yard!" yelled M.B. "I mean," it said more quietly, "your yard looks nice enough. And I'm so tired."

"Stop whining."

"Ok," said M.B. "Have it your way. But when you go to work later, I'll make you sorry. Bitch."

My back is such an asshole.

It did make my life hell last night. I had to put the final touches on the dreaded holiday set at the store. The district manager is coming in today for a final review.

It's a good thing I've been working so hard and running around so much the last couple of weeks though, because with all the stress eating I've done I should be 300 lbs.

But today I'm taking it easy. Perfect day to sit back and watch the leaves fall.

And a quiet back is a happy back.

I Got Bitten By a Gift Horse Once

2011-11-07T09:56:00.007-05:00

I've always had trouble accepting gifts.

When I was a little kid, I remember going with my dad on a trip to visit his parents in Saskatchewan.

One day my Gido (pronounced 'ghee-doe', what we called my Ukrainian grandfather) said he was going to the corner store.

"Do you want to come along?"

I shook my head quietly.

"I'm taking Justin [my cousin] along with me. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

I smiled shyly. "No thank you."

"Then what do you want from the store? Some candy? A chocolate bar? I'll get you something."

I smiled again and shook my head.

Gido had this look on his face like, 'What 6-year-old doesn't want chocolate?'

And the thing was, of course I wanted chocolate. Of course I wanted to go to the store.

But if I went to the store, he'd feel compelled to buy me something. I didn't want him to feel like he had to buy me chocolate. If I stayed at the house, and insisted I didn't want anything, he wouldn't worry about it.

He was right to look at me like I was crazy, this isn't the normal thinking of a 6-year-old!

Most 6-year-olds go to sleep thinking about candy. Wake up thinking about candy. Find ways to make their parents and their friends' parents give them candy. Beat up other kids for candy.

They'll use guilt. Puppy-dog eyes. Whining. Crying. Screaming. I bet some of them even resort to murder.

Anything for candy!

It's not like I have any deep-seated trauma connected to receiving gifts.

It's not like I had a pervy uncle that said, 'Kyna, would you like some candy? It's in my front pocket, you'll have to come and get it. Oh, that's weird, how'd that hole get there?...'

Or did I???

Speaking of weird compulsions, why do I have the urge to emphasize everything with Mike Myers characters?

Anyway, I was always told to simply be polite.

You might think, 'Oh, that's just a Canadian thing,'...

...but it's not. I promise I know of many rude Canadians. Many, many, many rude Canadians.

Okay, there are three. But I take being polite too far.

If I feel like I don't have something to trade for something I'm given....whether it's money, or just reciprocating the gift, I feel weird and uncomfortable.

The other day, a co-worker friend brought me a Bojangles chicken biscuit for breakfast as a surprise. I was delighted (and hungry).

If you live anywhere other than the Southeastern US, you wouldn't know how delicious a chicken biscuit from Bojangles is. Slap some mayo and hot sauce on that motherfucker, and I'm in heaven.

It's the breakfast of the gods!

Fat gods, but gods nonetheless.

She did it to be nice. I know she didn't want me to pay her back for it. But I since I didn't have any cash on me, I offered her my proverbial first-born child.

Someone lends me a dollar for a Coke from the vending machine? All I can think about is getting my hands on another dollar to pay them back at the soonest possible juncture.

I go to someone's house, and they ask me if I'm hungry or thirsty? I could be dehydrating or emaciating before their very eyes and I'd still say, 'No. I'm fine!' with a smile.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Dammit!

This is why I could never be a gold digger.

I have a hard time accepting gifts from my own husband.

Last week, we were out at the local hardware store/garden center. We were there to buy a new mailbox, because once again, we had ours bashed by middle-of-the-night, redneck hooligans.

We were walking past a crate full of large bags of tulip and daffodil bulbs. I stopped to look at them, because it was almost time for me to pick some up for planting.

"Do you want me to buy you some daffodils?" asked Chuck.

"Nah, it's ok," I said.

'But I know you want some."

"Yeaaaah, but I'll wait till payday."

"It'll make you happy. Let me buy you some. I know you want them."

"Meeeeeh...."

Then he got that look on his face, the one that says, "GODDAMMIT, JUST LET ME BUY YOU SOME FUCKING DAFFODIL BULBS BECAUSE I LIKE MAKING YOU HAPPY."

So I let him buy me the fucking daffodil bulbs.

Can you imagine if he was rich? "Kyna, JUST LET ME BUY YOU THE FUCKING YACHT."

That's why I married blue-collar, I couldn't stand the gift-giving pressure of being married to a rich dude.

Chuck has no problem with getting gifts. Plus he has a talent. He can always barter his drywall services for any major gift. Everyone has some sort of drywall problem they need fixed.

The only talent I have is a service that I'm not allowed to barter.

That's right.

You saw through my innuendo.

So we've established that I have a hard time receiving gifts, right?

In my head, it's polite to worry about someone going to trouble and expense for me to be happy.

What brought this post on?

I have a few friends that know that Chuckles and I eat, sleep, and shit music, and they'll send us CDs from time to time.

Yesterday, one of them asked me if I wanted him to send me some recordings.

Of course I was delighted, and really wanted them!

I did say yes, but made sure I offered compensation for time, supplies and postage. He said he had some other stuff I might like, and did I want that too? (I'm being vague here to protect the identity of the person, but it's sounding like he offered me sex or something, doesn't it?)

I didn't want him to go to more trouble and time and expense, so I said if he wanted to send me some surprises, I'd pay for that too.

I think I insult [or at the very least, confuse] people when I do this, but I don't mean to.

I don't mean to imply that they can't afford it, or that I don't appreciate the friendly gesture out of the goodness of their hearts, I just like to offer something back.

If I feel like I don't have a fair trade, money is the only thing I can offer (other than the aforementioned forbidden services).

I'm 30 years old, dammit. Not 6. I really need to practice saying yes to gifts.

I vow that the next time someone offers me something, I'm going to say yes. Yes to everything!

Even if I have nothing to offer in return! I promise.

Please, God...I hope it's a diamond-studded toilet.

*crosses fingers*

Dirty French Friday

2011-11-04T05:00:00.007-04:00

Vous été avez une mauvaise fille.

You've been a bad girl.

Halloween Is Dead, Long Live Halloween

2011-11-01T10:41:00.001-04:00

Halloween has gone the way of zombies.

It's pretty much dead, but still keeps on truckin'.

When I was a kid, halloween was awesome. Nothing could stop us kids from dressing up and going door to door.

And I'm Canadian, remember. Our first [substantial] snowfalls would usually occur mid-October.

Did a little [4 feet of] snow stop us from candy??

No!

We'd begrudgingly put on full snowsuits under our costumes and trudge out anyway!

I can't find a pic of myself in one, but this is a good idea of what we looked like (because all Canadian kids share this experience)

I don't think the Wimpification of Halloween is due to the kids, but the parents. It always comes down to the parents.

Parents, parents, parents...(I'm drawing this out to give you parents time to build some outrage against my comments...blog posting isn't fun without a little outrage.)

My mum is a Halloween veteran. With three children born in three different decades (1968, 1973, 1981), she's been through it all.

Making costumes, walking with us door to door (when it was -30C on the occasional Halloween night, she'd drive behind us so she could have us warm up on the run), buying candy for other kids, decorating, dressing up herself to make it more fun...

And you know what? She was probably sick and tired of doing this crap every year (I think she likes it again now that she's had a few years rest). But she made the effort, because it made us kids happy.

Because that's what moms do, dammit!

When we got old enough to go out with our friends on Halloween, it was a big deal. I think I was about 9-ish when my friends and myself were allowed to go out to get candy in groups in our neighbourhood.

We'd take our pillowcases (no fancy candy containers for us, pillowcases had more candy-capacity!) and troop around for a couple of hours and come on home tired and happy.

I didn't even really like to eat candy at that time. I gave it all to my brother Kurt. But I had fun getting it!

Do parents even let their kids go out trick or treating by themselves anymore?

I'm betting not. These are the days of mall trick or treating. Which I think is totally lame.

Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame.

There were just as many 'dangerous' people in the 60's, 70's and 80's as there are now I'm sure. I survived without being kidnapped into someone's basement or finding razor blades in my candy.

Which is a total urban myth that news stations still warn parents about.When was the last time you saw a news story about a kid ending up in the hospital from candy poisoning?

These days we're more likely to get salmonella from lettuce grown at a tainted corporate farm operation...

And I'm not just talking about the parents of trick or treaters. I'm talking about adults in the general population...the ones that turn all their inside and outside lights off and hide in the backs of their houses hoping that no one rings their doorbells.

I think there are people who don't feel like buying candy for strangers. I think that there are people who are tired of getting less and less kids coming to their door every year and don't feel like shelling out money for candy for nothing and having to eat it themselves. I guess I can't blame them all really...

Anyway, I still carve a pumpkin every year. I don't think I've ever missed a year. I don't ever do anything elaborate, but I try to make them different every Halloween.

I enjoy digging the slimy guts and seeds out of a pumpkin. I like the smell of raw pumpkin guts. This year was the first time Chuck and I have tried roasting pumpkin seeds in the oven, and they were delicious.

I asked Chuck to come up with a design for my pumpkin this time, and this is what he came up with:

We live in a housing development which until recently wasn't very developed. In the last couple of years it's comparatively exploded.

We expected a few kids this year. Not a lot because we still live in a rural-ish area, but a few.

Got the pumpkin on the porch, and got the candy bowl ready.

Our first visitor was the kid of some old friends of Chuck's. Shelley's so damn cute

After that....almost nothing.

We eventually thought we wouldn't get any more kids, but we saw an SUV slow down in front of the house at about 7:30, and two more girls popped out and came to the door. They got a big haul from us, because we knew we probably wouldn't get any more kids after that.

And we were right.

Chuck and I spent the rest of the evening gorging ourselves on 'fun-size' chocolate bars...

....and taking pictures of our shadows.

Behold, Chuckenstein!

Boris Karloff, eat your heart out!

Or maybe the zombies will...

Dirty French Friday-Special Halloween Edition

2011-10-31T05:00:00.001-04:00

Mon mari aime à avoir des rapports sexuels avec des citrouilles.

My husband likes to have sex with pumpkins.

Dirty French Friday

2011-10-28T08:59:00.001-04:00

Je me fais chier à cette soirée!

I'm bored shitless at this party!

I Say Yes to Grubicide!

2011-10-25T10:37:00.001-04:00

Some ibises (ibii??) outside my bedroom window just now.

I love these guys.

They're not afraid of anything. They land in gangs in search of grubs residing in the dirt of my lawn.

I always hope that the grubs are ones that would otherwise turn into Japanese Beetles. Japanese Beetles that would chew the hell out of all my plants come next June.

Chuck and I love watching them from the back porch. It's cool to see them sticking their long beaks into the ground in search of said grubs whilst rarely breaking step.

We always wonder how they can sense them so quickly and easily.

Nature is some pretty interesting shit.

Move Over, Partridge Family...

2011-10-23T17:21:00.000-04:00

...because all we need is a psychadelic bus and a cute little redhead.

Oh wait. We've already got one of the two.

ME!

Most people go out to see live music on Saturday nights.

In the Adams household, we create our own fucking concert.

Remember how I said I was supposed to sing at my stepdaughter Lindsay's wedding last weekend and wasn't able to?

I got home from work yesterday and Chuck said, "You better prepare for a concert tonight."

I assumed Lindsay's husband Mike was going to bring over his guitar, we'd have a couple of beers, and I would sing. We'd film it for blogging (and perhaps humiliation) purposes of course.

My new son-in-law ended up bringing a whole stage set-up with him.

Guitars, PA, a mic, effects pedal...the whole bit.

Chuck jamming with his Mike's son Nathan

Lindsay looking like a hot roadie

It felt weird setting up a microphone in my fucking living room.

"I feel like that thing is a poinsonous snake or something," I told Mike, eyeing the microphone. "I wouldn't know what to do with one of those things."

"Uh...you just sing into it."

"I know! But I'm so loud and obnoxious, I've never needed a microphone for anything!"

I love to sing. But it's usually only in the shower or in my car. Basically I like to sing when I'm naked or driving. Or naked AND driving.

I'm not Mariah Carey or anything, but I can hold a tune. I just have to pick the right songs for my range (which is very, very narrow).

I've done karaoke three times, once when I was forced at a Gaelic Football function (which was a surprisingly decent effort at Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It"), and twice at a bar with friends (both of these attempts were kind of dodgy).

Last night was way more fun than karaoke!

My first song was "Hotel Yorba" by the White Stripes.

This is what it sounds like in case you don't give a shit about The White Stripes (in which case, I must question your musical taste):

And I also decided to do The White Stripes' "We're Gonna Be Friends", which is a really pretty song.

My new step-grandson-in-law (yikes) Nathan makes a surprise cameo at the end. It's worth watching for that even if you don't want to hear me sing another White Stripes song (but I think I sound pretty nice)...

Hilar-i-ouuuuuuus!

Yes, I cheated with a lyrics sheet. Most of the song doesn't change up, so I get confused with the verses.

So sue me.

Did you see the fake laser-glare I gave Nathan? Priceless. He kind of looked Mr. Bean-esque when he wandered in front of the camera. It made the video that much more awesome.

Anyway, here's the original version:

What an awesome night. I don't think I've had that much fun in a long time.

I totally pretended I was singing to a stadium full of people.

Not really. I felt awkward. But looking at Chuckles whilst I was singing helped. He looked pretty impressed with me, made me laugh and feel good about myself. Like a good husband should.

So anyway, I want opinions, but please be kind. Posting video of myself singing should have been one of the entries on my bucket list.

Because it's taking a lot of balls to do it!

*hides*

Dirty French Friday

2011-10-21T10:30:00.000-04:00

Vouz-avez des bières à la pression?

You got beer on tap?

You Can Lick 'Em, But They Won't Get You High

2011-10-20T10:29:00.000-04:00

Toad lilies.

They only put out every fall, but it's worth all the expensive dinners and gifts I have to buy them.

Oh yeah, baby, come to mama.....don't be shy.

And leave the lights on.

Keep Calm and Ramble On

2011-10-17T20:18:00.002-04:00

My stepdaughter Lindsay got married on Saturday.

Not only am I happy for her, but I'm also happy for me.

Now that the wedding's over with, Chuckles can stop dreading it!

Don't get me wrong, Chuckles is happy for her as well, but he was so worried about walking her down the aisle, dancing with her at the wedding, and just losing his oldest daughter to being married.

He woke up on Saturday feeling a bit anxious. His brother and sister were up here from Florida for the wedding and I was hoping they'd distract him/calm him down.

Lindsay and her now-husband Mike were having the wedding in their backyard, which is a pretty piece of land with a pond and everything. Chuckles and I had to go over early, I wanted to be there while Lindsay was getting ready.

Lindsay called and asked Chuck to bring her over a pre-wedding brewski. Of course he saved the day.

Chuckles was a lot calmer after that.

Lindsay has a LOT of damn hair, so it took awhile for her to have it done. In the meantime Chuck and I wandered around the house and around the yard, milling about with the family.

Mike asked Chuck to hold the ring boxes while he tied a harness to their dog, Ozzy. Ozzy was the ring bearer (which turned out better than I thought it would), and he would carry the little pillow on his back.

Aw, Chuck looks so sad. He also looks like he's slyly giving the camera the finger...

I think Desiree (Chuck's other daughter) was tired even before the wedding started...

Chuck and his younger brother Steve and older sister Laura in the backyard.

Lindsay and Chuck weren't the only ones with pre-wedding nerves. Chuck kept trying to convince Mike to take a shot of that Jameson that you can see sitting on the counter, but Mike wouldn't play.

Wedding-pooper.

The weather was absofuckinglutely perfect for a wedding. Not a cloud in the sky, and there was a really nice breeze.

There were some unavoidable snafus and the ceremony started quite a bit later than it was supposed to, but the soft lighting of the afternoon made the pictures really beautiful.

I didn't realize until Friday night (the night of the rehearsal) that I was going to be a part of the ceremony.

I was a bit shocked. If I would've known this, I would've lost 30 lbs first. But Lindsay said it wasn't decided until the last minute, and I was honoured to be in the wedding procession, no matter how I looked. The day wasn't about me anyway, everyone would be looking at my beautiful stepdaughter.

So I rocked what I had.

My sister-in-law Laura was awesome enough to take pictures for me because I couldn't, and my brother-in-law Steve videotaped it.

Mike's brother Dusty walked me in, and of course I couldn't resist making a Kyna-face towards the camera....

Desiree was the flower girl. I loved her dress!

Lindsay and Chuck made their entrance to Led Zeppelin's "Bron-Yr-Aur".

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GQKQ3-bzXV8

Lindsay looked like a freaking angel in her wedding dress. Chuck looked so proud to walk her in...I started to get teary.

I'm not a religious person, but the pastor that officiated the ceremony was a really cool guy. Mike's grandfather was supposed to officiate, but unfortunately he passed away right after Lindsay and Mike were engaged this year.

They had a chair set up for him and for Chuck's mother Mary, who passed away in 2002. I thought it was a nice gesture.

The magic words were said, and abracadabra, Lindsay and Mike were married.

The reception was held offsite, but we had time for a few last pics in the fading afternoon sunlight before we took off...

Mike's daughter Cailey, putting some artistic touches on the getaway vehicle.

I heart this one.

Chuckles is awesome in this pic, isn't he? Radiating happiness.

I love Lindsay. People always raise an eyebrow when I tell them that my stepdaughter is 25, but I don't care. She's one of the greatest friends and daughter one could have.

Even in pics where Lindsay isn't looking, she still looks awesome.

Chuckles and some hotties.

Preacher signing the marriage license. Told ya he was a cool guy. I'll give you three guesses as to who gave him that beer, and the first two don't count...

The reception was a fun time had by all. The food was delicious, catered by Mike's stepfather. Jambalaya and red beans & rice. The decorations were put together by Mike's mom.

My crazy in-laws. I love 'em.

Never thought I'd see THIS. I'm the mother-in-law of a 40-year-old man! Awesome. And now you know my last name. Oh well. I'm too excited about this little white card to care.

The best part of the day was seeing Chuck and Lindsay get out and cut a rug for the father-daughter dance.

They decided on Led Zeppelin's "Ramble On". And it was a great choice! I'm sure you don't want to watch an entire video of my husband dancing with his daughter at her wedding, but I implore you to watch till the first change in tempo happens.

Chuckles gets fancy with it. (For some reason the new Blogger won't accept the embedded video code, so I just had to post the link, but click the link anyway. Because you love me and I want you to.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJDJzcxdZwM

I swear, I was crying the whole time I was videotaping. It was ridiculously awesome and touching. I'm so glad I got to be there to experience something like this.

Anyway, it came time for the bride to throw her bouquet to all the single ladies...

...and guess who caught the damn thing?

Desiree did.

It was hilarious...Chuck was like, "Oh....shit. Not again."

As was I. I don't think I could go through this again in just a few more years!

The wedding was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And they planned it in only 3 months!

This was definitely the sweetest picture of the day. I'm going to get it framed.

I didn't get to sing after all, because of various circumstances. I was kind of sad about it, but once again, the day wasn't about me. So it's all good!

But Mike'll bring his guitar over soon, and Chuck's gonna take some video of me singing the song I was supposed to sing, so ya'll can judge me anyway.

How 'bout that? :)

Dirty French Friday

2011-10-14T03:00:00.004-04:00

Je peux te pincer les mamelons?

Can I pinch your nipples?

I'm A Bloody Idiot

2011-10-11T17:03:00.006-04:00

So, the Idiot Gardener jinxed me.

His last post was a step-by-step instructional on how to be an idiot and stab yourself with pruning shears. And there seems to have been some sort of subliminal voodoo-hex towards me embedded in it as well.

I commented about the multitude of ways in which I've been injured (I'm very accident prone), but never through gardening.

Well, I thought I had better stay away from all things sharp in my yard, garage, etc. I knew that after I said I hadn't injured myself gardening, I'd immediately have some sort of trowel accident or something.

There isn't room enough in this world for two Idiot Gardeners!

Thank the Sweet Baby Jesus In The Manger, I remain a gardening genius.

Last night however, I proved that I'm still an Idiot Chef.

I mentioned yesterday that it was Canadian Thanksgiving, and that I was making a huge mammoth feast of magnificently colossal epic proportions. All by myself.

Never. The Fuck. Again.

I wrestled with that damn turkey for at least a couple of hours. It looked like I'd slaughtered the bastard in my kitchen. There was blood everywhere.

It took me forever just to get the fucking neck out. It was as big as some entire turkeys I've seen.

I sweated and yanked and pulled on that thing until it popped and ended up spraying me in the face (yeah, I know...that's what she said). I was so pissed off. I love it when I get raw turkey juice in my mouth.

And this ghetto-ass jive turkey was missing half of its giblets. Still had a big ol' tail hanging off it. Why didn't they just leave the feathers on? Why didn't they just leave the head on it?? Just wrap up a live turkey and stick it in the freezer???

Gobble, gobble, SQUAWK.

*deep breath*

It was a long day.

Ten hours of cooking later, I'm finally slicing some potatoes, one of the last things I have to do before everything's ready to eat...I see the light at the end of the cooking tunnel....

*SLICE* "Fuck!"

I sliced the shit out of my thumb. Luckily we had some gauze pads and surgical tape, because a Band-Aid wasn't gonna cut it (so punny).

I soldiered on with my FrankenThumb, and all that was left to do was carve the turkey.

I asked Chuck if he could at least do that (he was kind of making light of my cut thumb), and he sharpened up a knife.

*STAB* "Fuck!"

Chuck stabbed the shit (notice the italics, his was even worse than mine was) out of the top of his hand (karma's a bitch). His appetite wasn't affected, and we're lucky everyone at the table was good with the sight of blood.

The food turned out to be delicious, and everyone enjoyed themselves (even with injuries).

Chuck's daughter Lindsay and her fiancé Mike were over for the meal, and took advantage of the opportunity to go over a few things with us in regard to their wedding on this coming Saturday.

Lindsay asked Chuck to help her pick out a song for the father-daughter dance. She wanted to pick a Led Zeppelin song, because she knows how much Led Zeppelin means to Chuck.

They were going over a few songs, and tried dancing to a couple of them in the kitchen while I was cooking. (Chuck doesn't like to dance in public, so he's been kind of dreading this)

We put on "What Is And What Should Never Be" to try it out, and I laughed so hard, I almost peed myself (ignore my shrill cackling):

I get to also have a part in the wedding.

Mike walked in the door last night with his guitar and some music and said, "So, I have my guitar. I have music. You're going to sing 'Hotel Yorba' at our wedding while I play. And we're going to practice tonight."

In case you don't know what that song is, it's a White Stripes tune that I love.

I don't think he thought I'd agree so quickly. The first time I sang to Mike playing last night, I could see on Chuck's face that he was surprised I sang so well. He's heard me sing, but not as if I was singing for an audience.

Anyway, I didn't get any video of that last night, maybe I'll get some when I sing at the wedding.

Everyone cross your fingers (and thumbs) that I don't suck at singing like I do at slicing potatoes!

They Come In Wee...Not So Wee...and FRIGGIN' HUGE!

2011-10-10T10:17:00.004-04:00

*Scottish accent*

It's a behemoth!

('Behemoth' is only fun to say with a Scottish accent)

Ok, it's only a 20lb turkey, but it's the biggest one I've ever had to cook.

I've cooked a 14lb turkey and had leftovers for a week. Chuck will be like Bubba from 'Forrest Gump'...

"Kyna made turkey sandwiches...turkey soup...turkey pot pie...turkey salad...turkey burgers...turkey casserole..."

I would have bought a smaller one, except I think I scored the only whole frozen turkey in the entire county, and there were definitely no fresh ones. They're not quite in killin' season yet in the U.S.

I hope the turkey isn't too dodgy...some dude sold it to me in an alley out of his trench coat.

Anyway, this is the first Thanksgiving that I've ever had to make the whole meal by myself. Chuck is working today (with other Americans that don't realize that the REAL Thanksgiving is in October) and I'm on my own.

My friends have told me that my first time will hurt a little, but once I get into it, I'll enjoy it.

Right. That's what they all say....

Gobble gobble, Eh!

Time to get my turkey on.

Dirty French Friday

2011-10-07T02:00:00.002-04:00

Ta mère est un garage à bites.

Your mom is a walking sperm bank.

Literally, 'a parking garage for dicks'.

I Will Love Him, And Squeeze Him, And Pet Him, And Call Him George...

2011-10-05T09:50:00.002-04:00

What a cute little lizardy bastard.

He melts my frosty Canadian heart.

They Tried to Make Me Go to Rehab....

2011-10-03T10:01:00.000-04:00

Do they have a 12 step program for this?

Sing it, Amy.

Dirty French Friday

2011-09-30T05:00:00.005-04:00

On compte ou pas "baise une pute" au Scrabble?

Does "fuck a ho" count in Scrabble?

Thirty Things + 1

2011-09-27T14:00:00.005-04:00

My blogging friend John @ Going Gently (the link keeps reverting to the entire URL...I don't have time to fix it now) http://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/2011/09/30-things-to-do-before-you-die.html wrote up a list of 30 things he wanted to do before he died.

I thought I'd make up my own list of 30 things. It was kind of a challenge really, as there are some things I clearly want to do...some things that aren't obvious to me that I really want to do...and some things I know I'll never get to do in a million years, but still haven't stopped wanting to do.

They're in no particular order.

1. Learn how to ride a motorcycle.

I'm not really a Harley sort of girl. I want a zippy crotch-rocket number.

Chuck thinks people on them look silly. I think they look sexy.

Maybe he's just jealous because every time I see a fit-looking dude race by on one, I want to take the guy home and ride his crotch-rocket. *wink wink, nudge nudge, knowwhatImeanknowwhatImean?*

2. Check out what's under Jack White's kilt.

I don't think Chuckles would mind. He could even be there in the room, talking with Jack whilst I'm peeking.

"So...um...what do you wear under your kilt, Jack?"

"Your wife's lipstick."

3. Force myself through some long, boring, doorstop-of-a-tome classic.

Just to say I did, instead of pretending I've done so. Just to sound smarter. It's a toss-up between 'Anna Karenina' and 'War and Peace'.

I think Anna wins by a corset.

4. Do an extensive tour of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales.

There's really nothing funny to say about it, it's been a dream.

Chuck and I would love to meet some of our good friends that we've met online, and a lot of them live in those four places.

We'd especially like to visit County Kerry in Ireland, because that's where Chuck's grandparents were from, and some of his extended family still live.

5. Grow big enough balls to get up in front of an audience and do a stand-up comedy act.

And not suck at it.

6. Reach 100 Followers on Blogger.

Seriously. It took me two years to get up to 98. What does a girl have to do?

Some of you people attract Followers faster than Sun Myung Moon.

7. Play the guitar and sing at the same time.

It really chaps my ass that I can't do it. It's like trying to feed a baby and swordfight at the same time.

I'm envious of anyone that can do it.

Oh look, here's Jack White again, what a coincedence...

8. Own a historical home and restore it.

I keep telling Chuck I want to move back to a real city, but if I could own a beautiful old house in a small town, I'd forget all about the damn city.

Being a drywall guy, he looks at a 100 year old house and sees a can of worms waiting to be opened. Being an artist, I see potential and can ignore the worms.

9. Get over my fear of phones.

So many more doors would open up in my life if I wasn't so afraid to talk on the fucking phone.

I don't understand why this is! Every time the phone rings at work, I look at it like one would look at a hissing cobra about to strike. I answer it because it's part of my job, but I give myself another ulcer each time I have to do it.

Phones eat my balls.

10. Do an entire Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle.

Without cheating.

In ink.

11. Go on the 'Antiques Roadshow' and find out that my coffee table is worth $50,000.

I don't even care about the money. I just want to make this face on TV.

12. Hold a koala.

And not have it claw my face off. They can be quite vicious. Koalas have large talons.

"Don't touch my ears, bitch! *swipe*"

13. Be in the profession that I got my degree for, which is Forensic Anthropology.

I loved it. My favourite class at university was Osteology. I felt a thrill in differentiating between a male and female cranium, or being able to tell show you the difference between a 3rd and 4th metacarpal.

They used to call me 'The Bone Expert'.

14. Magically be able to do math.

Because no matter how hard I try, I suck at it.

Suck this, Danica.

15. Be Chuck's sugarmama.

So he can relax and stop killing himself with drywall work. Get him that shoulder surgery he's always wanted.

16. Go streaking like Will Ferrell in 'Old School'.

Or go streaking with Will Ferrell!

17. Learn how to tie a man's tie.

I've watched men do it, and still can't figure it out.

I'm pretty sure there's witchcraft involved.

18. Take Anthony Bourdain on a food tour of Canada on 'No Reservations'.

I love Anthony. That guy has the best job in the entire world. And I want to sit on his face.

Oh hello there, Mr Bourdain. Mighty fine cock you've got there.

19. Learn how to shoot a gun.

How American is that?

20. Write a book.

I know that everyone says that, but I think I really have one in me somewhere. Something David Sedaris-esque.

It'll be chock-full of awesome.

21. Live long enough to see Jimmy Page's next musical project come out.

Come on Jimmy. I won't live forever you know. Maybe you and Chuckles can collaborate if you have no other ventures in the works.

Pic 'taken' by my friend Pilot

22. Buy a crappy old motorboat.

I'd call it 'Nacht-A-Yacht' and ride up and down the Intracoastal Waterway singing 'I'm on a BOAT! I'm on a MUTHAFUCKIN' BOAT!' at the top of my lungs.

T-Pain can come along if he wants. Swansboro won't know what hit it.

23. Be traffic-stoppingly gorgeous just for one day. Just to know what it's like.

I'm not talkin' cute. I'm not talkin' pretty.

I'm talking "Wow, that guy just crashed his Ferrari into a mailbox because he couldn't take his eyes off that chick" kind of hot.

Just one day. That's all.

24. See a championship game in all of the sports I love.

A Stanley Cup Final, an All-Ireland Gaelic Football match, and a center court match at Wimbledon.

Don't even care who the teams/players are, I'm not that picky.

But if it could be another moment like this for Edmonton, I wouldn't complain.

25. Bake a decent fucking pie from scratch.

Seriously. How hard is it to bake a pie? I can bake anything else. Why not a freaking pie?

Pumpkin pie is my baking nemesis. The last time I tried to make one, I had to throw it out three times.

You will not defeat me, Pie!!

26. Eat at a criminally expensive restaurant.

The kind of restaurant where the waiters are snooty and the serving portions are miniscule and the trophy-like female guests are dripping with diamonds and haughtiness.

And I wouldn't have to look at the bill before paying it.

27. Restore an old muscle car.

I want to drive something fun again.

Right now I'm the owner of a 16 year old Toyota, with only three hubcaps and more oil leaks than the Exxon Valdez.

Anyway, I was thinking something like this?

Ooh, yeah.

28. Learn how to sew.

Shouldn't this just be innate? Doesn't the ability to sew just come along with having a vagina?

I can sew a button on like a mofo, but anything else...I can't even hem a pair of pants.

I'd give my proverbial left nut to be able to make a pair of non-fugly curtains. I can't find any I like in the stores.

29. Visit Massachussetts in the autumn.

I've always wanted to see the famous fall colours up there.

Plus I've always wanted to visit the Harvard campus for some reason. I'd totally buy a t-shirt and pretend I went there.

30. Wear a strapless dress.

...and not have all my girly junk indecently trying to spill out the top.

Must be nice to be able to leave the house without major décolletage-scaffolding.

31. Get rich, bitch!

How else am I gonna be able to afford thirty dreams?

I bet an hour with Jack White is probably pretty expensive...

Another City Crossed Off My Bucket List

2011-09-22T13:50:00.005-04:00

As you saw in the last post, Jim Jones Burnt My House Down, a concert was the reason that we drove up to Washington, D.C.

But you know us, we have to squeeze as much adventure into one day as we possibly can.

We left for Washington D.C. really early in the morning on the 17th. We were staying at a hotel downtown, and we wanted to make sure we had enough time to get settled and scout out the club where we were seeing the concert.

Chuck hadn't been to D.C. in 30 or so years, and I've never been there. He said what he remembers about the place is that it was really hairy driving through there, and that there's a lot of crime. He'd never made it to the tourist attraction part of the city.

Even though I was excited about going up there, those first two sentiments put my ulcers to work.

I was way more worried about driving into the crazy traffic of D.C. than I was about the crime, but still. Chuckles had me convinced I'd get mugged as soon as I stepped out the car door.

"Oh look Chuck, it's the White-"

"Give me all your money."

Yeah.

Anyway, we had borrowed a friend's GPS to help us get around. We'd never tried one of those before. Normally, I'M the GPS.

I was both jealous of the device and comforted at the same time.

Who does this little computerized, disembodied female [bitchy] voice think she is, trying to steal my navigation job? Chuck depends on me dammit!

But then, if she didn't give us a "right....turn...in...5...miles..." once in awhile, we'd get a little worried. When is she gonna talk to us again? Will she abandon us when we need her most??

We had a love/hate thing going on.

Traffic wasn't too bad until we got around Richmond, Virginia. I'm SO glad I don't live in that place. I've been past Richmond twice, and it was ridiculous both times.

If I had to commute through that horrendous gridlock every day I'd shoot myself.

In fact, it was worse there than when we got into D.C. This is where we were most hoping that the GPS would help us out.

The hotel was north of the National Mall, where all the touristy stuff is. And in between that, there are a lot of traffic circles (I believe some of you call them rotaries or roundabouts) and one way streets and such.

Even with the GPS, we took a wrong damn turn. The Voice would say "Make a slight right" and that wouldn't help because there are three 'slight right' forks in a row, all close together.

Then the GPS quit talking. She just gave up, the fickle bitch.

At least she could have given us a, "You took the wrong turn....you're fucked."

Da-da-daaaaa!!!!!!!!!! Kyna to the rescue.

I dug out my map, and navigated us safely (although a little frantically) through downtown D.C.

We got to the hotel, and discovered there was no place to park. We knew parking was scarce in D.C., but we would have sworn they said there was parking on the hotel website.

Luckily we finally found a spot on the street near the hotel. And luckily it was the weekend, so parking time limits don't apply.

This was where we stayed:

This part of downtown was filled with attached row-style houses, like the brownstones you see in New York. But much more colourful.

Chuck won't let me paint the house yellow

I love a red door

And a blue door

They were really awesome looking, and the landscaping in D.C. was amazing. Even with these tiny, postage-stamp front yards, the residents would create a distinctive garden.

There were rosebushes everywhere. I was particularly delighted by this, because just six hours south where I live, roses don't do so well. Black spot disease abounds.

Anyway, once we got situated in the hotel room, Chuck looked at me. I looked at him.

"Wanna do it?" he said.

I smiled because I was hoping he'd feel that way. "Are you sure you're feeling up to it?"

"Yeah, I think I am." he said.

Wait...

You're not thinking that he and I...

Yes. Yes you are, aren't you??

Get your minds out of the gutter. Honestly...Chuckles and I have been together 7 years. Do you think we'd get into the hotel room and want to immediately shag like 17-year-old kids?

No!

We wanted to go see the White House, bitches! And we had a few hours to kill before we had to get ready to go to the concert. If there was to be any shagging done, it would be after the show.

The hotel we picked was about 14 or so blocks from the National Mall. For some people that might not seem like walking distance, but for us that was the way to go.

Friends suggested we take the metro, but we like walking because we get to see more of the city that way. Chuck calculated that we walked 7+ miles that afternoon.

The street we were on led us straight to the front yard of the President's home.

First glimpse of the Washington Monument, the WH is just through those trees...

A happy girl

I actually can't believe that we could go right up to the gate to take pics. There were Secret Service agents everywhere of course, but still.

Chuckles and I were in awe.

Whatever you think about the state of government right now, or what your opinions are of the current President, I don't care.

There's so much history in the place. History that's close to us.

Chuck's a descendant of two Adams presidents, on his dad's side. John Adams was the second president of the United States (1797–1801), and the first to inhabit an unfinished White House.

John Quincy Adams, his son, was the sixth president of the United States (1825–1829).

JQ was also the first sitting president confirmed to have a daguerrotype taken that is still in existance, in 1843.

Chuck inherited the Adams' hot temper, gift of gab, stubborness, John's short stature and John Quincy's facial profile. He didn't inherit the hairline however, and I'm thankful for that.

Anyway, it was neat thinking about all that whilst standing in front of the gates of the place.

This is the best shot I got, through the bars of the gate

From there we walked around to the other side of the White House past the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. A Secret Service guy/tour guide told us the Vice President has an office in there.

The place is a freakin' behemoth

The other side of the White House. There were a lot more tourists standing around, and where you could stand was more controlled

From there, it was a relatively short walk to the Washington Monument. What struck me on the walk was all the different people from around the world that surrounded us. People speaking in all sorts of languages, and all of them had the same awed/happy look on their faces.

I loved it.

We walked past a young Scandanavian couple taking pictures (the pretty girl was doing handstands with the Washington Monument jutting up in the background).

I was jealous that I wasn't lithe enough to do handstands in MY pictures with it, but I did the next best thing.

I can almost hear the chorus of, "Only Kyna..."

Normally, you can go up inside the WM, but because of the earthquake that happened in August, it's closed to the public at this time. There were some cracks in the tip. (Insert dirty joke here.)

We were happy to take pictures from afar, and I got some nice ones...

I like this one with Chuck, but oops! I cut the tip off. Ouch.

From there, we decided to walk down to the Jefferson Memorial.

The JM is kind of out of the way from the main part of the mall. You have to walk across a bridge to get to it, and the path is lined by tons of Yoshino Cherry trees.

We already had walked a ton, and still had to visit the area with the Lincoln Memorial (that was what I really wanted to see) on a limited amount of time.

If we'd had more time, we'd definitely have gone over to see it, tired from walking or not, and maybe even rented a paddle boat. But as it was, I had to take more pictures from afar.

The famous cherry trees

Probably the longest walk of the day was from the path to the Jefferson Memorial to the Lincoln Memorial.

The LM is surrounded by war memorials. That's where the WWII Memorial is, The Korean War Memorial, The Vietnam Memorial and the Vietnam Women's Memorial is. This is also where the famous Reflecting Pool is located, and the site of Martin Luther King's legendary 'I Have A Dream' speech.

We came upon the WWII Memorial first. The sun was just starting to come out for the day, and the temperature outside was beautiful.

The weird look on my face is due to the fact the Washington Monument has just erupted from my head

That's better

The walk down the path from the WWII Memorial to the Lincoln Memorial seemed soooo long. Along the way, we noticed that the Reflecting Pool had been torn up. We were pretty bummed about that. That was probably the most disappointing part of the visit.

We found out that they started tearing it up last year because of numerous leaks in the pool, and damage it's sustained over the years. We're going to have to revisit when it's back.

Anyway, when we got to the Lincoln Memorial, I knew we'd come to my favourite part of the visit, even sans Reflecting Pool.

There were assloads of people there. Multiple couples having their wedding pictures taken. It was crazy and surreal.

We climbed the steps, and I was in awe. I felt like I was in a movie.

Most of you men probably don't notice there's a President in this picture, but there is...I also have a face

I love this look on Chuck's face, he's as stoked as I am

This was a great moment for me, I felt like I was the only person in the place

Right after that last picture was taken, Chuck's phone rang. It was his best friend Bob, who Chuck's known since he was a teenager.

I told him he should answer it.

"Hello? Hey man. What am I doing? I'm standing in the Lincoln Memorial, dude. I'm looking at him right now..."

That was pretty awesome. I think it took Bob a second to process it.

The cool breeze up there felt fabulous, the view was amazing.

I never thought in a million years that I'd get to visit Washington, D.C. Let alone stand in front of Lincoln in the Memorial. This was definitely my favourite part of the visit to the National Mall.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at the Vietnam Memorial Wall. That was pretty sad.

All those names...I got kind of choked up.

After that, we had to get something to eat and go back to the hotel to get ready for the amazing concert we attended.

I wish we'd had more time to see things like The Capitol, The Smithsonian, and other cool shit. We did drive past The Pentagon on the way in and out of the city.

That was crazy, I poked Chuck and yelled, "Holy crap, it's the fucking Pentagon!"

I'm so sophisticated.

But that's why you all love me so much.

Jim Jones Burnt My House Down

2011-09-19T20:20:00.005-04:00

In April, I featured The Jim Jones Revue in one of my What Are You Listening To? Wednesday posts.

A friend in England (where the JJR is from) turned me on to them and they rocked my socks off from the get-go.

I watched their video "Princess and The Frog" on Youtube, and all the hairs on my arms stood up. I was hooked.

I said that if this band ever played anywhere near me, I'd be going. No question.

The Jim Jones Revue is made up of:

Jim Jones (singer/guitarist/panty melter)

Rupert Orton (lead guitarist and lead pelvis thruster)

Gavin Jay (bassist and the band's bloggist...I love his tats)

Henri Herbert (this guy can blister a fucking keyboard)

Nick Jones (beats the shit out of his drums every night...and they keep coming back for more)

When I found out they'd be taking their first trip to the States this summer, I checked the tour schedule.

The closest they'd be playing to North Carolina was at The Black Cat in Washington D.C., on September 17th.

Many famous acts have played The Black Cat, including The White Stripes, The Hives, The Killers, Radiohead, Jeff Buckley, and many, many more.

D.C. is about 6 hours away from Swansboro, North Carolina, where I live.

Was it worth it to spend the time and money to go see The Jim Jones Revue?

Three words.

Hell. Fucking. Yes. Bitches.

(Ok, I added in a fourth word. Sue me. It was warranted.)

When I saw this performance of 'High Horse' on Letterman, I was so glad I decided to get tickets for the D.C. show.

When we got to The Black Cat on Saturday night, we chilled a little bit at the bar. It's a very wide open floor area upstairs in front of the main stage. Two bars run along each side of the concert area.

I was really happy it was at an intimate venue.

When a band kicks that much ass, and you know they're gonna get really big, it's always cool to be able to say, "Yeah, right now they're playing stadiums. I saw them when they were playing clubs. Too bad you weren't there."

The Jim Jones Revue was the headliner for the night, and there were two opening bands.

The first band was The Beach Bloods. Can't find a picture of them anywhere, but a couple of the dudes had some seriously awesome hair. I wanted to motorboat it.

The Beach Bloods playing at an earlier date at Asefu's in DC:

Had a hard beach sound, just like the name suggests. They only played a few songs, but I enjoyed them.

The second band was Kid Congo & The Pink Monkey Birds. They also had a crazy surf punk sort of sound. They could really jam.

Brian Tristan, aka Kid Congo Powers, was formerly a member of The Gun Club, The Cramps, and played with Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.

KC & TPMB kind of reminded me of the B-52's, but a little harder. Bit weird for my tastes, but Chuck loved 'em! He always liked punk, even if he never lived the lifestyle.

Kid Congo & The Pink Monkey Birds in Barcelona:

While we were sitting at the bar during the first two bands, Chuck tapped my shoulder and pointed, "Look! It's Jim Jones at the end of the bar!"

Wow, Chuck's phone camera is really shitty...

He was hanging out watching the end of Kid Congo's set, waiting for their own. Then the rest of the band strolled by. Chuck had to point at them too of course.

I was really excited, but was trying to pretend to be cool. Unlike Chuckles. Who doesn't care if he looks cool. That's what I love about him.

When Kid Congo finished their set, I sprang up from my barstool.

"All right Chuck, I'm going up there."

"But they probably won't start for a little while, Kyna."

"I know. I'm gonna go stake my claim on a spot in front of the stage."

"Do you want me to save your seat?"

"I'm not gonna need it anymore tonight, Chuck."

I went right up in front of the stage, and there was a couple already standing up there. I took a pic of the stage setup, and the dude said, "I already made that one my phone wallpaper."

I mentioned how excited I was to see the JJR, that we drove six hours to come see it.

He said, "Are you the one from North Carolina? I saw your post on Facebook!"

So cool, I love the internet. It makes the world much smaller.

Anyway, they'd driven six hours from Cleveland to see the show. So nice to see there were other huge fans there.

Chuckles came up to join me by the stage, I think he was afraid I was gonna get trampled or something. I'm not usually the kind to get up front like that. I'm usually the lame-ass person sitting off to the side and enjoying a band from my seat (but not like the dude that was reading at the bar during the JJR set, who got called out on it by the band...Who fucking does that? Especially at a rock & roll show??)

You can't do that with The Jim Jones Revue! The idea is ridiculous!

I was literally bouncing by the time they came on stage. Like a pogo stick. Like Tigger on crack.

The moment they started the first song, The Jim Jones Revue blew the motherfucking roof off the place. And the doors.

I think there may even have been a cow or two flying past the building, caught up in the musical tornado...

I was really, really glad I picked the spot that I did. I was close enough to the boys to catch some of their sweat spray.

So close that this is the way Chuck explained it to his brother:

"Dude, I was close enough to lean over and kiss the guitarist's balls if I wanted to."

Way to stay classy, Chuckles. (Don't panic Rupert, he didn't mean it literally...)

The Jim Jones Revue is all about thrusting hips and ear-shredding guitar licks and pounding bar room piano and throwing it all in your face. Old-time rock n' roll with beef.

If I had to go deaf, this was the way to do it.

I call it 'Cock-Rock Boogie-Woogie'.

Their guitars were ridiculously awesome. Orton was playing a well-loved (you could tell it was by the wear) Gretsch. Jim's red Gibson was so delicious looking that I could have licked it. I don't know enough about keyboards and basses and drums to tell if they were just as awesome, but it didn't matter... it was the people playing them that mattered.

They played a splintering set, including but not limited to:

Dishonest John

High Horse

Rock n Roll Psychosis

Shoot First

...and ending with my favourite.

Not only did The Jim Jones Revue burn my house down, but I think the flames got my panties too. Jim Jones owes me new ones.

The energy they put into the show was unbelievable. And they do it...Every. Fucking. Night.

I was so jazzed. After the show, we waited around a bit to see if we could talk to any of the band members.

Rupert made his way out to talk to the fans, and we chatted with him for a few minutes.

We were telling him how awesome we thought JJR was (I'm sure they hear that a lot, but hopefully they don't get tired of it...I know I never get tired of hearing how awesome I am), and that we drove six hours to see them.

He said, "Oh, are you the ones from Cleveland?"

He was really nice and chatty (which is why he's the one they send out I guess), and thanked us for our support.

He was saying that the reason they only played a few shows up North is because they aren't signed with any major labels or anything, and they pay for the tour themselves. I admire the hell out of that.

Their success in Europe speaks for itself. And hopefully that success will follow them into the States.

Anyway, Rupert signed my album (I handed him a pen when he agreed, and he said, "Nah, nah, I've got a silver one...") and gave me a hug and kiss.

I was so stoked.

I wore this face all the way back to the hotel. I couldn't sleep.

No, I'm not naked, but JJR's music made me wanna get that way...

Watch these clips. If you love The Jim Jones Revue like I do, tell your friends. All of them.

Tell your friends to tell their friends.

I can't seem to find any video of the Washington, D.C. show on the internet, but if I end up finding some, I'll edit them in.

However, I particularly enjoyed these clips from other shows:

Burning Your House Down:

Show from Nottingham:

Show from New York:

Show from Stockholm:

Hey Hey Hey Hey

My advice?

RUN, don't walk, to see The Jim Jones Revue if they're in your neighbourhood. Or even if they're six hours away.

Show of a lifetime.

Saw a Werewolf With a Chinese Menu in His Hand

2011-09-15T14:00:00.005-04:00

Quick post.

I have to go to work in a few, but I've been spending the last hour or so on YouTube.

I call Youtube 'CrackTube', because when you're watching one video, and you see a 'You Might Also Like' video on the sidebar, and you click that, and so on...

I came upon Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London".

Brought up a funny (close to my heart) memory.

Chuck had his lung taken out on February 14, 2006, because of lung cancer (if you newbies want the whole story, refer to Love, Cancer and Good Friends..you oldbies already know what I'm talking about)

Since we'd be spending Valentine's Day at the hospital, Chuck surprised me the night before by taking me out for dinner.

The man was getting his lung removed the next day, and still took me out for dinner.

How could I not marry him?

Anyway, on the way back to the house after dinner, I could tell Chuck was starting to get pretty nervous. As was I.

We were listening to the radio...not sure what to talk about...what does one talk about when you're both worried about a major, life-threatening surgery? Cancer's one of the biggest elephants you could possibly fit into a room. Or a small car.

"Werewolves of London" came on.

When it got to the line, "You better stay away from him...he'll rip your lungs out, Jim!", we both looked at each other, eyes wide and started to laugh our asses off.

What an ice-breaker of a moment.

I'll never forget that.

Dazed and Confused

2011-09-13T13:20:00.006-04:00

It's been so dry and so hot for so long (it's not true, wanted a woman, never bargained for you-ou...), that my Okame Cherry doesn't know its asshole from its elbow.

Or more appropriately (and less crassly) whether it's spring or fall.

It has blooms sprinkled throughout the top. In mid-September.

Normally this tree has beautiful, light pink flowers in very early spring. In fact, mine is an earlier bloomer than other cherry tree varieties.

Why the blooms?

This tree has basically been tortured. Fried under the scorching sun for 6 months, deprived of water, bits of it have been consistently falling off. I tried to sneak it water once in awhile, but it wasn't enough.

Suddenly, the reverse happens.

The tree thinks,'Shit! (because my tree swears just as much as I do) Did we skip winter?' and squeezes out a few flowers, trying to get with the program.

My magnolias do this a lot as well. Maybe it has nothing to do with torture.

*whispers* I think my trees are all smoking crack.

OR, there could also be some rational, scientific explanation. I just prefer to anthropomorphize my trees. And use big words.

I've also been getting these creepy dragonflies all this week.

Usually I think dragonflies are kind of pretty, but these ones are sort of nasty and seedy looking...like they'd take all your money and stab you in a dark alley and leave you for dead.

This is the best picture I could get of one...

Speaking of being dazed and confused, I feel that way myself. Can you tell? This post is all over the place.

I've done a couple of overnight shifts at work (I was supposed to do four, but we got everything done early because we're awesome!). I swear have to keep checking what day it is.

*squints* Oh look, it's September 13th...it's my stepdaughter's 15th birthday. That makes me feel old. Ooooooooooooold. When I met Chuck, she was 8.

Freaks my shit out.

She wanted 'Priscilla, Queen of the Desert' for her birthday. And being the cool stepmum that I am, I bought it for her.

That girl loves a drag queen as much as I do. She's awesome.

Would You Like Some Gardening With Your Nonsense?

2011-09-10T11:01:00.003-04:00

Sometimes it seems like the title of my blog is a dirty, dirty lie, but I promise it didn't start out that way!

I just lose all my gardening mojo for the summer. In my last video blog, I promised I'd be back to it in Septemeber.

And I am!

Chuck thinks my dirty hands are hot.

The sun is sitting a little lower. The afternoon breeze is cooler. We're getting a damn sight more rain. Not a ton, but at least the grass isn't crunchy anymore.

Yesterday I decided to go out to the garden center and get some petunias. Right now is starting to be the second perfect time to grow them. They fade away during the scorching summers, but if you plant more in the fall you get another couple of months of color.

I didn't realize that my outing for petunias would turn into the quest for The Holy Grail.

Seriously...the petunias were just as ridiculous to find, and I met this dude Roger who kept asking me if I wanted a shrubbery.

I swear I even heard the faint sound of coconuts.

I'm thinking I may have gone out on my quest a week or two too soon. Even the big garden centers didn't have any.

At the last place I drove to (40 minutes away...I wanted petunias dammit!!) I found a few paltry purple petunias (nice alliteration, eh?)

If I had gone out for mums, I could've come home with a truckload. But I'm not interested in getting mums quite yet, that'll be next month.

I did get a few consolation prizes, however. I found some sexy sweet potato vines for 50% off.

And by sexy, I mean bodice-rippingly gorgeous.

I'd never plant them in the ground here, as they tend to get invasive. But they're awesome in a hanging container.

The green one is Ipomoea batatas 'Marguarita', and the dark one is 'Blackie'

I ruined at least two shirts looking at these things.

I also found some huge coleus plants that were on sale at a different garden center. Normally 6 bucks, I got 'em for 3.

This one is 'Stained Glassworks Copper'. Looks really awesome in the morning sun.

And this one didn't have a tag. I had some last year, but I can't remember what it's called.

But it's sexy, so who gives a fuck? If you saw a sexy man/woman across the room, would you care what their name was??? No!

I'm happy that the side of my house that faces the street is looking pretty again. The back side still looks like shite, but I don't care about that.

The holly berries are turning red, just in time for *gasp* The Holidays.

Fun fact: If you look really closely at the window behind the sweet potato vine basket, you'll still see a Christmas decoration up from last year. I like to call it 'Redneck Chic'

The salvia has come back a little bit since being pounded by the hurricane. This little bee is enjoying it...

The fall wreath is on the door. The fake pumpkins are out. Kyna's dreaming of the two thanksgiving dinners on the horizon.

Things are good.

Dirty French Friday

2011-09-09T09:08:00.002-04:00

T'es sûr que tu as dix-huit ans?

Are you sure you're 18?

A Midweek 'Chuck'le

2011-09-07T19:35:00.001-04:00

*Thanks to my friend Pilot Storm for making Chuckles into a cute little sunflower*

You Can Say Whatever You Want, As Long as You Agree With Me

2011-09-03T11:50:00.009-04:00

I've been thinking about 'freedom of speech' this morning.

Inspired partly from a Facebook friend's post, and partly from what's going on at work right now.

Here's the work part: We're in the process of moving all the sections around in the store. It's going to take us about 3 weeks of overnight shifts to do so.

The stopping place for this week has left the 'Sexuality' section in a prominent place for customers to see when they're entering the store through the mall entrance. This is not the permanent place for it, but you can imagine it's drawn some complaints.

I've spent a lot of time explaining that it's temporary, and people ask why we're even allowed to carry 'those kinds of books' in the first place.

I'm very proud of the company I work for, and I'm happy to explain to them that we're a First Amendment company. We reserve the right to carry any book we wish, and display it wherever it will sell the best.

We sell many eyecatching titles...

(Just a little warning...if you google 'Penis Pokey Book', be prepared to see dudes using it as directed)

And those are just the ones most complained about. There are many, many more. Books with 'Asshole' and 'Penis' in the title seem to be the most ubiquitous. And books about zombies.

I'm gonna write a book called 'Attack of the Asshole Penis Zombies' and get rich, beeitch! (I call copyright!)

What I find interesting is that almost all of the complaints about which books we carry are directed towards sex books and books with swear words in the title.

Notice you can say 'asshole' on the front of a book here in the US, but not 'fuck'.

No one complains about all our military titles featuring killing. We prominently display 'The Anarchist's Cookbook'. And we sell the hell out of it.

We carry books about MMA fighters, with pictures of their bloody faces on the covers and titles like 'Blood in the Cage' and "Death Clutch'. Parents never complain about them.

Violence is ok for their kids to see, but sex isn't. God forbid they have to explain sex to their children.

I'd much rather my kid find out what a blowjob is, than learn how to make a bomb at home. That's just me.

However, if your penis can blow up an entire city block, that's a different story.

Also, you should give me your phone number.

Ok, now here's the Facebook conversation part (I'm not quoting here, just relaying the gist): A Canadian friend was talking about how they just watched police taking signs away from protesters in front of the White House. How 'freedom of speech' in the US is kind of a joke. If speech was so free, why try and stifle the protestor's right to it?

I agree with parts of that. I don't believe protestor's signs should be taken away, as long as they're making their demonstration peacefully.

I believe this, even when I think the protestors are complete assholes. Like the Westboro church people.

All people have to do is ignore their bullshit, and it doesn't have as much power. Better yet, laugh at them, like the guy in the above picture is doing.

I find laughing at people I don't agree with much better ammo than fighting them back. People don't like to have their views laughed at. Fight them? You just add fuel to their fire.

When Chuck and I accidentally came upon the Gay Pride Parade in Durham last September (which I begged him to stop and watch with me, I'd always wanted to attend one), there were protestors. But they were a small and sad bunch of people at one end of the parade route, no one even paid attention to them. They were drowned out by the fabulous, colourful celebration of human rights going on in the rest of the long street.

People are all for free speech if it's something they want to hear. I'm talking about both individuals and entire governments.

The part of my friend's post I didn't agree with, was just directing it at the US.

I'm a (VERY) proud Canadian. I love my country of birth, loved every second of the 23 years I lived in it. I happened to fall in love with an American (which I never thought I'd do) and move to the United States unexpectedly.

There are some things I don't like about the U.S., but the country's not completely evil.

To use a geeky 'Lord of the Rings' analogy, which you may or may not get:

I may be wearing the ring, but I haven't turned into Gollum either.

Canada's track record isn't perfect with freedom of speech and expression. They just lifted the ban they had put on playing Dire Straits' "Money For Nothing", for Pete's sake. Banning art (which music is) doesn't sound like freedom of expression to me. But they lifted it, so kudos to Canadian radio for correcting that mistake.

There's also a 'Canadian Content' law. In a nutshell, it governs the percentage of music played on the radio by Canadian artists. It was designed to keep our culture alive in the face of American saturation of media. I think the law is kind of ridiculous. I can listen to American musicians all day long, and I feel like I haven't lost one bit of my Canadian identity.

Americans aren't going to suddenly say, "I have this sudden craving for poutine..." when a Rush song pops on the radio.

(Myself, I feel a strong urge to bitchslap Geddy Lee's voice when a Rush song pops on the radio...does that make me anti-Canadian?)

I'm really glad I had the opportunity to live in both Canada and the U.S. I've gotten to see both sides of the story, and pros and cons of living in both countries. There are fools in both governments (in all governments). There's racism and oppression alive in both countries.

Americans will hear my accent and ask where I'm from. I tell them I'm from Canada, and they always have some sort of question to ask about it. Usually it's about health care. Most of them actually will listen to my point of view, and give me the opportunity to debunk the myths spread by internet propaganda.

And some of them forget about the political shit, and make fun of my accent. "Oot and aboot, eh???" and they laugh their asses off.

But you know what? I just laugh right back and point out the hilarity of Americans saying 'tunafish' instead of just 'tuna' because we both know there's no such thing as 'tunahorse', and we laugh together about our differences.

I've lived here for 5 and a half years, and can say whatever the fuck I want. Just like in Canada. I fly my Canadian flag right next to Chuckles' American one, and haven't been shot at yet.

Not saying the government wouldn't take away my protest sign if I was waving one in front of the White House, but luckily I prefer to make my protests locally. Small, quiet protests can eventally turn into large change.

As long as everyone makes fun of everyone equally, 'debate' instead of 'fight', and ALL just lighten the fuck up, the world would be a more peaceful place.

Do you know what I miss most about Canada? I do miss being able to turn on the CBC and hear the word 'fuck' and see titties if I wanted to. Sometimes at the same time.

P.S. If you haven't heard Samuel L. Jackson reading 'Go The Fuck to Sleep', do it now. Especially if you're a parent. It's hilarious.

P.P.S. I didn't mean this as a slam to my FB friend, I respect the opinions that were stated, even if I don't agree with all of them. I love a debate! In fact, this may spur a mass-debate.

Nothing I love more than mass-debating.

;)

Dirty French Friday

2011-09-02T06:27:00.002-04:00

Hier soir j’étais tellement défoncée que j’ai pissé debout sur le sofa.

Last night I was so wasted I got up and peed on the sofa.

Irene: The Houseguest That Just Didn't Want To Leave

2011-08-28T11:20:00.002-04:00

I guess she technically wasn't a houseguest, since I didn't invite her. But she was hellbent on coming, so what was a girl to do?

And once she was settled and comfortable, the bitch just wouldn't leave!

I went to work Friday morning, and spent most of the day helping the assistant manager get the store ready.

It was crazy to drive up and see the place being covered in storm shutters.

In the 3 1/2 years we've been open, we've never needed them. The store was a hurricane virgin, just like me!

The wind and rain started around 1 or 2pm, and by 5pm when we closed, I was more than anxious to get home. The customers weren't.

I was getting calls at 4:55 asking, "You're closing in 5 minutes? Really? What do you mean you won't be open at all tomorrow?"

People were all horrified at the thought of being trapped in their homes for a whole day. With their families. And maybe *gasp* having to actually talk to their families!

Anyway, driving home at 5pm, there were still quite a few people on the roads. The rain was starting in heavy already, with the outer bands of the storm moving in.

With a hurricane, you not only have risk of wind and rain and flooding, but also tornadoes as well. The tornado risk is greatest with the northern bands of the spiral shaped storm.

Chuck fell asleep early that night, and around 10:30, I thought I was going to have to wake him up to go hide in the bathroom, because tornado warnings were firing all over the area.

Luckily, none of them ended up being in our immediate vicinity, so I let the old man sleep. I usually sleep with earplugs in, because any kind of noise keeps me up, but that night I didn't put any in. They say a tornado sounds like a freight train when it's approaching, and I'd prefer to hear my impending doom.

I slept in the spare room, because Chuckles' snoring also sounds a freight train. I didn't want to confuse the two.

I fell asleep around midnight, and woke up about 2am. I turned on the TV to see what was going on, and watched for about an hour. The wind was whipping outside my house.

Our local news station WCTI Channel 12 stayed live on the air with no commercials for 36 hours straight. I think the news anchors were getting a little delirious by the end of it. They were pretty awesome, actually.

With nothing yet to report but wind (tornado threat had mostly passed), I turned off the TV and tried to go back to sleep. I was suprised the power was even still on, I kept cracking an eye open to see if the red glow of the alarm clock remained.

At 6:30 on Saturday, I decided it was time to get up and see what was going on outside. Chuckles was already up, coffee made. He also couldn't believe the power was still on, and was taking advantage of it.

The wind was crazy, ya'll. It was gusting up to 90mph/145kph. I went outside on the front porch in my pajamas and shot a little video (excuse my scratchy voice, I sound a little like Harvey Fierstein in the AM).

Featuring.....*drum roll please*......Chuckles!!

IG, I think you win in the storm-off. The storm, even as powerful as it seemed to me, was only a Category 1 when it hit. You probably shot your video from somewhere much more interesting than your front step. And the term 'typhoon' is way more cool than 'hurricane'.

Everytime I would turn on my camera, the winds seemed to suddenly want to die down. Turn it off, and they'd whip up again. Dammit! The hurricane was too smart for me!

Watch to the end, the look on Chuck's face is worth it...

The time passed soooooo slowly yesterday.

I can't imagine what it was like for people without power. Some of my friends kept their good sense of humour, just like friends of mine should.

This is one of my friends, making her husband a sandwich by headlamp. I hope she won't mind me posting it, but it was too good not to :D

We never once lost power throughout the whole storm. I only know one other friend of mine in the area who didn't lose power, and she lives only three miles from me. Chuck and I were both amazed, and very grateful.

Because the the hurricane has a weird wind pattern, and our house is situated just the right direction, we didn't have much wind coming in onto the back porch for most of the storm.

Chuckles and I set up a couple of chairs out there and enjoyed a little storm-watching.

Our yard didn't take that hard of a hit. All of my trees held up. I thought the crepe myrtle was going to go a couple of times, because at one point the wind was so strong it was bent in half.

But my neighbours Kelly and Karoline...yikes. The pumphouse for their well got destroyed. They have two giant pecan (yes, I know it's 'pe-cahn' but I say 'pee-can' because Chuck does, I can't help it) trees next to their house, and they lost a lot of branches.

A peach tree of theirs broke right at ground level.

But our yard fared well. We didn't lose any siding or shingles either, which was cool.

Besides Kelly's yard, the only other significant damage in our immediate neighbourhood was a downed tree blocking most of the street.

Later on in the afternoon, after the winds died down slightly, we took a little drive around the neighbourhood. It was still storming, so we probably shouldn't have, but we wanted to see what was going on. (Famous last words, right?)

By far, the worst damage was uprooted and broken trees, and downed power/cable lines.

Some of the uprooted trees were upwards of a hundred years old. The ground just gets so saturated and the tree can't take the wind anymore. It was kind of sad to see old trees like that go like that *snap*.

There was a curfew imposed by the county until later that evening, meaning no one should have been out on the roads, so we didn't go out very far.

As far as the damage went to the surrounding counties, the massive fishing piers in Emerald Isle and Atlantic Beach took the worst hit.

Bogue Inlet Pier, destroyed. A friend told me about 200ft of it got washed away.

By 4pm, the storm was supposed to have moved off us by quite a bit. It didn't. They kept saying, "Two more hours..." Then when two hours passed, it would be "Ok, just another couple of hours now..." The winds had finally shifted, and rain was flooding the back porch.

After all that heavy squeegeeing, I decided to take a nap.

I woke up about an hour and a half later, and Chuckles came into the bedroom from the kitchen. We were talking about how the storm wouldn't quit, and then he went back into the kitchen whilst I shook the sleep from my head.

I hear, "Oh, MY, GOD. What the FUCK???"

Scared the shit out of me. My sleepy heart started racing. "What, Chuck?? WHAT??"

I thought something had gone through the screen, or a cow was flying through our backyard.

"Come out here and see this! HO.LEE.SHIT."

I went out to look through the back door, and saw there was a pile of feathers in the backyard, under the bird feeder.

Chuck said he was just watching the doves eating before he came in to see me when I woke up. Came back out and *poof!* Feathers.

He thinks a hawk swooped down and picked up the dove, or maybe a fox or something. We've had hawks dive-bomb the doves before.

My brother-in-law Steve says it probably just spontaneously combusted from the low pressure from the hurricane. ;)

We ate dinner, and the storm was STILL going. I think it lasted somewhere around 32-34 hours for my area in total? After dinner, we started noticing more and more people out and about. The neighbour on our left called Chuck and said he was driving home from Raleigh, and wanted to check what the house and neighbourhood looked like. His house fared ok. My neighbours Kelly and Karoline were finally venturing outside to survey all of their damage, and we went over to have a couple of beers and bullshit about the hurricane.

The storm was officially over with late yesterday evening, you could just see the edge of the clouds and a little blue sky on the Southern horizon. A cool breeze was blowing. It was actually kind of pretty.

I'm very happy all of my friends are safe. One of them had a tree branch come through her ceiling and crash into her bathroom. She and her husband are ok, but shaken up, understandably.

Look at this crazy shit

So far, nine deaths have been attributed to the storm. Among them, the death of a surfer, a car accident due to hydroplaning, and a dude crushed by a broken tree branch.

I have a few friends in New England, and they're getting hit right now with the tropical storm remnants of Irene. I hope they'll get through it okay as well.

Facebook kept me ridiculously informed during the hurricane. People slam FB, but it was great because I could keep my relatives in Canada in the know, as well as find out information about the rest of my area that I wasn't getting from the news.

Thank you, Internet, for being so awesome.

Thank you Electricity, for staying on.

And a huge thank you to all my friends and family for your concern and well-wishes, it was pretty damn heart-warming.

Dirty French Friday

2011-08-26T09:20:00.001-04:00

Elle a une tête à claques.

She has a face made for smacking.

(Hope I don't die in the hurricane, I'd hate for this to be the last thing the world remembers me for.)

There's Calm In Your Eye

2011-08-25T09:00:00.000-04:00

So it looks like this may be my first real hurricane experience in the 5+ years I've been here in North Carolina.

Originally, the track of Hurricane Irene was supposed to take the eye directly over us, but it's shifted to the east a bit.

However, the storm is so huge, that we're gonna still get some major wind and rain off of the Category 3 storm. Category 3 means sustained winds 111-130 mph (178-209 km/hr). Possibility of major flooding and tornadoes. Kind of some scary shit.

I've spent the last couple of days preparing. Got some water and non-perishable food items (some stores were already cleaned out of water by Tuesday afternoon) and today Chuckles and I will go around taking things down and putting them in the garage.

Luckily my trees are smallish, and barely have any leaves on them. They'll have little wind resistance and be less prone to breakage. Hopefully my windows get through it, because there's no way for us to board them up.

Anyway, You'll get your weekly dose of Dirty French Friday tomorrow morning (I'm sure you're all chomping at the bit), and then I probably won't be on the blog again till Sunday.

Yes, I am a little (*cough*lot*cough*) scared. Yes, I am a little excited. I'll cop to both.

Should be crazy, ya'll!

Tattoo You

2011-08-22T20:30:00.007-04:00

Two things you're sure to find in Jacksonville, North Carolina are Marines and tattoos.

They go together like peas and carrots.

Like a horse and carriage.

Like Michael Jackson and Bubbles.

Like Charlie Sheen and Crazy.

You get the picture.

There's a tattoo shop on every corner. Hell, there's even one in the mall.

You can go get some Ben and Jerry's and then get a flaming skull drawn on your ass.

Winning!

The inspiration for this post was a woman that came through the store the other day. She had a tattoo of a flying pig on her ankle. A badly done tattoo of a flying pig.

Made me wonder.

Why a flying pig? Why on her ankle? Where did she get it done? Was she drunk? Was the tattooist drunk?

At least it was interesting. A break from all the USMC globes and anchors.

I have a tattoo. I designed it myself. It's nothing monumental, but at least it's different.

I couldn't imagine walking into a tattoo shop and just picking something off the wall, or even picking it out of a book. People come in all the time asking for tattoo magazines and books.

One of my favourites is this one.

I'm tempted to buy it and put it on my coffee table. Talk about a conversation piece.

Actually, some of those Russian convicts have better tattoos than the Marines do. That's another reason I'm hesitant to get a tattoo here.

I don't want a crappy-ass butterfly. Better to spend $2000 on a plane ticket to Siberia and get a flippin' sweet facsimile of the Kremlin on my back.

The worst tattoo I've seen in person was a woman coming through the store, about a year or so ago.

Imagine Iggy Pop...

...in a halter top with colossal breast implants and a giant skull and crossbones (with a bow on it) tattoo in the middle of said breast-implanted, veiny chest.

That's what this woman looked like. I nearly had to bleach out my eyes. Maybe the tattoo wouldn't have looked quite so bad if it had been on a different person? I don't know.

But probably not. It was pretty bad. "Please, stare at my beach ball chest, which I've made even uglier by permanently etching a pirate flag in the center of it."

That was the message I was getting.

So what about you guys? What do you think about tattoos? I'm sure some of you have them. What are they?

If it's a tattoo of the Jolly Roger on your décolletage, I completely understand if you stop following my blog.

If it's a tattoo of Iggy Pop, I may just divorce Chuck and marry you instead.

'Cause that would awesome.

Dirty French Friday

2011-08-19T10:35:00.000-04:00

Même à son âge, il est toujours chaud de la pince.

Even at his age, he's still oversexed.

(literally, "he always has a hot claw")

Hey You, Get Off Of My Cloud

2011-08-17T11:00:00.000-04:00

When you look at this cloud, what do you see?

Had a fun time with it on Facebook, I want to hear your answers.

P.S. If your answer is "a cloud", I might have to neck punch you. No one likes a smartass.

Dirty French Friday

2011-08-12T08:02:00.001-04:00

J'en ai marre de ces films bouffe-couilles.

I'm tired of these lame-ass movies.

(Literally, 'movies that eat your balls')

Never Said I Was a Lady

2011-08-09T15:06:00.000-04:00

Hey Hey What Can I Do

2011-08-08T12:45:00.006-04:00

I never knew how much I'd appreciate sleep until I got older.

When I was a kid/teenager, it was a major feat to me if I could stay up all night during the summer. My friend Kirsten spent most of those summers at my house and we would stay up all night talking, listening to music, calling the radio station to request songs in the middle of the night.

The only picture of the two of us from junior high that Kirsten may possibly not kill me for posting (she's on my FB). Fashion in the mid-90's was cruel. I think we're 15-ish here.

Then we would sleep till 2 or 3 in the afternoon and do it all over again the next night. And we would be none the worse for the wear!

Even during the school year, I liked to stay up late. I loved watching all the late-night comedy shows. My mum knew I was doing it, and she let me as long as I could get myself up for school every day with no problems and my marks didn't suffer. I would stay up till 2:30 or 3, and would be ready to learn by 8:30 in the morning. Once again, no ill effects!

As I got older and went to university, oddly enough my sleep patterns evened out. I was one of those nerds that went to college to learn instead of party. And it became harder on my body and mind if I stayed up late.

Fast-forward to the Chuckles Years.

Click to see what he's reading in bed...that should have been a warning!

When I first was married to him, I had to go through the immigration process. I couldn't work for two years, and we only had one vehicle. I stayed at home a LOT. His sleep schedule became my sleep schedule. Went to bed kinda early with him (bow-chicka-wow-wow), got up at 5am with him (not so bow-chicka-wow-wow).

Even on the weekends he'd get up at 5. "Why would anyone want to sleep the day away?" he'd say. "What a waste!"

And he was kinda right. I began to enjoy mornings. I would be up early, sipping my coffee. I started eating breakfasts. I got a lot of gardening, cleaning, reading, etc, done. I would be still awake enough in the evenings that I would make elaborate dinners. I really enjoy cooking when I have the time and energy to do it.

Then I started working. And not only working, but at a job with full-time unpredictable hours. Eight to nine hours on my feet. On a concrete floor with an 1/8 of an inch carpet between it and my feet. Heavy mental exhaustion from dealing with crazy people all day.

Most of the time, I think I wouldn't enjoy a nine to five, Monday to Friday sort of job. I've had those before, and they get tediously boring after a short while. Except that I would get to see Chuck more often.

Chuck used to have as unpredictable work as I did, but it left a lot of his weekdays free. We'd often have a whole Monday, Thursday, etc, off together, when he was subcontracting work off of many drywall contractors. We'd go on 'adventures' on the spur of the moment.

Now, the economy's changed and so has the nature of Chuck's drywall work. He's more of a Monday to Saturday guy now, working for one dude. I rarely have Sundays off. I work nights, while he's at home. Or I work days and we're both home at night, but too tired to even talk. Dinner is something frozen tossed in the oven. And sleep...

All the managers take turns closing at the store. Some months, one person seems to get to do it more than the others. This month it seems to be me. It isn't done on purpose, it just happens that way.

I don't mind closing. When I get home, I'm wound up from work and can't sleep right away. I end up reading usually, get caught up in a book, and stay up till 3:30. Then I sleep till about 10:30 or 11. Then I have to leave for work again at 2. I enjoy the sleeping in, but I feel like I'm wasting my day. Weeds are getting tall, house is getting dirty, blogs are going unwritten...

Chuck is also not an easy person to sleep with. I call him 'Starfish'.

He tosses and turns. When he is sleeping, he's snoring or elbowing me in the back. This week has been particularly bad. I haven't had anywhere near a full night's sleep in about that long.

I'm starting to daydream about sleep. I never used to be like that.

I hear some of you with children saying, "You don't even KNOW tired! You don't have kids! If you had kids, then you'd really be exhausted!"

And you're correct. That's why I don't have any kids. I don't even have a dog.

I don't even have a goldfish.

Too much tiring responsibility when I'm already beat.

And I also hear some of you older folk (hehe, I called you 'older folk') saying "You're only 30! Once you reach [some random middle/old age] like me, then you'll really be tired!"

You're right again. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm already really tired now. I'll just be more tired when I reach your age.

I think I need to exercise and change my diet.

Stop reading at night.

Buy a king size bed.

And put a gag on my Starfish.

Dirty French Friday

2011-08-05T09:44:00.001-04:00

Enfoiré! Arrête tes conneries! Je vais pisser dans mon froc!

You crazy fuckhead! Stop with the jokes! I'm gonna piss my pants!

Going to the Chapel, er, The Hilton...

2011-08-03T12:20:00.008-04:00

Went to a wedding in Greenville on Saturday. My former manager/friend got married. It was kind of like the royal wedding in bookseller circles.

Chuckles was dreading it a little. The man is going to be 50 years old in February, and he's never before attended a wedding!

Well, he's had two of his own, but that doesn't count. And he was more dressed up for this one than he was for both of those ones.

Who the hell gets through 50 years without attending at least one wedding? Usually there's some sort of family obligation or something. Chuck does have a very small family compared to me, all spread out, so maybe that has something to do with it. But still!

This current wedding was my favourite sort of wedding. One in which the groom was one of those divorced guys that said, "I'm never getting married again. Fuck THAT shit!"

And then of course he met someone awesome, and had to eat his words.

Take note of the "Holy shit. I just got married again" face.

Chuck was one of those guys. I'm sure when we were standing in front of the JP at the courthouse, Chuck had a couple of blinding urges to run as fast as he could.

Luckily, he was missing a lung and going through chemo at the time, and couldn't run very fast. I would have caught him.

Getting the chance to see Chuck all dressed up on Saturday was worth the trip to Greenville.

Chuckles had trouble doing up his tie. Wonder what the distraction could be?

We took his trousers in last week to get them tailored, also a first for Chuckles. He was a little apprehensive, and turned to me and said, "She's not going to cup my balls like Joey's tailor on Friends, is she?" I don't know if he was hoping she would, or hoping she wouldn't!

Chuck did get a little enjoyment out of dressing up (besides any ball-cuppage), he loved the wingtip shoes I bought him. Apparently, wingtips scream elegance to my husband.

*Ahem*, I think I clean up nice as well.

Good thing I didn't buy Chuck a blue shirt.

Waiting for the ceremony to commence. It was like 100 degrees outside, so we all stood in the hallway until the last 5 minutes

Having fun waiting for the walk down the aisle

We shared a room with our friends Sean and Andie in the same hotel that the wedding took place in. Nice to not have to worry about driving or walking anywhere. Which is a good thing in this case, because the bride and groom really know how to throw a shindig. "Hangover" style.

Short on ceremony, long on the party. My favourite kind of wedding!

Chuck toasting the new couple. Two minutes into the reception, and the sleeves are already rolled up.

"You'd BETTER ask me to marry you, Sean. Or else."

There was no assigned seating, but somehow all of us booksellers gravitated towards one corner anyway

Click the pic to see Little Lucifer trying to light things on fire with his eyes

Ignore the two goofs in the foreground, Chuck looks really good in this one

This was the first wedding I've ever been to with a live band instead of a DJ. I danced for four hours straight! They were called The Remedy, and they were awesome! Played a bunch of classic rock and oldies. When they played "Blister in the Sun" I just about peed, I was so excited. I even danced to Journey, and I hate Journey!

My dancing partner, Elizabeth. She also danced for four hours straight, and she still looked gorgeous at the end of it. I was a sweaty mess.

Chuckles even got into it. Look at him boogie!

Since I can't dance and drink at the same time (I'm not that talented), I fared a lot better than some of my friends did the next morning. And I retained all my memories of the antics that ensued! Antics that I won't make public in my blog.

What happens in Greenville, stays in Greenville. Except that tattoo that Sean woke up with on his face. That came home with him.

The only disappointment I felt was that we didn't wake up to missing teeth and a tiger in the bathroom.

Although, if there had been a tiger, I would expect these to be the faces made...

Questions for you, Dear Readers:

For the married folk, what was your wedding like? What would you have done differently?

For the married and unmarried folk, what is something that you think everyone's probably done by your age now, but you haven't? (examples: attended a wedding, seen Star Wars, lost your virginity, etc)

Dirty French Friday

2011-07-29T06:05:00.001-04:00

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.