Crazy, Sexy, Funny

Last Sunday it was really nasty outside, which of course meant it was my day off. Karma gets me like that.

I should have done something constructive with my time. I could have cleaned the house, for example. Or maybe read some fine literature. I could have brushed up on my guitar playing...or learned a new language.

What did I do all day?

Spent it on CrackTube.

I found this Brit-com called 'Black Books'.



Dylan Moran plays a small bookshop owner named Bernard Black. Bernard is a crazy Irishman...smokes too much, drinks too much, is very high-maintenance and has to be taken care of by his much put-upon employee Manny and his best friend Fran.



Hilarious show. Had tears streaming out of my eyes. I sat at my computer all day and watched all 3 seasons, each episode posted in three parts.

All. Day.

Best spent rainy day I've had in a long time. I've been forcing clips on my Facebook friends all week since.

Maybe it's really not that funny. Maybe I find it so funny because I work in a bookshop. The same shit happens to bookshop workers all over the world.

I wish Bernard was my boss.




Maybe I like the show so much because I'm now in love with Dylan Moran. Which brings me to my next thought: Why is 'funny' so sexy to me?

Take any ordinary man. He doesn't have to have traffic-stopping good looks. In fact, a lot of people might not find him good looking at all.

But if he's funny? My panties start trying to escape down my legs.

The sillier the better. A man that isn't afraid to look silly on purpose in front of people is a confident man. And not only that, but a funny man is usually a smart man. Stupid men can be funny, but it's usually by accident and you can tell the difference. They're funny in the way that small children and pets are funny. It's not sexy.

Normal women are attracted to nice bodies...riches...expensive cars...refined manners...aren't they? Not me. Why am I missing this particular chip in my brain?

Funny is sexy as hell. Throw in an Irish/Scottish/English accent? Panties are in full on disintegration mode.

Examples:

Anthony Bourdain. Not only is he funny, but he can also cook. Makes up for the lack of foreign accent. Boneus!



Daniel Tosh. I'm gonna marry him someday (Don't worry Chuckles. It'll be after you're dead.)



Most of the Pythons. Except Graham Chapman. Even though he was brilliant, 'funny' didn't make him more attractive. He's dead, so I'm sure he won't mind me saying so.

I have a particular attraction to Michael Palin. I think most of the men I find attractive have been in a dress at some point. Or...garters.



Craig Ferguson. A kilt is way sexier than a dress. Even sexier than being naked whilst holding a big meaty bone in front of your genitals. And he's wearing a hot guitar and a furry sporran. My panties are completely non-existant now.



Denis Leary. His nose is kind of all over his face and his teeth are weird, but hot nonetheless because he's hilarious. No foreign accent, but he is of Irish descent so that scores points. And he's also been spotted in a dress. I think he lost a bet.



Now Dylan Moran has joined the ranks of Funny Panty Melters.

Something is truly wrong with me that I find this attractive.



I think that's why I love Chuckles so much. He's funny as hell. Slightly different sense of humour than I have, so I have a hard time making him laugh. I take it as a challenge to get him to do so. REALLY laugh.

He has two different laughs. One of them is a generic laugh. Of course it's technically 'real', but sort of an all-purpose guffaw.

His real laugh comes from somewhere deeper. Balls deep. It's devilish. Bawdy. More like a long cough than a laugh. His brother and his best friend bring that one out in him a lot more often than I can. Drives me batshit.

You wanna know why? Because he can make me laugh my ass off with little effort. Sometimes I almost don't want to laugh, because it means that he wins!

Did I mention we're also very competitive?

One of the clips I posted on FB this week was this one. You'll have to watch it to the end or you won't know what I'm on about. It's short-ish.



Chuck's been giving himself 'Irish hair' all week at random times. I've laughed so hard over it. The only people I used to hang around with were Irish (because I played Gaelic Football, not because I have some weird prejudice towards the non-Irish). Hell, I married Irish.

Mum asked if I had taken any pictures, because she couldn't imagine it. Well, I hadn't. But I came across this one of Chuckles from last year while I was looking for a different picture. He was relaxing at the table after work, no staging. And voilà!

Irish hair lives!!



Chuckles may not be rich, but he's in the Funny Panty Melter Club. I'm sure he's melted hundreds of pairs over his 49 years with his rapier wit and his Irish hair.

What say you, Ladies? And you too, my Gentlemen Friends? Is funny sexy?

All right.

Just one more.

I promise.

Bookstore Chronicles: Countdown to Xmas #2

When customers come up to Customer Service and ask for help, the conversations usually go like this.

Me: "Hi there! *smiling* Can I help you?"

Customer: Hi! I'm looking for a book.

Me: "Aren't we all! *wink* What are you looking for?"

Customer: "Well, I don't know the title."

Me: "Ok. Who's the author?"

Customer: "Um...I don't know the author either."

Me: "Okayyyy....what can you tell me about the book?"

Customer: "Well, it's about [some broad random subject] and I KNOW that it's pink."

Me: "It's pink?"

Customer: "Yep. It's pink. For sure."

Me: "Um, I'd love to find that book for you, but I really need some more information on it to search for it. What else can you tell me about it?"

Customer: "Nothing. That's all I know."

Me: "Well, I don't know of any book like that off the top of my head..."

Customer: [looking at me like they can't believe I don't know what book they're talking about and like I have three heads as well] "Oh. Well, like I said. It's pink. There aren't that many pink books are there?"

Me: "I can't search by colour..."

Customer: "Oh! I just thought of something else about it!"

Me: "Great! What is it??"

Customer: "It's fuzzy."

Me: *crying and laughing on the inside* "Nameless, authorless, pink, fuzzy book, eh?"



That exact situation happens several times a day. Several.

Yesterday I was called up to the front to help an older lady find a book. When I got up there, I saw that it was a customer that was famous for being a little difficult. Great.



"Can I help you," I asked.

"This lady is looking for a book on logging," said L, the cashier that called me.

"Logging?" I asked?

The old lady nodded.

"Ok....well, I know off the top of my head that we're not going to have anything like that in the store. Our nature section is pretty small."

She looked at me like I was a COMPLETE asshole.

"Really?" she said.

"Yep. We don't really have anything like that, because it's not something that sells in this market. Maybe I can look it up and see if I can order you something? There's still time before Christmas to do that," I said.

She just kept looking at me. She had this little smirk on her face like she thought I was being stupid and difficult and was lying all at the same time.

"Really? I would have thought that would be popular. The man I'm buying for loves that show on the History channel about the loggers."

"Well," I said, "I see in my lookup system that there's a couple of textbooks about logging. And that's about it. I'm so sorry, it just doesn't seem to be a popular subject."

More disbelieving blinks in my direction. "Ok, what about fiction? I'd be happy for a fictional story about logging. He's very hard to buy for. You must have something."

Sigh.

"Ma'am, we really don't even have anything that I could order besides these two textbooks. I'm sorry."

And she just walked away in disgust. Before I finished my sentence.

Yep.

Let me let you in on something. I'd rather someone yell and let me have it than someone just turning on their heel and walking away. That is the epitome of rudeness to me. Turning on your heel and walking away is a big, fat,



I actually did get reamed out by another customer this week. One of our music sellers allegedly told him that the CD he ordered would be there by that day. And of course it wasn't.

I always suspect that there's a big problem when a cashier calls me and says, "Can you come to the registers, please?" without further explanation.

This particular problem was completely our fault. It was probably one of our seasonal newbies. We never, ever guarantee that an item will be in on 'x' day. It's always a range. What if something happens to the UPS truck? Stuff like that is something we can't control.

So I apologized profusely. I apologized for the person who told him that. I apologized, apologized, apologized. And I topped the apologies with apology sprinkles.

Not good enough. "But I want to buy it NOW. They said it would be here today. I'm here to purchase it. Now."

I really felt bad that our mistake made him come all the way down for nothing. But after a plethora of apologies, I didn't know what else to do. Pull it out of my ass?



He just kept standing there and staring at me. Nothing would appease him except buying his CD.

Oh well, that's what I signed up for when I took this temporary floor manager job. At least he yelled at me, and let me apologize one more time before finally turning and walking away.

There haven't been any horrific bathroom incidents. Apparently, 'horrific' has taken on a whole new meaning for me. I reluctantly responded to a call for 'attention to the Ladies' Room' and it was no more than a toilet that someone hadn't bothered to flush because they're lazy, and I was RELIEVED. Is that wrong, or what??

I look like a crazy person walking into the bathroom...tentatively opening up each of the stall doors to peer inside...then finding the offending toilet, flushing it, and walking out smiling and giving everyone the thumbs up because the mess was all in the toilet instead of all over the outside of it. AND it was a flushable mess, no plunger necessary!

It's the little things in life that matter...

Time sure passes quickly when you're running back and forth doing returns, giving change, helping out at the registers, cleaning up coffee spills, and on bathroom duty (haha, bathroom doody). You pray for January, and then when it finally comes, you're bored out of your head because you were so used to the rush and madness.



Week 2 is complete.