Apples are for Canadians

Have you ever been apple picking?

I haven't.

And I think if someone said, "Hey, let's go apple picking" I would probably say "Ok," but with no intention of picking any apples. I'd probably just sit under one of the trees and take a nap. Maybe the people I came with would do some apple picking and I'd watch. Really though, who actually goes and picks apples? I can buy apples at the store... already picked.

And for some reason I view apple picking as an activity that occurs under a blazing sun. I don't like to work under a blazing sun. Too hot.

When I was younger I joined the next door neighbor in throwing crab-apples at cars. Crab-apples are nothing like real apples -- in an apple orchard (not that I would know... I've never been to an apple orchard to pick real apples because none of you have invited me to go). I think they might even be poisonous. Anyway, we hit one car and it stopped and the lady driver knocked on my door and told my mom. We tried to hide in the next door neighbor's basement, but our moms found us. That was big trouble.

Now that I think about it, I don't even like apple pie.

--So, to answer your original question, Yes -- I've always been this awesome.

Unsung Hero

I want to meet the genius behind this warning label system. Not only did he give the English language a middle finger for his disregard of the most fundamental rules of grammar, he also found a way to circumvent a serious fear inflicting a majority of Americans: the fear of walking into a manual door or trying to open an unadvertised automatic door. Talk about social anxiety.

If we met, I'd ask three questions: Why not offer different colour choices and fonts? What was the reason you went with the circle over more obvious shapes, such as the octagon or trapezoid? What's next?

In my opinion, we take for granted the advantages provided by this sort of advertising (that is, if you know where to find these automatic caution doors):

1. Avoid breaking a sweat by using the automatic caution door and carry more shopping bags from LaCreuset.
2. Inhibits the spread of germs and other STD's.
3. Provides an opportunity to avoid the awkward social requirement of holding the door open for a stranger a few steps away. Just smile politely, shrug your shoulders, and point to the caution part of the warning label system: it's not your fault, they were warned.

Because Caution is ALWAYS the first word I read, you are a true unsung hero automatic caution door warning label inventor!

I will eKill you

I got this in my mailbox this morning:


TO A KEEPER!

One day a mother died.

And on that clear, cold morning,
in the warmth of her bedroom,
the daughter was struck with
the pain of learning that sometimes
there isn't any more.

No more hugs,
no more lucky moments to celebrate together,
no more phone calls just to chat,
No more "just one minute."

Sometimes, what we care about the most goes away.
never to return before we can say good-bye,
Say "I Love You."

So while we have it . . it's best we love it . .
And care for it and fix it when it's broken
and take good care of it when it's sick.

This is true for marriage .... and friendships ..

And children with bad report cards;
And dogs with bad hips;
And aging parents and grandparents
We keep them because they are worth it,
Because we cherish them!
Some things we keep --
like a best friend who moved away
or a classmate we grew up with.
There are just some things that
make us happy, No matter what.
Life is important,
and so are the people we know.
And so, we keep them close!


I received this from someone today
who thought I was a 'KEEPER'!

Then I sent It to the people
I Think of in the same way!

Now it's your turn to send this to all those people
who Are "keepers" in your life!

Thank you very much
For being a special part of MY Life!


YOU ARE A KEEPER!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm confused about two things: a) Why did you send this to me? and b) Who calls their parents "just to chat"?

Because i am confused, i am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, which in your case amounts to a 5 minute head start. Then i am coming for you.

Kitchen Porn

Let’s get one thing straight: I love women. I immensely enjoy spending time rolling around all naked with a hot woman. Also, I love football, a fine steak, Mexican beer, and carpentry.

Now that we have all that settled, I feel free to admit that I titter and squeal like a Japanese schoolgirl when my quarterly Sur La Table catalog arrives in the mail. I peruse it in separate “sittings.” I dog-ear pages, plan future meals, and visualize were my new purchases could be stored in my smallish kitchen. I make noises like “ohhh...” and “mmmhhmmm...that’s nice.” And that’s just the catalog...

My friends, I have a weakness for Kitchen Porn.

The physical manifestations begin innocuously enough – perhaps I get a taste for some steamed spinach. But, dear readers, I have no way to steam that spinach. Looks like I’ll have to buy some kind of kitchen equipment to properly introduce the steam of a boiling pot to a healthy dose of leafy green. So I hop on the internets and scan the pages of Sur La Table or Williams Sonoma. Then I plan my trek to either store. The car ride over is filled with anticipation. Palms get sweaty, face gets a little flushed, excitement wells up in my bosom. And upon entering the fine kitchenware establishment... sweet, sweet RELEASE.

I’m surrounded not just by steamer inserts, but also by display racks of Le Creuset (all the colors!), stainless EVERYTHING, knives, utensils, glassware, shiny appliances, and so much more. The feeling is euphoric. I buy as many items as I can, spending time to caress, fondle, and stroke all the wonderful kitchen toys.

As I emerge from the store, basking in the afterglow of my purchasing orgy, the feeling is so very similar to that of the post-coital. And much like the real thing, after getting my new additions home and put away (fifteen minutes later), I’m already thinking about that next catalog, that next excursion, with delicious anticipation.

Oh, and once again: Totally Not Gay. In fact, I just cooked up a succulent roast and served it to your mom, your sister, and your ex-cheerleader-girlfriend. Then we all had sex. Twice. So hot. Your mom loved it (and the roast). Bitch.