Rhyme Time

3 year old Nate: Mom, what rhymes with duck?

Me: Luck? Muck? Suck?

3 year old Nate: No, fuck.


I am so fucking proud.

Stimulate This!

Our government has attempted drastic, unprecedented measures to "restore" our economy and shove us all into a time warp with the hope that we will all overspend like it's 2005.

As a glass-is-half-empty, the-sky-is-falling-and-I-fucking-love-it, I-thrive-on-doom-and-gloom kind of pessimistic gal, errr tranny, I take this as a challenge. The hindrance of thwarting the government's ridick-ulous actions is weighing on my shoulders.

In order to do my part and serve my country, I devised a plan. A plan that would involve the manipulation of some of my near and dear. A plan aimed at some of the biggest spenders I know. Bwah-hah-hah.

One Saturday night a month we have what I dubbed a Depression Dinner. The menu centers around something you would normally go to a restaurant for but we buy the shit at the grocery store (preferably Aldi or the like) and do it cheap ass style. We buy beer and blackberry brandy for the Polack at a discount lick-her store.

Just imagine the damage I am doing to our retail sector!

Last month we had Pizzeria JBear. What's the impact on our economy? Let's check out the carnage, shall we?

Restaurant:

6 pizzas: $120

Apps: $20

20 beers: $80

Pop for the kids: $12

Straight vodka for Sue: $18

Blackberry brandy for the Polack: don't have

Mixed drinks for Sin-dee: $16

Dessert: $30

Shit they always buy for the kids in the game room: $40

Tip: $60

Grand total:$396

Pizzeria JBear:

6 pizza setups: $24

Misc extra toppings: $5

Apps: $10

Beer (incl Max Ice in giant cans): $20

Blackberry brandy for the Polack: free from cabinet

Vodka for Sue: free and old from cabinet

Pop for the kids: $1.50 (2 litre)

Dessert: $8

Shit they can't buy for the kids cause we ain't at no fucking store: $0

Tip: Don't eat yellow snow

Grand Total: $68.50

A difference of 327.50 bucks. Ouch. Take that Geithner.

Next Saturday is Chipotle Jana style. And yes, I'd like you to salt my rim.

Disclaimer: The term "Polack" is not being used in a derogatory manner on the For Really blog and I will accept no additional hate mail on this subject or on my being a horseface. Good day.

Not funny? Try these jokes on for size:

Jana, why the long face?



Knock Knock
Who's there?
Jana
Jana Who?
Horseface Cunt


Knock Knock
Who's there?
Uncle Ed
Uncle Ed who?
It's Mr. Ed, not Uncle


Uncle Ed+Mr. Ed = Horseface Tranny Cunt



Knock Knock,
Who's there?
Ugly Friends
Ugly Friends who?
Ugly friends of Flat Chested Horseface Cunt





Knock Knock
Who's there?
Jana
Jana who?
Call me Bob.


Knock knock
Who's there?
George
George who?
George has bigger boobs than Horseface

Insults Everywhere

Even my dishwasher.

Jana of the Jungle

I had an 80's cartoon and comic book named after me. She was even thick with a ghetto booty and thought fur was inferior to leather. How prophetic. Believe it, bitches!

Youth is a Disease From Which We All Recover

Question - What do you get when you combine:

A shot ammunition band with over 100 shot bullets?

JBear's 68 year old Mom doing the shots (and stockpiling them in her purse) and her 73 year old Dad being grinded (ground?) on the dance floor by his daughters?

My tongue in a high school teacher's hot cleavage? (she shall remain anonymous due to her impressionable students)

The simultaneous undressing of young men and their fathers?

Dickheads practicing safe sex?

Deep throats?

Limbo dancing under a black belt's leg?

A walker, granny panties and a whistle?

A stripper collecting cash from atop the bar?

The obligatory late night self-photo-asterbation:

Another fucked up drunken eye picture of me?

Answer: JBEAR's 40th Birthday Bash


Collectively as a family, we all behave badly with unabashed resolve. Saturday night was no exception.


Growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional. - Chili Davis

Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children. - George Bernard Shaw


Happy Birthday, girl!

Just me, my bullet, and memories of Tour

Heather, a memory of Tour for your pleasure:

Happy Birthday from Your Favorite Aunt!

Dear JBear,

You and I have grown so close through my monthly visits these long years I thought it was only fitting that I come for a visit for your 40th birthday this weekend. I knew you would be disappointed if you didn't see me smiling up at you come Saturday morning.

I hope I've put a knot in your stomach with the anticipation. You know I won't be able to be around forever. You'll soon be seeing me less and less frequently. You probably won't even miss me. Figures, after everything I've done for you.

Love, Aunt Flo

Look Karyn, You Made the Blog!

Saturday night I was the dry bear (Filipino for driver) hence I am completely able to relay the evening as a reliable and confident source.

Girls night out Saturday night started at a bar that our neighbor was subbing as the lead singer for a Bon Jovi cover band. It goes without saying we quickly became the band and the entertainment. So much so, that when we decided to leave and go to a place called the Crowd Around You, the bar decided it was in its best interest to close up for the night.

I envisioned that Crowd Around You was some sort of old time piano bar. I pictured us gathering (or crowding, if you will) around a smiling old chap tickling the ivories while we harmonized, arms around each others' shoulders, swaying back and forth to "That'll Be the Day"and a variety of Neil Diamond. I, of course, would drape myself across the piano in a red velvet evening gown to the uproarious laughter of my posse.

Instead, the instant I stepped in the door of the local Crotch Around You, I was slapped in the face with the stench of filthy, sweaty flesh, seizure inducing flashing lights and recycled stale air emitting from the smoke machine. No piano and the only old chap present happened to be looking up girl's skirts near the dance floor.

I was shoved out of the way by a chick making a beeline back to the dance floor from the ladies' washroom (the 'wash' being highly skeptical.) I allowed her to manhandle past me without issue because the woman appeared to have a tragic skin disease so dire that the skin was peeling off her forehead in giant chunks. Oh, wait. No. Just toliet paper that she used to wipe off putrid dance sweat. Next!


We hit the dance floor and tried with desperate resolve to get Karyn to dance. Our efforts paid off, here she is dancing with JBear:



Noteworthy items:

• Our attention was drawn away from grinding ourselves in the floor to ceiling mirrors as we heard Heather screaming, "SUCK ME?? Did you say SUCK ME??" at a chick standing next to her.
• Yes, I did motorboat my sister-in-law's crotch.
• Yes, I encouraged one of our recently endowed posse members to take her top off. All night long.
  

Thank goodness one of my husband's best friends showed up. His being there ensured I wouldn't act out in an inappropriate manner:


After being out until 2 am, being the dedicated parents that we are, we took our kids bowling early the next morning. We slept on the couch while the kids played poker.

Crabs Around You

Girls Gone Wild Saturday Night Part One

My one dance move is really catching on. It became famous in the Spring o' 08 and is now seen on dance floors far and wide:

Then:

Saturday night at the Crowd Around You in lovely Shorewood, IL:

Wanted:

for solicitation of an elliptical machine

MUGSHOT

The other night I was using my home elliptical machine in such a manner that must have been deemed inappropriate or highly suggestive. I bent forward to get the remote to pause "True Beauty," as it was at a crucial point in the Hall of Beauty, and the elliptical handle attempted to shove itself in my mouth.

What makes it think I am that type of girl?

I was immediately taken downtown with a busted lip.

Trifuckta

Last night, heavily laden with Sangria, both red and white, plans were devised in a slightly maniacal manner to celebrate three milestone birthdays this year. There was talk of Vegas, the Ozarks with the party cove, camping (okay, that was just in my mind as I am dealing with women whose idea of roughing it is a three star hotel) or anywhere with a floor to crash on and alcohol (again, in my mind.)

Whatever and wherever we decide to go, it will be epic. And I will surely be carded.

Falling IQ

This was posted at work. In the future, as a time saver for us both, please refer to this picture for the answers before asking me any of the following questions:

• How was your day at work, Jana?
• How is your staff doing?
• Why don't you give some of your excessive workload to your staff?
• Do you get along with the people you work with?
• Why are you missing large clumps of hair?
• Why did you run over those people in the parking lot?
• Why did you commit yourself to the mental institution?
  

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Rock Out with your Cock Out, Mr. B

At 7:30 last night, I was dragged kicking and screaming from my warm place on the couch out into the sleet and snow to watch an 80's cover band, Hairbangers Ball. Typical of the area, getting out of our car in downtown Joliet we were accosted by a young man in a hoodie who had smeared snow onto himself and was begging us for "8 dollars so I can get into the homeless shelter." Yes, apparently the shelters are charging a cover these days.

My husband gave him a handful of change and the dude told us he wanted more. He then proceeded to limp away, practically dragging one leg behind him. We later saw him sprinting by keeping up with another man on a bike.

The band came out to a packed house and a couple of us bitch bumped our way up to the front where I got a better look at the spectacle. The band sounded great, but I was in hysterics for the rest of the night. The band kept catching me laughing, is that wrong?

Lead singer: A cross between those two blonde 80's lead singers (no, not Hanson and Nelson) but with way too much black eyeliner

Bassist: An emaciated Avril Lavigne/Seth Green combo

Keyboard Chick: Hands on hips, cheesy smile never left her face, never once touched the keyboards. Constantly did the exaggerated pretend clap above her head

Guitar 1: Punked up guy that plays 80's music since no one is beating down the door for a Green Day cover. Band Stage name: Sean Jovi

During Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now" he leaned over, looked at us and mouthed the words "I think we should bone now," making the Universal Boning Motion. For really.

Drummer: Fat kid from Goonies or Lean on Me, take your pick

Guitar 2: Mr. Belding wearing a wig reserved only for 13 year old girls in Joan Jett Halloween costumes and grown men trying to win Hannah Montana tickets. He also kept giving my sister-in-law the eye with a lame-o smile. Oh Mr. Belding, don't you have a detention to hand out to Kelly Kapouski?

The crowd was a mix of people who were actually alive in the 80s (many of whom thought it WAS 1987,) younger kids who had listened to these songs like I listened to The Beatles, and people in their mid to late 30s. The guys in their 30s were hands down the best to watch.

Rock out with your cock out.

These dudes were instantly taken back to their Camaro days of screeching tires, cigarette flicking and body wave perms. (yes, Andrew, I'm talking to you) These guys spent the night:

• high-fiving each other,
• leaning in to sing the lyrics of every song into each other's beer bottle,
• playing air guitar,
• banging air drum,
• slamming their receding hairlines up and down to the beat, with the image of their once-lustrous locks in their heads, and
  
• when not hugging one another, holding one hand forming the rock out sign perpetually in the air.

The band was actually awesome. They play there again in April, I plan to bring a bigger posse and I promise to be prepared next time he flashes me the UBM sign. Mark my words.

Kid Has Issues

Unbeknowst to me, the mail was brought in the other day and was sitting on the dining room table. My daughter, in her never ending quest to find "those smelly strips in daddy's magazines," (translation: those perfume ads in her dad's pansy ass US Weekly magazines) grabbed a catalog and was looking through it at dinner.

I didn't realize until it was too late that she was flipping through Hot Asses Central, a Fredrick's of Hollywood catalog. My husband started asking Nate which girl he wanted for his girlfriend. His response to every fine piece of ass was, "Ewww, no."

Fast forward to last night. Nate wanted to lay in bed and talk before I fell asleep. It was 8:51pm, way past my bedtime. We started playing our "What's your favorite?" game and I was asking him what his favorite color was, favorite food, favorite toy, favorite Disney show, etc. (FYI his new favorite color is red, updated from pink)

He turned the tables on me, wanting to know:

• Mom, uts your favorite kwab? (yes, CRAB)
• I uve you momma, uts your favorite window?
• Mom, mom, mom, uts your favorite, ummmmmmm, mom, uts your favorite kwoset? (closet)

After giving my responses, he said he wanted a kiss. He leaned over and slipped me the tongue.

The More Things Change...

New Year's Eve, 2001:

A quiet group of us pre-kids (or as Heather would say, "Before the end of your life, Jana") at 25 calmly imbibing and scratching our chins with friends.

Topics of conversation:
Catching up, careers, grad school, etc.



New Year's Eve, 2008 7pm:

Fast forward seven years, add kids.

Topics of conversation:
Heather finding Jenga game from long ago with things I had written on each block like, "Kiss the person to the right," "Take off an article of clothing," "Moon your neighbors," "Dry hump the table leg," my 17 year old ass bar hopping at the U of I, skinny dipping, strip quarters, fake IDs, naked wrestling with best friend's boyfriend, screwing your neighbor, getting kicked out of strip clubs by 400 lb bouncer, etc.


Thank God our morals and values allow us to impart only positive influence upon our kids. The Future Par-tayers of America Club:





P.S. As I type this, on the bowl game day of the year, my husband is watching Lifetime's Ringing in the Romance chick-flickorama. Am I in hell?

These Pretzels are Making Me Thirsty

My buddy Todd gave this picture of himself as his white elephant gift this year at his family's Christmas party. (please disregard stain on photo, I think I knocked my coffee or drooled slightly) His girlfriend, my friend Heather (who, ironically, has the Elane dance unintentionally down pat) took the picture. She said he was insanely anal about every detail, even buying glasses that he later returned. I managed to bootleg a copy of said photo unbeknownst to Todd.

Plan A: Blog about Timeless Art of Seduction photo in high-larious attempt to embarrass Todd. What's that? Todd doesn't do blogs? Todd hates the idea of blogs and thinks they are stupid? Todd refuses to read my blog? Wha? Who doesn't read THIS blog? Uh.

Plan B: Make outrageous number of copies of photo to replace every photo in every picture frame in my house with said photo of topless Todd. Invite Todd over for Bears playoff game. Wha? Bears didn't make the playoffs?

Plan C: See Plan B minus Bears game plus pizza and heavy drinking.

This will be more fun than giving him the fake $10K winning scratch-off lottery ticket a few years back.

Sephora Nomora

Went to watch belly dancers and eat Middle Eastern food with some of the girls the other night.

Strike One: Belly dancer twisted ankle. No belly. No dancing.


Strike Two: Sangria was decent (Sangria is Middle Eastern?) but they had only one Miller Lite in whole restaurant. WTF.


Strike Three: No French fries. Food in form of long turd.

You’re out.

Strike Four Bonus: Cackling and head shaking abound as I had never heard of the stores Sephora or Brighton (JB, is that the way it is spelled?)

They: (admiring “handbags” Kimmy Kat gave them) Ohhhhh, SEPHORA bags!!!!!!!
Me: (blank stare) What’s Sephora? (blink blink)
They: (gaping mouths and quizzical glance) It is a high end makeup shop.
Me: Do they sell Wet and Wild 99 cent lip stick?


A ruse was in the works to me to get me to Oakbrook on a “pub crawl” only to kidnap me and make me “walk the stores and shops.” Listen ladies, it ain’t happenin. I am totally up for a pub crawl, however.

Highlight:
The 23 year old waiter fresh from Iran, the country formerly known as Persia, (yes, just like Prince) with faux hawk was kind of a cutie. I almost asked if he wanted to see my Weapons of Mass Destruction.

Tits of the Month

As if the disrespect for me among my employees wasn't bad enough, I've outdone myself.

A couple members of my accounting staff were in my office yesterday asking me a question. I was just putting my purse on my bookshelf after using my Chapstick brand Chapstick when my clumsiness went into overdrive and knocked my purse over.

The tits of the month calendar that my bro-in-law, ARod, gave me fell out. It was just lying on the floor, exposed to these women with the gaping mouths.

I swallowed and said, "I, uh, can't wait until October." I then gave the Universal Hand Sign for giant boobs.

Seriously, though. She is stacked.