Tag Archives: Humor blog

12 Ways Saturday Night is Different After Children – Then vs Now

Saturday Night Before Kids vs AfterWhile my washer and dryer were hard at work and my dishes were in the final rinse cycle, the ball dropped to ring in the New Year.

I had just called my kids in to watch the countdown while simultaneously thanking my lucky stars that J and Ry had missed the pre-New Year’s performance Miley gave, where she awkwardly cradled/fondled a midget, while she donned a pair of upper-vagina-accentuating gold sequin pants that did her bod no justice and oddly reminded me of what Molly Shannon would wear when she kicked and yelled, “I’m fifty,”

After wiping the sweat off my brow, emptying my glass of champagne, and making a mental note to switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer, I blew my hubby (who was sick and spent the night matching me shot for shot with a bottle of Nyquil) a kiss and then shooed our guests out the door before the clock hit 12:01.  (PS I just realized I should have saved the parenthetical in the middle of  ”blew my hubby a kiss” until after I completed the sentence. Poor guy — only gets it in a grammatical error.)

Anyhoo, it dawned on me, New Years used to be a romantic night (see When Harry Met Sally) … so did Birthdays, Anniversaries … Saturdays. Some of those events still are, but most of those would-be enchanted evenings have been replaced with J’s travel baseball, taking Ry to the movies, and trips to an arcade and a gourmet burger joint.

I recently analyzed the not so subtle differences in what I found hot before marriage and after marriage and now it’s time to take a good hard look at the evolution of the date night. Then vs Now:
Continue reading

27 Things I Shouldn’t Admit I’m Thankful For – But I Am

27 things I thankfulYesterday, I was sent a group Facebook questions asking me to name one thing I’m thankful for that isn’t cliche or traditional. Other people tagged in the post were coming back with beautiful sentiments about new friendships, the help of strangers, and averting disasters, which in my opinion wasn’t really following the rules at all. If that’s not the traditional stuff, then what is?

I didn’t respond because everything I thought of seemed trite, superficial, and a tad less profound – even though I’m pretty sure that was the point. Whatever, facebook people who don’t follow directions.

So, I did write a list because these things totally deserve thanks in my book — just refrain from saying them around the dinner table. 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

My New Trick To Make Me Seem Like the Perfect Parent and Spouse

In  the post, I’m Freakin June Cleaver Gosh Darn’it, I realized that when you translate anything you say into the 50s speak, it makes you seem really wholesome and attentive and frankly, perfect. You know, the way British accents make you sound smart?

That said, I shall tell you about my day, 50′s style (don’t worry, I’ll translate it back), so that you can see what a little “era tweaking” can do for your reputation as a mother and a wife. (We could all use a trick or two every once in a while, no?)

50s: My darling hubby gave me a sweet peck on the cheek before leaving for work. I handed him his lunchbox with the matching thermos and he tugged on my apron string popping the back open (such a kidder, that one).

Translation: My husband grunted something about “goodbye” as he walked out (not sure, I was still half asleep) he may have slapped me on the ass, don’t really know, too groggy to recall. Continue reading

10 Things I Wanted to do with My Life and Clearly Never Will

It’s my birthday.  Yes, I know “Happy to Me” and all, I’m not feeling so happy.  Actually, I kinda want to be serious for a minute.  It is Friday the 13th ohhhhhhh.  Respect.  I don’t know what that means ’cause I’m Jewish.  But here goes:
I – WILL – NEVER – BE – FAMOUS!!!!!!

Imagine stamping feet between each word.

What? I said I was going to be serious, not mature!

January 13th marks the first day of the last year in my 30‘s.  I know, I could have said that more succinctly – but you know what?  It’s my birthday, so I get to do what I want!

Most importantly, in this day filled with the logging of new wrinkles and the circling of new cellulite dimples that I will have to remove at 40, and assessing what I have not accomplished and what I will never accomplish.

Holy shit.  I will never be famous.  Look, you don’t have to have wanted to be a famous actress, writer, singer, talk show host… from the age of 3 to relate; you merely have to have wanted a certain success that looks less likely to occur as the years pass.  You have to get that urge to sob uncontrollably at the bleak outlook that is your professional or social future, but you should squelch such antics as you’re in the middle of a parent teacher meeting and you really should be paying attention. (wait, that’s just me.)

I was all prepped for fame.  At 5, I was singing outside of restaurants, attracting throngs of people who said things to my mother like, “Oy, you should take her to try out for Annie,” “My G-d that child can sing.” and “Miss, could you please move, you and your child are blocking the entrance.” Were they talent scouts whose opinions could’ve translated into the big bucks?

Probably not.

But they knew good deli and they loved a fatty corned beef on Rye, so that gives them credibility right?  I’m sure many talent execs know good deli, so really it’s quite the same thing.

If I were 5 today, I’d certainly be famous.  Someone would’ve YouTubed me and it would’ve gone viral and I would’ve been befriended by Usher and I would’ve made an inspirational movie called “Never Say Never.”

What, that happened to someone else?

See, it’s a clear case of bad timing.

Here are things I wanted so badly to do with my life that I clearly never will:
1.  Be a Part of  the Kings of Comedy tour
2.  Sing a Duet with Shawn Cassidy
3.  Replace Marie on the Donny and Marie Show Continue reading

Mom: Can you Die of Constipation… Elvis Did

He kinda looks constipated here

My son’s birthday is the same day as the King.  Oh, you know, THE King.  This is the enlightening conversation we had to commemorate his birthday.  I hope the King had other conversations to eavesdrop on at the time.

Jake: Elvis died in the bathroom.

Me:  Did he?

Jake:  He was constipated, did you know you could die of that?

Ryan: He was not constipated.  He died of doing too much drugs.

Wow that “Just say NO” campaign they start in Kindergarten has left my 7yr old speaking as if she knows of what she speaks. 

Thanks for that.

Jake:  He did not.

Ryan: Did too.

Jake:  He died on the toilet.

Ryan: Ok maybe he died in the bathroom, but it was drugs not constipation!  What was he like, urgh urgh, grunt… oops, I’m dead?

Jake:  Or wait, did he die in a bathtub?… No that was Jim Morrison.

My kids don’t know shit about current affairs but somehow this stuff sticks with them.

Jake:  Yeah, Jim Morrison did too many drugs.

Ryan:  Maybe he was constipated.

I wonder where she got that sarcasm from?

BTW – Here’s what comes up if you ask if Elvis died of constipation: it has been widely reported that Elvis Presley died in 1977 from cardiac arrhythmia, an irregular heartbeat, possibly brought on by drug dependency, obesity and a weak heart. But the music legend’s longtime friend and physician, Dr. George “Nick” Nichopoulos, has put pen to paper for the first time and revealed his belief that it was chronic constipation that actually killed the King of Rock and Roll.

Hmmmm?

WHILE YOU’RE HERE CHECK OUT WHAT’S GOING ON AT MY OTHER SITE:  I’m a Jewish mom, what’s your excuse?

My last post is below. Only read it if you plan not to verbally assault me for writing it!!!

So, I Have a Cleaning Lady – No Need for Verbal Assaults

Written by Jenny From the Blog of THE SUBURBAN JUNGLE

This story ended up in a book of hilarious Mom essays, but it was originally run when I first started blogging, by a major newspaper and their coordinating website, I will not name where.
No, stop asking, ‘cuz I won’t.
Don’t tickle me… stop it.  
ENOUGH.

Ok – the response was a mostly a verbal assault and a judgmental lashing from people who would never spend their hard earned money to have someone else help around the house.  Personally, I have no problem spending my husbands hard earned money to have someone do that.  (What, you think blogging pays a ton?)  

Ironic, comparison right ‘cuz she was the hired nanny.

Frankly, I would consider spending my last dollar on it.  In fact I would clean someone else’s house to make the money to pay someone to clean my own.  I feel I don’t need to apologize for the sanity and extra time I get to play with my kids or the joyful feeling I get from walking into my home- like Julie Andrew’s character feels in the Sound of Music when she’s spinning on the mountain top singing, “The Hills are Alive.”

Oh, you can picture me doing it right?
Cuz I do.  
With song.  
And a flowy 1940‘sesque dress.  
Every time I walk in and smell the fresh scent of Lysol “Fresh Scent.”

I thought I would let you all decide if you can relate or if I’m a horrible person  – for liking a clean house – for putting this extravagance in my budget – for wearing frocks…

Here goes:  Read MORE

Politically Incorrect Meets the Forth Grade

A couple weeks back, I went to my son’s school as a volunteer for his holiday class party.  In an attempt to be overly PC they had all the usual non-denominational stuff: snow flake making, a toilet paper snowman contest, and other things related to snow and not Chanukah menorahs or Christmas trees or whatever kwanza has… like, kangaroos.  Frankly, I don’t know if there’s a Kwanza Kangaroo, but I like to think there is one.

Every holiday needs a mildly creepy ambassador.  I mean, there’s Santa Clause for X-mas.  He’s a fat, jolly, old guy that likes to have children on his lap, which is kinda disturbing.  There’s a Hanukkah Harry, who sounds like a drunken trench coat wearing uncle who may flash you in front of the menorah, and I assume – there’s a Kwanza Kangaroo, who let’s you feel in his pocket for presents and for pleasure.

Not the Creepy Kangaroo you were picturing, or is it?

I may have just massacred the mascots of three religions at once.  And to think I wasn’t a part of the politically incorrect story I’m about to tell.

Moving on.  We were in the midst of making snowflakes, which had to have a picture of the student glued on the front.  I grabbed some of those tiny 1×2” pictures and started giving them to their respective owners.  I can barely tell the girls apart with the feathers in their hair and the Justice accessories, but I managed, then I came across an Asian child.  He was one of many Asian children in the class.

Hello, it’s gifted.

I don’t want to say he’s Chinese because I always get that stuff wrong, and then I seem ignorant.

As you can tell from the story thus far, I hate to sound ignorant.  Though to be fair, I wouldn’t expect you to know me from a Canadian.

I put the child’s picture at the back of my pile, to be certain I was giving it to the right Asian child.

Not that they all look alike.

I mean, if that’s where your head was going, then I’m quite sure you’re guilty of racial profiling.

Shame on you.

I, on the other hand was concerned that in this cripplingly PC society, that had I given the wrong picture to the wrong child and he happened to be Asian, I would be perceived as being prejudiced myself.  Though if I’d given a feather laden girl the wrong pic, we’d have laughed it off.

As I walked over to the child whose picture was last in my pile, I saw him holding another picture in his hand.

Holy shit, I am guilty, I can’t tell them apart.  This is horrible, I have to stop being so preachy to other people.

Shame on me!

Then, I looked at the picture in his hand and realized that HE was holding the wrong picture, not I.

OMG the irony.

I tried to hand him his picture, which he was reluctant to trade, sure he had the correct one.

“No, this is you.” I said.

I mean, if you can’t tell yourself from another child of similar decent, than I think the rest of us are in the clear here.  Phew, one less PC thing to worry about.

And the best part, I made it out of this scenario somehow unscathed and totally PC

What did I learn:  Asian children have trouble telling themselves from other Asian children… It must be the pocket protectors and the ping pong paddles they carry around with them.

Relax, I was just kidding, you can’t play ping pong in school, though they did look like this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, like this but, younger and with black socks and sandals.

May we all be a bit less PC in the New Year.