Tag Archives: funniest

Things Parents Do That Embarrass Us Even Though We’re All Grown Up

sex life mom ecard

At about 13 years old, my mom went from doing everything right to doing everything so very wrong. In fact, everything she did was either “so gay,” “so queer,” or “moooooommmmm, you’re so embarrassing.” (It was the 80s, I’m sure they say different things now.)  Anyway, it didn’t matter if she was singing the wrong words to Billy Jean or she sneezed at too high of a pitch, it was utterly unforgivable. And don’t even get me started on the things she did around my friends. One time, she smacked her lips while eating a bagel and cream cheese at breakfast with my besties after a sleepover!

Do you believe that?

Mortifying!

I’m sure those girls are still talking about her lip smacking to this very day. Frankly, it’s amazing we remained friends after that appalling display. Well, it’s a testament to my friends, that’s for sure.

That phase lasted for about 4 years. (It’s a phase I’m already dreading with my own daughter because well, there is just no winning, for the parent!) That said, my mom and I have managed to be the closest of friends throughout my life, but she’s still my mother, and there are still those moments when she says something that makes me cringe. You know the kind of cringe that makes your whole body pucker? The kind of cringe that makes you wish you could scour what you just heard from your eardrums with a piece of steel wool? That kind of cringe.

YOU PROBABLY LIKE: 20 THINGS WOMEN WOULD DO FOR THEIR BESTIES

Let’s start with when she says the word Continue reading

15 Tools Moms Need For Survival AKA The Swiss Mommy Knife

swiss mommy knife

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Recently, on a road trip to Disney, I was rummaging through the contents of the arm rest compartment for some tissues when I realized the old maxi pad, that had somehow gotten stuck to the inside, would have to be peeled off to sub in for some Kleenex.  Plus it had wings, which would make for easy clean-up.

I looked at my mother and said, “We need to invent some kind of portable tool that has all the necessary mommy accoutrements to tackle any parenting task.”

Because we had been on the road a while and we were slap-happy and also listening to a Bratz movie… for the fourth time, we made a list of all the things said contraption would need.

So here are the results of our brainstorming session. I give you … the Swiss Mommy Knife:

1.  An extra arm – I can be walking with a phone to my ear, a latte, a purse, a laundry basket, and groceries resting on my hip … and one of my kids will still attempt to hand me an empty juice box. Clearly two arms just aren’t enough.

2. A sibling separator – No matter how much they need to be apart, they somehow magnetize back to each other and continue to argue slap, and tease. This device should be something with a little bite — like a bug zapper or a taser.

3.   An elevator backer-offer – I’m thinking some kind of stick-like poker that lets people know your kids will get to push the stupid buttons on the elevator.  Regardless of their age, that is somehow the most important thing they get to do all day … well, unless there’s an escalator around somewhere. Continue reading

There is No Good Reason to Properly Guess Someone’s Age, Size or Pregnancy Status – EVER!

When a woman, who was not carny folk, guessed my age on the nose, I realized there is NEVER any reason to hit that nail on the head… NEVER.

the_jerk_1979_weight_guessing2

Last week, I was getting a lovely facial, as any facial should be. Wait, did I say
lovely, because I meant frightening, and horrifyingly stressful.

There, that’s better.

Sure, the goal of any facial is anti-aging, but this woman looked me right in the pores with one of those magnifying thingamabobs and said, “Let me guess, you’re about 41?”

“Fuck you! You, evil black-head sucking bitch!” I yelled at the top of my lungs as I smushed the Vitamin C Ester Detoxifying Anti-Aging mask, she was applying, into her eyes.

OK fine, I didn’t do that, but I thought about it, I thought about it hard. I believe I said something more cowardly like, “No, I’m actually 40 and a half.” Then I squeezed the tears from running down my face (as she’d have no trouble spotting them with her all seeing glass).

“Yes, I could tell,” she went on smugly, as if I had asked how she knew, “because some of your pores are rather enlarged and I don’t see naso-labial folds this deep in people under 40.

“Really, because I’ve had those marionette lines since I was a child.” I said defensively in an ‘I’ll Show You,’ kinda way. Though, it probably made me sound like I used to be some creepy Howdy Doody looking kid, instead. Continue reading

Top 10 Resolutions ANYONE Can Keep | For 2012

new yearsThis time of year I amuse myself by looking back at last year’s resolutions. Ones I made with the best intentions, like learning an instrument or a foreign language. Last Hanukkah I had my husband buy me a guitar. I had all the confidence in the world that by this New Year’s, I would balk at a request to play “Stairway To Heaven,” saying something dismissive like… “Please, that’s so cliché, but why not?” or “Por favor, es muy cliché, pero porque no? Unfortunately, my guitar collects dust while my Spanish collects rust.

So for this year, I am making some resolutions that are a bit more achievable:

1. Nag More

For over a decade my husband has not picked up a wet towel, washed ketchup off of a dish, changed a light bulb, or remembered trash day without a divorce threat, I mean, friendly reminder.  This year: I vow to be relentless in my nagging. I will lay immediate blame using words like always and never. As in, “I always, and you never.” I will play the martyr by saying, “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.” I will amp up the guilt with, “I do everything around here.” Or something unarguable like, “It’s obvious by your refusal to change a light bulb that you don’t love me anymore.” If all goes well, I’ll be nagging him to go to couples therapy by 2013.

2. Gain Weight

I’m going to quit all good eating habits ASAP.  I vow to add carbs to my diet with reckless abandon. I’ll start each meal with a generous helping of bread and rolls onto which I will spread an obnoxious amount of butter. I’ll stuff food into my mouth with such fervor it’ll make other eaters uncomfortable to watch. I also vow to eat everything a la mode, including ice cream.

3. Workout Less

This will actually take serious effort. The only thing harder would be to shower less. If I need the proverbial cup of sugar, I will drive to my neighbor’s garage and beep until she comes out and hands it to me. I’ll take elevators in two-story buildings. Lastly, I’m going to cancel my gym membership and use the money I save to buy more ice cream.

4. Forget an Old Language

This year, not only am I not going to learn a new language, I’m going to let my brain atrophy to forget the one I already know. I’ll watch endless episodes of Adventure Time, The Regular Show and Beavis and Butthead. I’ll quit doing crosswords and speaking in complete sentences. I’ll break all grammatical rules: I will misplace modifiers, dangle participles, and end sentences in prepositions. I will express my thoughts through that African clicking language, modern dance, and a set of bongos that I intend to wear around my neck.

5. Stay Out of Touch

This time of year, I am reminded of the many friends I have let time and space interfere with. I intend to further that distance. I’m gonna start by rejecting any new Facebook or social network requests. I will also attach a note that reads, “I never liked you in the first place, Sucka!” Lastly, I will cuss out and then hang up on people who call in hopes of fulfilling their own resolution to rekindle old friendships.

6. Be Less Patient

I vow to be aggravated, exasperated, and ready to blow my stack at the slightest misstep. The next time my son wants help with his homework I’ll say, “That’s it! Clearly this whole elementary education thing is not for you. If you don’t know how to spell “Discerning” by now, you never will…Now, go get a job! Oh, and take your sister with you, she spends way too much time on the potty.”

7. Hold Grudges

This year I vow to forgive no one. I don’t care if you step on my toe, or pay me the five bucks you owe me, a day after the assigned due date. You will go on “The List” in permanent ink and I will twirl my imaginary handlebar mustache as I think about how to get revenge.  I vow to hate you forever and never forget how you wronged me.


8. Stress More

I vow to lose sleep thinking about planning parties, redecorating my house, trying to budget, missing appointments, teacher conferences, and health issues caused by stress. I will laugh an evil cackle while erasing all the plans from my iPhone, and then cry over what I’ve just done. I will empty our bank account on frivolous investments and watch it dwindle away. Oh, wait…that already happened. Well good, more for me to worry about.

9. Become Addicted to Something

Smoking, alcoholism and Starbucks are so trite. No, this year I vow to pick up a unique dependency that people can really talk about like nasal spray or hand sanitizer or sniffing hot glue from class projects. Or at least something beneficial to my endurance like crack. Look, I already have a shopping addiction so that’s out and I do love me some reality TV; maybe I could offset the bills with a robust gambling problem.

10. Gossip More

I vow to talk about everything you do in the New Year. If I see you at the pediatrician for so much as a flu shot, I will tell everyone your child has hand foot mouth, so you can be verbally assaulted when you show up at a birthday party the next day. If you look too skinny, I will assume it’s a divorce or you’re a raging bulimic. If you look too hot, I’ll call it a torrid affair. If you look too young, it’s an addiction to surgical procedures because you’re getting divorced, due to a torrid affair.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

My Other Resolution: GET MORE READERS TO THE BLOG SO I CAN GET A COLUMN IN A SHE SHE MAGAZINE AND LEAVE ALL YOU READERS FLOUNDERING!  MWAHAHAHA!!!
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We Used to Play Family Now it’s ‘Modern Family’

In last week’s post, I Can’t Come to Terms with my Quasi-Teenage 1st Grader , I realized that my child is not the only child who’s 7 going on 17.  I have to believe that the fact that my daughter and I are having these teenage sounding conversations during bouts of playing make-believe is a sign that she’s still a kid, phew.  Though, I have to ask, when her favorite scenario is one where I’m Jay and she’s Gloria, is it a sign that her innocence is a distant memory?

For those of you living under a rock, that was a Modern Family reference.  My 7 year old has Sofia Vergara’s walk, talk, attitude, and ditsy miscommunication down to a science.   Of course, she expects me to play the reluctantly accommodating husband to her fanciful whims.

Other favorites scenarios include:

1.  She is Gloria and I am Manny.

2.  She is – insert girl name here, but assume it’s a name of some young chippie from the formulaic star making machines that are Disney or Nickelodeon and that within a few years said young chippie will be posing inappropriately in Vanity Fair or Playboy.  Names may include: ie. Carly, Victoria, China, Rocky ect. -

Who will show boobies first?

I am to play the roles of the two cutest boys in school.  Both are hopelessly in love with her and stammering while trying to get out the simplest of statements.  (This by the way, is by her request that I stutter and throw in a sprinkling of “ums, uhs, I ums, wha’s, and duhs.”)  She also asks that I sometimes faint at the sight of her and explains that if my characters were in a cartoon they would have hearts instead of eyeballs.

They (both me) are then required to fight over her in some manner and she has to choose who she will be with and whose life she will ruin, or she tells them both that she is moving to New York, knowing that with each passing day they will slowly die inside.

3.  She is, insert name of the week here, and I’m a mousy girl who is amazed by her fashion sense, talents, smarts, athleticism, and humility. I simply want to be like her or be friends with her.  She is so kind and tells me why I should like being me, then she even offers to set me up with a boy that I like, who is unfortunately already pining over her.  This makes my date all kinds of awkward, and not just because I’m playing both parts, but because I have a one night stand and then I have to face me in the morning.

Relax- I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.  I totally added the last part.   Though my daughter actually did come up with a scenario last week in which she informed that she would be a girl in high school and therefore pregnant.

We hit the pause button on the game for just a bit that day.

Moving on…

4.  I am a deprived British girl who lives in a hovel and signs up for a contest to live with my favorite movie star, who just so happens to be her character.  Though I have a computer, I can’t afford a cell phone or email, which makes alerting me that I’ve won the contest a task in itself.  Then when I get to live with said movie star (Yesterday, J. Lo) I do something rude or perhaps I faint too many times and find my prize taken away by my overbearing mother, who is also played by me.

5.  I’m a street urchin who has never known a family or what it’s like to eat anything but paper.  She is a beautiful, compassionate girl who takes me in and allows me to stay with her, much to the dismay of her evil sister, Delilah (also me) who likes to verbally abuse street urchins and physically abuse family pets and then release them into the wild.

6.  She is a mermaid who I find living in my lake.  She agrees to come live with me until my father (also me) insists that there is no such thing as mermaids and proclaims her tail to be nothing more than an elaborate costume.  She then refuses to live with me because my father cannot come to terms with the abomination of nature that she is, or something like that.

To contrast the maturity in the content of these scenarios we can often play them out as Barbies, My Little Ponies, Groovy Girls, Polly Pockets, La La Loopsies, Webkinz, or any inanimate object that can be tilted as if talking.  Yes, fingers, straws, and pencils are feasible candidates.

In fact, if you happen to be in a Grand Lux and overhear a mother telling her child about the stigma of teenage pregnancy using Wikki Stix, you might as well assume it’s me.

You don't get to go to parties when there's a baby at home.

If Jennifer Love Hewitt can Beat Cellulite, Gosh Darnit, So Can I

The Most Common Personalities on Facebook

I’m not gonna name names, as I would certainly be one of them, but there are distinct qualities that describe most Facebookers.

The Over Sharer -This person seems to think that a trip to the store, a traffic jam, or the weather is worth repeating. They give updates like a minute to minute log. “Sitting in traffic.” “When will it stop raining?” “Just left SB, grande cap, mmmmm.” The Over Sharer is also the most enabled of all personalities. Other Over Sharers are constantly responding to their minute to minutes with fascinating epiphanies like “LOL” or “Rain makes me sleepy” or “Love Starbucks J (Yes, let’s not forget the smileys, winkeys, and frowneys.)

The Workout Addict and the Closet Alcoholic -These people are actually the same, personality-wise. They feel the need to tell you what they’re drinkin’ or what they’re doin’ in the gym… and the stats. I think they’re both sending signals that require intervention. “20 mile jog, 500 sit-ups and feelin’ it.” “5 mojitos, ahhh” Not only do they flaunt the accomplishments of their pastimes, they like to question their friends as to whether or not to do it. “Do I climb a mountain, or go to the 10:15 spin?” “Drinks with the boys at Lucky’s, or sit on the couch with a cold one?” ;)

The Just “is” – At first I thought these people were publishing this status by accident, but then I realized certain people do it more than others. Either they have sausage fingers and can’t work the keyboard or they just “are.” What does that mean? Is that a call for sympathy a cry for help? A Buddhist feeling of zen? You people are too profound for me. ):

The Gibbrisher -Everyone knows a Gibbrisher. This person speaks in code. Code that at least one friend understands, while the other 500 hundred friends are wondering what the hell, “is so $ due MJ explosion!” means? LMAO

The TMIer -This person is like the Over Sharer in that they have too much time, but takes it one step further by including info about last night’s sex, a bout of diarrhea, or an overly itchy rash. Anytime you talk about your own genitals in any fashion, you fall into this category, BEWARE. TMI

The Self Promoter -Don’t waste your time thinking, “Oh, the irony,” I know this is me. This person thinks that their business is of the utmost importance, TO YOU. They don’t want you to miss a single sale, review, TV spot, story, or promo. They ask that you join the 50 fan clubs, groups, and subscription sites that they have spent valuable work time setting up. Don’t think we, I mean they don’t check to see if you join every one of those clubs and sites! IMHO

Honorable mention: The Quoter and The Lyricist.

BTW-There will be a sequel. I would love to hear about your experiences with these personalities and the other personalities you have encountered.

OMG I almost forgot please join my fan page on FB , seriously!

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Goodbye Disney World, Hello Backyard

Dear Mickey:

Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think we need to take a break. Sure, I love the way you and your friends with oversized heads eat breakfast with my family and entertain us with your theme parks, but you ask for so much in return.

I pay a near fortune to see you, then you woo my daughter into expensive princess attire and offer pricey oversized turkey legs, costly Pooh shaped popsicles, and expensive embroidered hats with ears… that don’t really translate in the real world. I’m sorry, that sounded like I was blaming you for the economy. I’m sure you and Minnie have a ton of Disney stock options, so I know you’re feelin’ it as well.

According to the latest statistics, me and 1/3 of other American families are cancelling trips this summer and taking a “stay-cation” instead. I know you’re angry. The last time you waved at me and said, “See ya real soon,” you thought it would be sooner. I’m thankful you only have 4 fingers, because I know what you’d be waving at me now.

This summer, like most Americans, I will be visiting (Chez Pa Tio). I will take a portion of the money I’m saving and recreate much of the awe and wonder you provide, without ever leaving town.

I will save $60 on those mandatory Mickey mist sprayers, and have my family stand in the general vicinity of wet neighborhood dogs when they shake. Each night my husband and I will wrap ourselves in twinkle lights, and then we’ll run by the kids really fast and call it Space Mountain. Then we’ll slow down and call it the Light Parade. Who knows, we could wear them to bed and call it Pleasure Island.

I will cook pancakes in your likeness. Then I’ll have my neighbor with an abnormally large head come over and eat them with us. I’m sure my family will be none the wiser, as his head is really big. Have a great summer now, ya hear.

Sincerely,

Jenny from the Blog

This was written for the new site saleHOP.com.  I am now the feature writer for this awesome site.  Wahoo!  Here is a little info on it so you can be one of the first “in the know.”

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New How-to Vlog “How to Sit on a Chair”

New Vlog!  I started doing how to videos for some of the Mommy sites I write for.  Though not totally serious, the concept of explaining even the simplest thing, gave me quite a giggle.  So, I taped this video on “How to sit on a chair.”  In it I explain in layman’s terms the delicate artform that is “sitting on a chair.”  You may want to use a spotter your first couple attempts.  I assure you, with my expert guidance, you will be sitting on chairs in no time!

watch?v=KEIUdYqvqlo

If you know anyone that could use this kind of instruction, please pass the link on -so they can take a load off!: mom demonstrates important skill “how to sit on a chair

Good Luck!

My Dog is a Genius Mastermind

Matermind

This morning I woke up to a gift, the kind of gift that makes pet owners want to just  hug their pets super tight and not let go until they pass out…I mean, gently fall asleep. No, it was not a poop or a pee.There was pee, but that’s like walking out to find my children playing Wii, no big surprise.

No, this was a doozy and what’s worse, I think he planned the whole thing. I was asleep, as I often am on Saturday mornings, while my daughter was watching Strawberry Shortcake. I woke, only to find dark stains, smudges, and ink blots all over my oh so pretty white coverlet, and white sheets. Sheets that are like a gazillion thread count (or whatever they said to make me buy them). Only me and Paris sleep on sheets of such extraordinary comfort.

The dark blotches looked as if my dog had found an indelible marker, packaged some TNT around it, and then plunged down the detonator. There were spots on the sheets where he bit through with such fervor, and the ink was distributed so evenly, it looked like a professional job.Like any good detective, I screamed at the suspect and let him out in the yard, mainly for his own safety.Then I searched for clues.There was no pen, no evidence.I had a new book on the bed and I was certain the black cover was defective and the ink was smearing off, but I rarely rub books so feverishly over my bedding.My dog would also need opposable thumbs for such a task.

Then I found it. On some of the ink splotches, there was a greasy chunky residue.I picked up a chunk and mushed it between my fingers, like a melted crayon.Wait, there’s a splinter of wood in that chunk on the pillow. This is not a crayon.This was my new retro navy blue metallic eyeliner. There was no evidence because the rest of said pencil was Tanner’s breakfast.

Listen, I’m a pretty realistic person who is rarely paranoid, but I am quite sure this was premeditated. This is how I think it went down: I wore the eyeliner yesterday in an 80’s tribute to the late Michael Jackson, an occurrence I was freaking out over. He was the only suspected child molester that I truly enjoyed and forgave, because of his insanely awesome talent. Talent and wealth make up for a lot of misgivings in America, even sharing your bed with Emmanuel Lewis.

Back on track, my dog is vehemently anti anything retro. I have heard him say on more than one occasion, “I don’t want this crappy rubber burger or fake New York Times newspaper. Go get me some Nylabone made from space-age webbed plastic cells, or some Kong industrial NASA rubber, and a chicken pot pie…bitch!” Of course, when a dog calls you “bitch,” it’s a compliment.

His distaste for celebrating decades of yore, and his taste for greasy pencils made from toxins and whale blubber made this a crime worth committing. He must have grabbed his Nylabone, which he routinely shreds, and brought it onto the bed.This allowed me to sleep longer knowing I could pick up the 1000 pieces later. The chewing coaxed me to sleep like a lullaby.

When he was sure I was out, he whined until my daughter followed him to the kitchen. There she found the new eyeliner and decided to play with it, as Tanner knew she would. When she was finished getting ready for Studio 54, she put it on the dining room table. Then Tanner chased Coco, my cat, over to said table. Coco saw the pencil, and started one of those soccer games cats do, and batted it around till she went for the goal. She eyed Tanner with a smirk and whacked it high into the air. He readied himself, did a twisting jump,and gracefully caught the evidence … brought it back to the bed, and started chewing his Nylabone to make sure I would not wake and Ryan would not look away from the television screen.

Then he went to town, with the two of us none the wiser. I have to give him credit. He pulled off a brilliant plan  and ate the evidence to boot. But no crime is “perfect,” and it was his sloppiness that got him in the end. Oh, he will go behind bars. I guarantee his crate awaits.