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.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
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 thatdog, 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
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
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
Sunday, July 17, 2011
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!
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!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Oh and I forgot to mention . . . .
To add to my random funny shit:
Again for those that don't know me, I am the proud human of a mini wire-haired dachshund, Isabella (aka Izzy). She is perhaps the world's most perfect dog. Oops, she really doesn't like "d-word." She is pretty much a little human that walks on all fours and is so damn cute! I like her way better than I like most people. I don't like people that don't like her. I take her everywhere I can. When I get to heaven she will go to restaurants with me. None of this "No pets" business. She is cleaner than some humans. She has a wardrobe, gets her nails painted and next week is getting her hair dyed! Squeee!
Anywho, it seems that she has a problem with jealousy. Izzy came to our home one year ago (well, almost) and she finds herself being the only hairy child in this house. It seems that she really really really likes it that way.
Last week I was cat-sitting 3 little pumpkins for a friend. One night I stopped by after work in my lovely work uniform. And by lovely, I mean wool pants. Yep, super duper lovely. Oh and said pants are dry clean only! Which makes them even more super duper. But, the wool is somewhat stain resistant and water repellent, but only somewhat. That night when I got home, Izzy was all smelling me and gave me "the look." You know, the look that says: "Cheater!"
The next day I was putting away laundry and I picked my pants up off the bed and my feet got wet. My first thought was "Huh, someone must have spilled something." Then I realized the bed was wet too and it was yellow. Uh-oh. Then, I proceed to question Jake (my 5 yo son) since this is the spare bed where he sits to play wii.
The convo went something like this:
M: "JACOB CLARK!"
J: "What?!"
M: "I know you really like playing Wii, but you have to remember to go pee in the potty and not let it leak through your pants."
J: "Mom, I didn't leak."
M: "Jake, you probably didn't realize."
J: "No mom, I really didn't"
M: "Are you sure?"
J: (starting to get tears in his eyes) "Yes."
M: "Hmmmmm, well I guess it could have been your sister (imply d-word here).
I then peek into the hallway, as Jake runs for his life. And see sweet, precious, perfect (pisser on mama's clothes) Izzy. I swear she was smiling at me as turned and happily trotted away.
She really doesn't like it that I played with, fed, and associated with those cats.
Again for those that don't know me, I am the proud human of a mini wire-haired dachshund, Isabella (aka Izzy). She is perhaps the world's most perfect dog. Oops, she really doesn't like "d-word." She is pretty much a little human that walks on all fours and is so damn cute! I like her way better than I like most people. I don't like people that don't like her. I take her everywhere I can. When I get to heaven she will go to restaurants with me. None of this "No pets" business. She is cleaner than some humans. She has a wardrobe, gets her nails painted and next week is getting her hair dyed! Squeee!
Anywho, it seems that she has a problem with jealousy. Izzy came to our home one year ago (well, almost) and she finds herself being the only hairy child in this house. It seems that she really really really likes it that way.
Last week I was cat-sitting 3 little pumpkins for a friend. One night I stopped by after work in my lovely work uniform. And by lovely, I mean wool pants. Yep, super duper lovely. Oh and said pants are dry clean only! Which makes them even more super duper. But, the wool is somewhat stain resistant and water repellent, but only somewhat. That night when I got home, Izzy was all smelling me and gave me "the look." You know, the look that says: "Cheater!"
The next day I was putting away laundry and I picked my pants up off the bed and my feet got wet. My first thought was "Huh, someone must have spilled something." Then I realized the bed was wet too and it was yellow. Uh-oh. Then, I proceed to question Jake (my 5 yo son) since this is the spare bed where he sits to play wii.
The convo went something like this:
M: "JACOB CLARK!"
J: "What?!"
M: "I know you really like playing Wii, but you have to remember to go pee in the potty and not let it leak through your pants."
J: "Mom, I didn't leak."
M: "Jake, you probably didn't realize."
J: "No mom, I really didn't"
M: "Are you sure?"
J: (starting to get tears in his eyes) "Yes."
M: "Hmmmmm, well I guess it could have been your sister (imply d-word here).
I then peek into the hallway, as Jake runs for his life. And see sweet, precious, perfect (pisser on mama's clothes) Izzy. I swear she was smiling at me as turned and happily trotted away.
She really doesn't like it that I played with, fed, and associated with those cats.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Well, this is my second attempt at this post. I somehow hit a link and couldn't stop Internet Explorer in time and I was almost done with this post and. . . wait! Must. drink. wine. Ahhhh, that is way better.
Anywho, let's start with the random funny shit from my week:
Last Tuesday I was walking into work. Now, for those of you that don't know, I work for the areas largest hospital system. I really do love my job. So, because I am one of the lucky ones with a 9am start time most employee parking spots are taken by the time I arrive. Security is very strict about employees parking in designated areas. If you park in a patient area during your shift the ground will open up and swallow your car whole. Shhh, don't tell, but I plan on parking in patient spots when I want a new car. "Dear officer, I swear I parked here this morning. I just don't know what could possibly have happened to my car. Snicker
snicker. "
Speaking of my car, it has helped confirm that I have recently lost my mind. Either that or the employee lot is very bad luck. Three weeks ago, I got out of my car during a monsoon and ran to the shuttle. Even with my umbrella and the running sprint, I still managed to get soaking wet. Water even ran into my shoes. As the shuttle was pulling away I noticed my lights were on. I grabbed for my keys and figured I would just beep the lock and then make sure they shut off, as they do automatically. Well, imagine that. No keys. Not only were they locked in my car, but my car was running. Sombitch. God bless my m-i-l who brought me my spare keys and drove me back to my running, yet locked car and saved the day.
Back on track now. Sorry, this happens a lot.
This past Tuesday, I, again, parked across the street in the giant lot and lucky me got the last row. The weather was beautiful that day and I decided not to wait for the shuttle and walk into work. After all, exercise is good for you, right? This time I remembered to shut my car off and wait until I exited to lock it. About two rows away from where I parked, my shoe caught in a crack in the pavement and twisted my ankle. Damn, it really hurt. We are talking instant tears in my eyes, biting my tongue hurt. Miraculously, I managed to not fall completely to the ground and dragged my leg to the bumper of a nearby car. Oh look, another hospital employee is driving up to me. Here to save the day! Or not, they literally drove around my sorry ass and just left me there. At this point I decide I am going to have to put my big girl panties on and hobble to work. At this time, I also hope that I can just "walk it off." Not so much.
I limp, and I do mean limp, all the way through the lot, across the street (which is like a game of
Frogger, but I will stay focused and not go off on that tangent right now)* and up to the second floor and to a time clock and then to my desk. During my journey of limpdom, nurses and other various life-saving hospital staff go around me and pass me. Not a single soul asked if I needed help or offered a hand or for that matter even offered a Gd hello. Not even when I had my shoe in my hand and tears running down my face.
I ask you, what is the world coming to?! Really, no one noticed that someone was injured and needed help?! I was so pissed off that by the time I got to the ER or ED* or whatever that place is called now, my bp was so high, they were more concerned about that then my swollen ankle. Even though I ended up in room 13* (aren't you glad that there are all these *s around? They are my little version of footnotes to help me stay on track and increase your reading pleasure later.) I didn't break anything and got an aircast and went back to work.
After all this had happened and I had some good laughs with the ER staff, I sat back and thought what would I do if I saw someone limping like I had been. I would absolutely ask if they were OK and if they needed anything. Are people in such a hurry and so consumed with their crazy lives that they can't help another? Sad, sad I say.
At this point, you probably wonder how this falls under random funny shit. Well, you heard about the whole locking my keys in a running car in a monsoon story and that was totally funny. And, even though my ankle still hurts and is a pretty purple, I have to laugh at myself. These are the kind of things that happen to me. Life is really boring and quite unnerving if you can't at least laugh at yourself.
On Thursday, I was getting ready for work and decided that my pretty uniform needed a good de-linting. I was happily rolling up and down my pants when the lint roller flies out of my hand and lands directly in the toilet. Sadly, for a moment I contemplated keeping the roller and how I could disinfect it. Within a few minutes my common sense got ahold of me and I fished the roller out and put it directly in the trash. I think my judgement was flawed by the fact that it was a brand new lint roller! You know, so sticky you can't peel the pieces off in one piece?!
Do you think this is a sign (one of several) that I should not go to work anymore?
OK, footnotes:
*The road that the employees have to cross to get to work is five lanes of fast-paced traffic. The people that program the cross-walk signs (I'm not sure who these people really are. Are there maybe little elves living in the box that just change the signal?) have clearly never actually crossed said street during rush hour. Walking at about 3.5 mph will only get you across 2.5 lanes of traffic and then the cars begin revving and at times, horns ahonking. Kills me. I'm moving as fast as I "safely" can here, people!
*ER or Emergency Room is no longer accurate as it is not just a room, but a department. Thus the change to ED or Emergency Department. Here is my thoughts on it: Who flippin' cares?! Does the TV show need to go back and change, too?
* And Room 13!!! Really??? Hotels often don't even have 13th floors. I would think way more bad things have the potential of happening in ED (see? I really am trying) room 13! Just sayin'
Thanks for reading, my friends. Send anyone who would enjoy laughing at me! The more the merrier!
Until the next item of Random Funny Shit happens . . .
Oh and I just realized that my previous attempt at this post was autosaved to my draft folder. Jeez.
Anywho, let's start with the random funny shit from my week:
Last Tuesday I was walking into work. Now, for those of you that don't know, I work for the areas largest hospital system. I really do love my job. So, because I am one of the lucky ones with a 9am start time most employee parking spots are taken by the time I arrive. Security is very strict about employees parking in designated areas. If you park in a patient area during your shift the ground will open up and swallow your car whole. Shhh, don't tell, but I plan on parking in patient spots when I want a new car. "Dear officer, I swear I parked here this morning. I just don't know what could possibly have happened to my car. Snicker
snicker. "
Speaking of my car, it has helped confirm that I have recently lost my mind. Either that or the employee lot is very bad luck. Three weeks ago, I got out of my car during a monsoon and ran to the shuttle. Even with my umbrella and the running sprint, I still managed to get soaking wet. Water even ran into my shoes. As the shuttle was pulling away I noticed my lights were on. I grabbed for my keys and figured I would just beep the lock and then make sure they shut off, as they do automatically. Well, imagine that. No keys. Not only were they locked in my car, but my car was running. Sombitch. God bless my m-i-l who brought me my spare keys and drove me back to my running, yet locked car and saved the day.
Back on track now. Sorry, this happens a lot.
This past Tuesday, I, again, parked across the street in the giant lot and lucky me got the last row. The weather was beautiful that day and I decided not to wait for the shuttle and walk into work. After all, exercise is good for you, right? This time I remembered to shut my car off and wait until I exited to lock it. About two rows away from where I parked, my shoe caught in a crack in the pavement and twisted my ankle. Damn, it really hurt. We are talking instant tears in my eyes, biting my tongue hurt. Miraculously, I managed to not fall completely to the ground and dragged my leg to the bumper of a nearby car. Oh look, another hospital employee is driving up to me. Here to save the day! Or not, they literally drove around my sorry ass and just left me there. At this point I decide I am going to have to put my big girl panties on and hobble to work. At this time, I also hope that I can just "walk it off." Not so much.
I limp, and I do mean limp, all the way through the lot, across the street (which is like a game of
Frogger, but I will stay focused and not go off on that tangent right now)* and up to the second floor and to a time clock and then to my desk. During my journey of limpdom, nurses and other various life-saving hospital staff go around me and pass me. Not a single soul asked if I needed help or offered a hand or for that matter even offered a Gd hello. Not even when I had my shoe in my hand and tears running down my face.
I ask you, what is the world coming to?! Really, no one noticed that someone was injured and needed help?! I was so pissed off that by the time I got to the ER or ED* or whatever that place is called now, my bp was so high, they were more concerned about that then my swollen ankle. Even though I ended up in room 13* (aren't you glad that there are all these *s around? They are my little version of footnotes to help me stay on track and increase your reading pleasure later.) I didn't break anything and got an aircast and went back to work.
After all this had happened and I had some good laughs with the ER staff, I sat back and thought what would I do if I saw someone limping like I had been. I would absolutely ask if they were OK and if they needed anything. Are people in such a hurry and so consumed with their crazy lives that they can't help another? Sad, sad I say.
At this point, you probably wonder how this falls under random funny shit. Well, you heard about the whole locking my keys in a running car in a monsoon story and that was totally funny. And, even though my ankle still hurts and is a pretty purple, I have to laugh at myself. These are the kind of things that happen to me. Life is really boring and quite unnerving if you can't at least laugh at yourself.
On Thursday, I was getting ready for work and decided that my pretty uniform needed a good de-linting. I was happily rolling up and down my pants when the lint roller flies out of my hand and lands directly in the toilet. Sadly, for a moment I contemplated keeping the roller and how I could disinfect it. Within a few minutes my common sense got ahold of me and I fished the roller out and put it directly in the trash. I think my judgement was flawed by the fact that it was a brand new lint roller! You know, so sticky you can't peel the pieces off in one piece?!
Do you think this is a sign (one of several) that I should not go to work anymore?
OK, footnotes:
*The road that the employees have to cross to get to work is five lanes of fast-paced traffic. The people that program the cross-walk signs (I'm not sure who these people really are. Are there maybe little elves living in the box that just change the signal?) have clearly never actually crossed said street during rush hour. Walking at about 3.5 mph will only get you across 2.5 lanes of traffic and then the cars begin revving and at times, horns ahonking. Kills me. I'm moving as fast as I "safely" can here, people!
*ER or Emergency Room is no longer accurate as it is not just a room, but a department. Thus the change to ED or Emergency Department. Here is my thoughts on it: Who flippin' cares?! Does the TV show need to go back and change, too?
* And Room 13!!! Really??? Hotels often don't even have 13th floors. I would think way more bad things have the potential of happening in ED (see? I really am trying) room 13! Just sayin'
Thanks for reading, my friends. Send anyone who would enjoy laughing at me! The more the merrier!
Until the next item of Random Funny Shit happens . . .
Oh and I just realized that my previous attempt at this post was autosaved to my draft folder. Jeez.
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