It's all down hill from here. Or at least down stairs.

I hope that I am not the only one that has the occassional day where you have to drop a few* F-bombs, cry it out, drink warm white wine directly from the bottle and clean up shit.  Literally.  Well, most people probably manage to avoid the shit part, but since I tend to go all out when I do something, I can't forget that important piece of the story.
I know that I have fallen way behind with my blogging and for the most part I have a good excuse*, but I want to be able to blog the really funny shit that happens to me and recently my good belly-busting laugh stories have been at a minimum.  Well, that was until last Wednesday . . .
Around 5:15pm I am in the drive-thru of the local drug store when my mom-in-law calls.  Rob is sleeping, Jake is pooping and whining that he is very hungry and well my friends, it's time for Mama to get her ass home.  Ten minutes later I arrive at the gates of Hades . . . oops, home and the shit is everywhere.  Again, literally. 
My mom-in-law greets me at the door with sad puppy eyes and is clutching one of my cute springy couch pillows.  Instead of her typical "Hi Honey, how was your day?"*, she gives me: "I think I created a problem.  A BIG problem." She then turns the pillow over and it is covered in . . . oh you guessed it!  SHIT! 
Ok, time for a little back story.  My almost 6 year old son suffers from chronic constipation, encopresis and fructose intolerence.  Basically, there is a lot of poop talk in our house.  The typical*: "Did you go at school today? Was it a big one? Does your belly hurt?  What did the poop look like? Try harder to get it out, ok?  Did you take your medicine?" and so forth and so on.  This also means there are lots of accidents.  I am thinking we should buy stock in underwear and toilet paper. 
Well, my dear mom-in-law was dealing with Jake battling another impaction, thus several accidents.  She had piled all the poop laden clothing at the top of the stairs to go down for laundry.  At that very moment Jake had another crisis* and she became destracted.  After the crisis was diverted, she came downstairs to find Izzy dining on Poop Ala Mode on the couch pillow.  For the weak stomached of you, now is the time to STOP READING . . . the rest of you brave souls may carry on.  Yes, dearest sweet innocent puppy has Jake's underwear on the couch and is eating the shit right out of it.  Meanwhile the shit is getting all over the pillow and her fur and stuck in her teeth and on the very tongue that licks my face.*
Ok, so pillow is lost.  I can deal with a lost pillow.  Acutally two pillows are lost because the set is a goner.*  I clean up Izzy's teeth and hair. 
Now, I head upstairs.  Sick hubby is sleeping, mom-in-law heads downstairs to wash out the remaining fecal matter, Jake is back on the toilet and playing the ipad*, and Izzy is laying low on the couch. Then, Izzy hears or sees something outside and begins her tough dog* bark.  I yell* at her, but she is relentless and won't stop.  I go to run downstairs to stop her and it happens.  I had on pantyhose, so my feet were slippery and the soft carpet of the stairs equaled a dangerous combination.  My feet shot out from under me and I rode my ass down the stairs in a speed similar to that of Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation on the sledding hill. OMG the pain. Thank the good Lord above that my staircase only has 6 steps because my right buttcheek became closely acquanited with each one. Now, for those of you wonderful people* that have never seen me, I am not a little person* and that impact wasn't pleasant for me or the stairs. I have an 8" X 3" bruise* across my buttock* and boy is it sore. What was more upsetting than the pain was the fact that no one in my house, all 4 other beating hearts, didn't come to help me. They all claim they heard nothing.* Trust me, the thuds my body made along with my crying and cussing was probably heard in the next county. I give Isabella* a break. After all, had her little 12 pound body been on the staircase during the fall she would have been crushed. At this point she just wanted to survive. So, after about 30 seconds of laying at the bottom of the stairs crying, I got up and cried. Hey, don't judge, getting up was a huge accomplishment at this time. I leaned on the ledge in my foyer and whined, rather loudly, how bad my life sucked and rubbed my own ass. Still, no one came to check on me or help me or listen to me whine. At that point I ripped off my panty hose, because afterall it was all their fault, pulled up my big girl panties and dealt with it. Oh,* and then I walked to the wine rack, grabbed the only bottle with a screw on cap, opened it, and chugged warm white wine from the bottle. I am a mom and a wife and that is what I have to do everyday. Damnit! * Okay maybe a few hundred * My closest friends and family can verify * She really does say that in the cutest little sincere voice * Totally typical for us * Remember he is 6, crisis is relative * Shiver. I shall pretend this never happened. * Those pillows will never be considered clean again. No way ! No how! * Forget reading magazines on the toilet, this is game time! * She is a big dog trapped in the cutest little body * Again possibly an appropriate time to use an F-Bomb or two or three * God bless you for taking the time to read this. * Big and beautiful, baby! * I have pictures if you want to see * I imagine Forest Gump talking to the President everytime I say buttocks * I call bullshit * Granted she is still in trouble for eating shit * This is classic

Dream vacation?!

I love a good Deliverance reference.  I think it is because whenever I watch the movie I feel like I am back home.  I mean, my parents neighbor bears a striking resemblance to the man  in overalls, you can hear banjos playing in the distance at night, and I sat next to the albino kid my senior year of study hall.  Oh, how I wish I was kidding.

My hubby and I got the lucky gift from my m-i-l of three nights and four days of child free bliss.  We decided to head to Put-in-Bay and Marblehead.  We opted for the homey feel and relaxation of two different Bed and Breakfasts.  The first was what you see pictured below.

We hopped on the ferry and headed to the islands.  We got off the ship and hitched a ride on the taxi bus thingy.  We advised the driver of where we are staying and off we went. 
Sidenote: I looked super-duper cute in my skort, sparkly sunglasses and shinny silver sandals.  Sadly, it appeared I overdressed for the occasion.

As we pull it (we are the first stop), I hear the girl behind me say: "OMG!  Is someone really staying here?!"  I follow up with the classic: "Oh why, yes.  Me!"
Damn it.

I will let the photos do the talking:

I guess Christmas is early this year.  Too bad Santa didn't bring a new door frame.  Oh, and this is the front door of the fabulous establishment in which we stayed.

The view from our room.  Romantic, isn't it?

The rear-view mirror on the golf cart we rented.  I am sure this is totally road legal.

The rotting jeep and truck filled with garbage right next to our golf cart parking.

The fridge that is supposedly stocked with breakfast, snacks and drinks.

Turkey anyone?

Thank God the room was clean and we had a private bath.  I simply told Rob: "If I hear banjos or pigs, we are fucking outta here." *

Random Funny Shit Photo Ops

As you have all come to realize, my life truly is filled with random funny shit. 
It is even better when that random funny shit is able to photographed and shared!
Here are some of my favorites:

The smoking scooter riding Rageddy Ann I saw at Giant Eagle: (This story is just priceless.  Check out my facebook page for the complete details!)

This "sale" sign was posted in front of the cemetery near my home.  I guess Buy One Get One Free is popping up all over the place nowadays.

My husband and I went to an indoor football game* and this was my view:

For the record, I hate Rha-Rha's!*  And this one stood there for at least 20 minutes.  I will not tell a lie, I was very tempted to kick her and watch her roll down the steps.  Bwhahahaha.  Damn Skinny Bitches.*

This was last summer/early autumn when we were under attack from the midges.  I swear there were enough that some mornings I would sweep them into piles.

I love it when I get funny text photos.  Nothing says "Happy [insert holiday here]" like this kinda stuff:

*

And nothing like Wal-mart - an entertaining trip each time you shop!  Screw selling for less, I go just to laugh.

This was the random weave I found there:

Where I grew up we bought candy bars, cigarettes*, and pop from vending machines.  Now, you can purchase pimple cream, too.



And who doesn't want to own a Terminator Puppy:



Since my life is full of this kind of great stuff, I will keep updating!

*As if going to football outdoors in all kinds of weather and watching it on TV wasn't enough.

*AKA Cheerleaders

*See previous blog post titled Skinny Bitches in order to completely understand my feelings.

*And, no, this is not my ass.

*I think the bar in town still has the cigarette vending machine.

Don't mess with me

For two weeks now we have had ATT Uverse.  They provide us with phone, TV and internet service.  Phone is pretty much unlimited, internet is super quick, and the TV is 200 channels of happiness on 5 TVs with DVR!!!  I am in heaven.  It took the amazing tech 8 hours to install all this.  Boxes, wires and no service during that time.
On day 7 of service Rob was watching the Golf network.  Which, for the record, this is one of the 200 channels that I think is completely stupid.  Yes, stupid.  For hours men will talk about which club to use and proper stance and all kinds of bullshit.  I. hate. that. channel.  I wouldn't need to be waterboarded to talk*, I would simply need to be put in a room with no remote and constant streaming of The Golf Channel.  I would sell my soul to Satan to make it stop.
Anywho, Rob is watching Golf and Jake is on the internet, when everything stops working.  Phones are flashing "no line," internet can't connect and all 5 TV screens are blue.  Well, shit.
So, my husband decides that we can deal with it later*, drops me a text and goes on his merry little way.
I proceed to chat online, from another location since my internet is not working and all, with tech support.  I get the very commonly named agent, Yogesh.  Yogesh and I seem to have a communication barrier.*  I tell him that I am not at home and I have no service of any kind.  After Yogesh's 15 attempts to have me reboot one of the 16 hundred boxes in our home, I finally get him to understand I am not there.  He gives me instructions of what to do and a number to call back if it doesn't work.  A wrong number, might I add!!!! 
Two hours later I am done with work and all confident that a "box reboot" will fix our little* problem.  It doesn't!  IT DOES NOT RESTORE SERVICE!  I am melting down here, people!
So, back to the customer service number.
I call in and realize that Yogesh, bless his little heart, gave me a disconnected number.  Finally I find a working number and the first 15 minutes are me screaming at an automated program.  Random words: yes, no, my phone number is, no service, representative, representative, REPRESENTATIVE!  Lots of pounding on "0."  You get the picture.
Finally, I get a human.  This human spends another 15 minutes "troubleshooting" the problem.  Nothing.  By this time I have heard that they "apologize for my inconvenience" about 30 times.  Now they are transferring me to a different department and supposedly escalating my call. I firmly believe that the escalation of my call was due to the large amount of crazy that I was giving off.  35 minutes into this call I get the escalation department and another tech support.  By now I am Done with a capital D!
Here is the basic convo:
Tech guy:  "Hello, Mrs. Finie.  I am sorry for your inconvenience.  Let me look into this."
Me:  "Hello, Mr. Tech Dude.  First of all, my name is Finnie not Finie! And, I am really sorry you had to answer my call because I am pissed.  This is day 7 of your company's wonderful* service and I have nothing.  No TV, no internet, and no home phone.  I have wasted almost 2 hours so far today trying to figure this problem out.  And to top it off, I was in the middle of DVRing 'Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter is Dead' and now I can never get that back.  This is way beyond an inconvenience."
Tech Guy: "Ummm, ok then.  Well, can you reboot the back up battery box?"
Me: "Huh?"
Tech Guy: "Yes, the white 8X10X12 box that was installed inside your home that supplies power to all services."
Me: "Are you fucking serious?*  I have 5 boxes, one at each TV, a big grey thing on the outside of my house and a box at the computers.  There is no 8X10X12 white box."
Tech Guy: "Yes, ma'am, there is such a box.  You can't have service without it.  It may be in your basement, attic or garage.  It is usually hidden or out of the way."
Me:  "Well, that is just stupid.  Wouldn't that be vital information the installation tech should have told us?" 
[for the next 20 minutes I go through the garage and basement until I find the stupid fucking box]
ME: "Found it.  Now what in the hell was you it wanted me to do?"
Tech Guy: "Use a paper clip and press and hold the small button on the side of the box for 15 seconds.
Me:  "Let me find a paper clip, climb my fat ass up the ladder and do just that.  Please hold (said in my best sexy phone operator voice). . .  OK, done."
Tech Guy:  "Hmmm.  Uh Huh.  Well . . . "*
Me: "Ummm, yeah.  What do you mean by that?"
Tech Guy: "Well it appears that there is a T error code 103 in your area.  Let me escalate this call.  It appears there is an area outage affecting about 1000 customers."
Me: "I thought this call already was escalated?  So, you are telling me 1000 customers are without service and you didn't know that until I went up a ladder and reset a little box?  Really, dude*?!"
After about 5 more minutes of this tech dude rambling on about escalation and T error codes he says that he is yet again escalating this and we should have service restored withing 3-4 hours. 
Me: "Thank you, Mr. Tech Guy.  Sorry I was bitchy to you.  I don't have much in my life, I love TV and I have really bad PMS."
Tech Guy:  "It's ok.  I understand.  I am married."

30 MFing hours later service is restored.  I was hours away from checking into a hotel.  Not Kidding.

Rob and I were talking on the couch late Sunday night when I noticed the lights on one of the precious boxes turn from red to green and begin flashing.*  I stopped Rob from talking, grabbed the phone and Holy Mother of Mary there was a dial tone.  I run to the computer and there is internet access!  And, here is the big moment. . . . I grab the remote, say 7 Hail Mary's and press power:   [insert Angels signing and lights from heaven shinning down] WE. HAVE. TV.  I don't remember saying goodnight to Rob or what we even watched.  We each picked a TV and just sat there watching it work.  Priceless!

*Not that I have anything to talk about, but just in case I ever do.
*Men!
*Imagine that!
*This was before I realize we had gone from little problem to royal crisis.
*I use that term loosely.
*Yes, I really said this.
*For the love of God, use words and talk.
*I still don't know his name.
*I may not have been looking at Rob while he was talking. 

Skinny Bitches

Everywhere you turn there is news about the problem that is weighing down Americans.
Our weight, that is!  Go me, I made a pun!  I find puns hard to come up with and often wish I had the intelligence and quick wit required to come up with "funnies," so this is a big moment!
Anywho, I am a firm believer that you aren't what you eat, but you are what your soul makes you.*
Well, I make be 50% fat and 50% soul, but you get my point.  My soul is powerful! :)
Last weekend we went out with a bunch of friends.  We found ourselves at a popular restaurant and later a bar and, thus, surrounded by the hip and swanky.  I have never really put myself in this category, so I spent 90 minutes on physical (and emotional) prep for this event.  I talking Spanx*, hot rollers and body glitter, people!  If others wouldn't question my sanity, my everyday life would be filled with body glitter!  Just sayin'!  I fully admit to putting said glitter on Izzy and she loved it!  God, I love that dog, oops, I mean four legged furry person!
So, we arrive at our first stop and I happen to notice a large amount of Skinny Bitches.  Yes, Skinny Bitch is capitalized because I consider it a proper noun and when I say it out loud* I put a little* bit of nastiness in my tone.  Urbandictionary.com has definitions for the term skinny bitch*, but they don't really matter.
From the dictionary of Janelly:
Skinny Bitch - Proper Noun [bich] - damn near every thin pretty gal I have ever met.  Possibly related terms: Super Skinny Bitch, Skinny Super Bitch. 
While we were enjoying our meal, I didn't noticed the large* number of Skinny Bitches in the dining room.  Oh, they were there, trust me.  I just couldn't see them because my seat faced the wall and the lighting was set to "super swanky.*"  But, as we were leaving there was a group of Them* by the door.  They had precariously perched their skinny asses on the ultimate stilettos. And it appears that Skinny Bitch boyfriends don't know how to call ahead and make reservations because those Skinny Bitches has been standing there for a long time and didn't look happy.  Hahahaha!  Random [some may call violent] acts began to enter my mind.  Like, I could just stick my big toe out and push that toothpick heel right out from under her.  And, while she's down, I am gonna pry her jaws open and shove 30 pounds of chocolate cake down her gullet!  BWHAHAHAHAHA!  Oh, and just to make sure I leave a trademark, I will spritz her with just a tad of body glitter.  [snicker, snicker]
And, NO, I. AM. NOT. A. BITTER. FAT. CHICK!  Stop thinking that. 
I am simply 2.27 of Skinny Bitch in one.  If the world ends tomorrow and they die of starvation, I will prevail and rule the world!  And, possible have snacks in my purse that will be for sale for a small fee.  And body glitter will be worn on a daily basis (according to the Law of Janelly Code 239.75 Page 64, Line 8).

*Deep shit, I know.
*Which I quickly decided it was way too hot to wear and was limiting my ability to take a full breath.
*Out loud or in my head
*Or a lot
*Urban dictionary clearly doesn't stress the need to capitalize this term
*I love to put "fat" related connotations in a sentence with Skinny Bitch!
*Super swanky required my friend to use my IPhone flash light app to read the menu
*Note the capitalization

What is this?!

As a little girl I fondly* remember my mother plucking her chin hairs.  She had a rather elaborate set up!  I think it involved NASA aligning satellites and sunbeams for the best environment.  I am surprised she didn't don a lab coat and ID badge when she was plucking.  She had special mirrors and favorite tweezers.  Oh, and heaven help any soul that moved, touched, or just breathed on said set up!  She knew when the sun was in the exact spot to provide the most beneficial lighting.  I would find her contorting her face in all these weird expressions and going to town with the tweezers. I always wondered just what in the hell she was doing.  I really didn't noticed any hairs and still don't.  She was and still is a diligent plucker, I say!  When my grandmother was terminally ill at 87 and couldn't even talk or swallow, my mom was doing her caregiver/daughterly duties and plucking chin hairs.  I remember her saying: "If Mom could see these and knew that I let them stay here, she would be so angry.  She would never want anyone looking in the casket and seeing these chin hairs."
Well, I didn't truly understand until I hit my 30's . . . the chin hair Armageddon is upon us my friends.  These little bastards are everywhere.  On me, others and possibly even you.*  Be afraid, be very afraid.  Once you find them they multiple quickly.  I think they are part gremlin species.  You know, they get wet and then the evil babies show up.
I find that I am obsessed with these chin hairs.  I stop at a red light and my hand unconsciously migrates up to my chin and begins searching for the prickly stubble.  I even have tweezers in my purse and have been known to pull into a nearby gas station to free my chin of this weight. 
I have also begun checking out other chins.  I see some hairs and I immediately think* "Oh that poor soul.  She doesn't even know they are there.  I think someone should do an intervention."
What is going on here?  In all the plucking days of my mother's life she never sat me down and said that this would happen to me!  Isn't this part of "the talk?"  You know that one that goes something like: "Boys suck, people are mean, life is hard, you will get cellulite, and yes, sweetie . . . chin hair is normal."
I have asked my PCP, my ob/gyn and my dermatologist.  They insist that it isn't extreme*,  my hormones are normal*, and not to worry. 
Worry?!  Worry?!  I am far beyond worried, my friends.  Last night Rob interrupted me while I was drooling over a late night infomercial about laser hair removal.  I began screaming: "But they offer reasonable payment plans.  I don't have to live this way any longer!"  I am not worried.  I am a woman on a mission.*  I will be chin hair free!  Just you watch and see!

*I use this term rather loosely.  I am not sure this is a moment that qualifies for "fond memory status!"
*Feel free to pause here and go check.  Actually, I insist that you do.
*I know this is shocking, but I think this to myself and do not speak the word's aloud.  Amazing, I know.  I am so proud of myself.  Baby steps, people, baby steps.
*They didn't ask my definition of extreme.  And, all three of these doctors are men who shave their faces daily.  A few** chin hairs is apparently nothing to them.
*My husband doesn't think so.
* Enough. Said.

**few, hundreds.  Its hard to tell.*
*OMG I am ** and *** footnoting!

Snail breeding

For those of you that have never had a phone call with my mother (which is 99.9% of my blog readers) you are really missing out on an experience.  My mom is awesome.  I love her, I really really do.  In fact, she is a big part of the random funny shit in my life.  Without her I would have a lot less laughs and less random funny shit to blog about.
As for phone calls with my mom, she goes in spurts.  Sometimes she is too preoccupied to spend very long on the phone.  Other times she is bored and you can't get her off the line.  It appears we are in a very long phase of the latter.  I tried this the other day:
Mom:  "Wa wa wa wa, yada yada yada"
Me:  "OK, mom, I gotta go.  Jake shit his pants."
Mom:  "OK, honey.  Well, you take care.  Oh and did I tell you that so and so yada yadaed . . . "
Me: "No mom, you didn't.  But the shit is starting to leak.  Really gotta go."
Mom: "Oh, OK.  Well, I love you and tell Jake and Rob hi.  And, Oh I forgot to tell you who I ran into yesterday."
Me:  (just testing her, but I really did say this)  Mom the house is on fire, Jake is on the roof and shit is leaking out of his pants.*
Mom: "So, how is Jake doing?  Is he practicing his letters?  Tell him Grandpa has money for his wallet if he is good."
Me:  Oh for the love of God and all that is holy.  "Mom!!!!!  Shit is leaking out of my son's pants and he is running around the house with his handcuffs* trying to arrest the dog.  Must. go. now.  Will. call. later.  Love you!
Mom: "Love you too, sweetheart.  Miss you all and. . .
Me: Click
Anywho, today I called my mom to vent about a sad story at work that I just couldn't get off my mind and the first question out of her mouth was: "Have the snails reproduced lately or were your birth control methods effective this time?"
The sad part is she isn't crazy or imaging things,* we really do have horny snails.
Several years ago I went all "I'm gonna have an aquarium and watch the relaxing sea life."  I figured let's make this as fun and as different as possible and purchased four small snails, too.  All fish and snails were properly named and accounted for daily.  Within a few months the 1" snails grew to be the size of ping pong balls and one almost got as big as a tennis ball.
Then one day my husband says: "I think we need to separate those two.  Gary* is gonna kill Gary Jr."
I reply with: "I dont' think we have to worry about any snails perishing.  But, I think Gary Jr. needs a new name."
Within 36 hours there were 4 eggs sacs inside the hood of the aquarium.  They were discovered after we found Greenly* in the middle of the kitchen floor one morning.  Shattered shell and all.  Jake was hysterical that Greenly was going to die.  Breakfast was put on hold while we super glued (not kidding) her shell back together and reintroduced her to the tank.  Turns out snails completely leave the water to lay their eggs and Greenly wasn't bright enough to "fall" back into the water and got a little lost trying to get back home.
Well, I thought this would be a great life lesson and began researching snail reproduction, gestational periods and preforming daily baby snail monitoring. 
What I didn't realized is the survival rate is extremely high and within 6 months we had hundreds (not kidding, again) of snails.  I was buying vegetables and algae tablets weekly for these buggers.  And with that population in my 10 gallon tank, things got dirty quick.
After about a year of this love fest I decided to intervene.  Don't tell the EPA, but the Chagrin River was populated with snails by my husband*. 
I felt so guilty for "killing*" the snails that I actually cried during communion on Sunday.  Yes, I really did and yes, I really did feel guilty.  I am kind of over it now. 
So, that is why the phone conversation with my mother today involved the serious question of "Have the snails reproduced lately or were your birth control methods effective this time?"
I love my mom.

And all I wanted was a nice picture of the two of us.  This was taken when we took her from the home on a day pass.

*I may have been testing her this time, but I have no doubt this situation will be a reality at some point in home.  No doubt.
*Yes, my son has metal handcuffs.  And a sheriff badge, hat, police car power wheels, tickets, and a cap gun.
*Although sometimes she does imagine things.
*Spongebob lovers unite!
*Of course she was green and no, I didn't name her after the soap opera character.  Gary Jr was a girl!
*It was totally his idea
*Relocated, killed, call it what you want.