Tag Archives: humor column

I Got My Own Show!


First promo is out (if you’re a YouTube subscriber, please like it)!!!

It seems like forever that I’ve been waiting for someone to give me my own show. Yes, it’s true… rounding the corner on 40 certainly wasn’t helping. I was making a running list of all the things I WILL NOT DO. You know, like a depressing version of a bucket list? Actually, that’s redundant, but you get the picture.

My looming midlife-ishness was making me realize all the things I haven’t been given that I feel I truly deserved, like: 10million from the Florida Lottery, a Ford Fusion from American Idol, or a Medical degree from Harvard. Granted, I’ve never played the lotto, been a contestant on American Idol, or attended Harvard, but still I feel slighted.

Which is how I’ve felt about the whole getting your own show thing. I mean let’s face it, everyone has a show now a days, EV-ERY-ONE. Really, it doesn’t take much. You don’t even need a full set of teeth (see Gator Boys and Honey Boo Boo) Sure

Honey’s 7 so those will grow back in, but I’d venture to say that she’ll be missing a few in adulthood as well. (Call it a premonition.)

I just want to state for the record that I do have all my teeth, which is usually a plus in the job market search, but now I am considering knocking one out or at least covering it in gold. What? Does Flava Flav not have a show?

I guess the truth is, with everyone having a show, I kinda just imagined that there was a line somewhere, like a make-shift DMV. You wait in it, all annoyed until someone with really long nails and two tone hair looks at you and tells you your gig. “Hmmm, annoying accent, high hair, tattooed, currently intoxicated… JERSEY SHORE, ANY MOB SHOW, CO-HOST ON THE TALK.” “Highly educated, dry, unattractive, interesting and cerebral… sorry, your options are limited NEW YORK TIMES TV Host (only to be watched during air travel), guest on REAL TIME WITH BILL MAHER.” “Looks good in a bikini – doesn’t prune in hot

tubs or pools – questionable morals… BACHELORETTE, BIG BROTHER.” “Funny, un-pc, likes to talk while standing, attractive enough… LATE NIGHT TV.”

You know, something like that.

So for years, I’ve sought out this “line,” and like unicorns and tooth-fairies – it exists but, only to those who believe… which is why I found it. Or rather, it found me. Yep, my show, THE JENNY ISENMAN SHOW, will be airing on Cafe Mom starting October 16th!

Here’s the first promo!!!

I like to believe my DMV bio went like this: Funny – anxiety stricken – obsessed with cellulite/wrinkles/sagging – annoyed with all the hype about beauty products, juice fasts, scheduled sex – may or may not have showered today – needs answers to cut through all the bullshit and look and feel at least a decade or two younger so that she doesn’t end up in a padded room – attractive enough…. TALK SHOW FOR MOMS, REAL HOUSEWIFE OF SOMEWHERE, GUEST ON DR. PHIL, HOARDERS.

We just finished filming the season last week and it was total insanity… (By the way, it’s a talk show for moms, in case you weren’t sure.) I was sick as a dog! My voice went from Demi Moore sexy, in early episodes to Harvey Fierstein drag queen, towards the end, I kid you not. I had an amazing set, amazing guests, amazing producers, a 15 person crew: filming, trying to keep me healthy, fed, and hydrated… checking hair and makeup. Sounds a bit Christian Grey-esque right? I mean, these are things a girl can get used to!!!

Most importantly, I got a CHEAT SHEET for all the mommas to live by – all while keeping a cynical eye and a sense of humor. Yes, I regaled some embarrassing 80’s moments, as I love to do. And I think with the power of editing, it will end up a Chelsea Handler, meets, Erma Bombeck, meets, Richard Lewis, meets Oprah. Am I aiming too high? Those editors better be freakin’ good, if not, I’m hoping at the very least it’ll be a Wendy Williams, meets the Tiger Mom, meets Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew, meets Dog, the Bounty Hunter.

I promise to give behind the scenes play by play! If you like my writing, share this with friends so they can follow the blog and keep up with the show because I guarantee it’ll be as exiting as watching the guys who fish with their hands… and that’s saying a lot, I know.

Oh and thanks, as always for your support! This is a big deal for someone who’s small potatoes.

XOXO,

Jenny From the Blog

I May Have Been a Preteen Stalker

Didn’t we all have adolescent obsessions that bordered on stalking or was that just me?  This story will make your embarrassing moments seem way less embarrassing!  It’s that bad, I’ve never spoken of it.

As you may have noticed from some of my posts, I have a flair for the dramatic.  I recall an experience of such exaggerated intensity with my first crush.  For the sake of the blog and the fact that some of my readers will know him, I’ll call him Eric, Eric Axel.  This pseudonym is not exactly cryptic, it‘s about 2 letters off from his actual name.  Look, I pursued him like an obsessed stalker, I’m sure it’s no surprise to him.

This was old school stalking I’m referring to.  Anyone and everyone stalks now a days — moderen technology: cell phones,  FB,  twitter,  my space, youtube, linkedin — it’s not even impressive.  No, I’m talking about the kind of stalking that took time and effort and premeditation, something to tell your grandchildren about.

So, I’m gonna rip off the Band-Aid, that is this repressed memory, and let the healing begin.  I was in the 7th grade … Continue reading

The Most Embarrassing 80s Moment You Never Had | But I Did

Actual skates - oh, I keep them for parties and stuff! No, seriously.

Actual skates – oh, I keep them for parties and stuff! No, seriously.

The other day I was attempting to parlay these NBC segments I’m doing into a piece for a national magazine.  As I typed away, touting myself as an “expert,” trying to seem way more important than I actually am, and rambling on about my amazing qualifications to an Editor in Chief (whom I shouldn’t have been writing directly in the first place), Eddy Grant’s “Electric Avenue”came on and I was immediately transported to SKATELAND in Cockeysville Maryland, circa 1984.

It was Girl’s Skate and the disco lights had taken over the floor.

Now, if you’re unfamiliar with roller skate culture, Girl’s Skate is the precursor to Couple’s Skate.  During Girl’s Skate, your job, as a girl, is to look as totally awesome as possible.  You have to rock your Flashdance style off-the-shoulder-shirt with splatter paint detail, and your acid-washed jeans.

The boys watch from around that short wall AND If they likes what they sees, they put out a hand for you to slap.  The “hand out” also implies that they would like to Couples Skate with you.  SO, if you think the boy is cute, you slap his outstretched arm, buuuut if you think he’s too dorky, you hold your hand super close to your body in an overly dramatic fashion that says: “I’d rather be caught dead than be seen skating with you.”

Yep, it’s an exercise in fostering self esteem.

On this particular day, I had my eye on a very cute older boy; he may have even been a preteen!  I spotted him from across the crowded rink, as my dad laced up his skates trying to catch up to my speedy entrance.

Oh, I didn’t mention that my dad skated with me every week?  How could I forget that detail, this story is about how cool and awesome I was, right?

There I was, doing my best tricks:

  • The speed up and glide.
  • The Shoot the Duck (crouch down and stick one leg forward).
  • The professional leg cross weave around the corners.

I looked around at the outstretched arms, while Electric Avenue played in the background.  As a sensitive kid, I was an equal opportunity slapper.  So, I’d slap the hand of anyone that put it out there.  Well, unless they were super nerdy and everyone else was avoiding them, obviously!

Then I spotted him, that cute preteen.  He looked bad.  I mean, good — bad. He probably drove there on his motorized bike…  Skates hanging from the handle bars and a switchblade style comb in his back pocket to flush up his mullet.  He was definitely from the wrong side of the tracks. You know, like Matt Dillon in Little Darlings

Matt dillonI noticed that he wasn’t really offering his hand to too many girls and in a defensive action, started to skate towards the middle.

As I got closer, he did it.  He eyed me and then threw out his hand.

Holy crap, that’s for me and now I’m so far on the inside I’ll never make it, and then we won’t get to Couples Skate.  I won’t be able to hold his hand, which I’m sure will be cool and big, not small and sweaty, like the other boys I always couples skated with.  He may even be good enough to do the envied backwards hands on hips skate! My life is officially over.

Move Jenny, move!

I weaved through a few of the slower girls and reached as far as I could to touch even a fingertip.  Then in a crushing blow he pulled his hand back and pretending to slick his hair.  Holy shit, he gave me the “psyyyyych,” before the “psych” was actually invented!

To add insult to injury, my arm had overstretched to meet his teasing gesture.  I felt myself going down.  Think slo-mo in some cheesy 80‘s film, “Ohhhh Nnnoooo.”  I grabbed at the short wall to pull myself in ricocheted off it and slammed straight to the ground a few feet away from him.

Yep, COOL, I was!  (if you say that with a Yoda accent, it has the truest effect.)

I got up quickly and ran to the bathroom to cry in a stall, while Couple’s Skate started without me.  Seriously, it just began like normal, as if the most horrifying incident had not just occurred on that concrete slab of rejection.

I remember the song perfectly, it was Air Supply’s, “All Out of Love”  I also remember the pain.  Oh, the pain and the “uncoolness.”

“I’m so lost without you.”

Apparently, you can’t get too cocky in Cockeysville or anywhere, because someone will put you right back place. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, I’ve been put in my place more times than I care to remember.

Even as an adult, a simple song can bring back an experience that sends you to rock in a corner.  I guess you’re supposed to dust yourself off and get back in the ring or the rink as the case may be.

So back to my pitch:
Dear Editor in Cheif – I AM A kick ass writer and I’m not half bad on a pair of skates…

PS : I got that job – eat your heart out mullet boy, everyone knows rat tails are like way hotter anyway!

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Too Graphic for National Geographic

Certain things go on in nature that make you want to close your eyes and scream “earmuffs.”  Yet, instead you watch, unblinking, like a sicko.  It’s not your fault… we all do it.  

Susan at 8AM: You have to come see this. It’s horrifying.  It’s like DuckRape.

Me: I just want to make sure we’re clear. You’re asking me to come to your house so that we can watch ducks have sex? Can we not afford good porn?

Susan: You make me sound so cheap.

Me: Well, you want me to drive over to your house to watch something so horrifying you’ve termed it rape?

Susan: Yeah.

Me: Okay.

What? You people think my days are so full of work that I don’t have time to watch ducks get laid?

howard the duck
I thought it would look something like this.

 


ducks mating
But, it looked more like this.

Me: Half hour later, (when we were able to peel our eyes away) HOLY CRAP! Continue reading

Mathletes are Athletes Too

“I’m gonna count you out!!! When I’m done with you, you’ll be 1/3rd the boy you are today… That’s 33.3%… .33333…  .333 infinity…” and other trash talkin’ you may hear at a Mathletes Meet…

What kid doesn’t like to trash talk – especially boys?  It must be in the genes because I definitely don’t walk around the house saying stuff to my son like: “I’m so much better at brushing my teeth then you are.” (Even though I totally am.)

What? Please, he’s had like 6 cavities and I’ve had 2 and I’m tons older.  My oral hygiene seriously crushes his!

Fine, so maybe it’s not so surprising that they trash talk, but I want to know if it carries over into all facets of life?

My son plays on a travel baseball team and one of his teammates is also a Mathlete.  Yes, I said Mathlete, it’s a word.

So, during a double header, where our team chanted really cool stuff at the mound in unison like, “A meeting, a meeting, there must be cheating.” I turned to that friend and asked if there’s trash talking on the Mathletes playing field – because that would be really funny.

And so me and my favorite “humor catalyst” (See: What Happens When You Scream “Penis” in Front of a Bunch of 9 Year Olds – for an explanation and a full on giggle fit) began to imagine what that trash talk would sound like:

Amy:  Yeah, he totally trash talks. He says stuff like, I’m gonna count you out!!!

Me:  Oh, and, when I’m done with you, you’ll be 1/3rd the boy you are today…. 

That’s 33.3%

.33333

Amy: .333 infinity

Me:  You’ll be a freaking decimal when this is over.

Amy: Continue reading

Can’t a Nice Jewish Girl Sit on Santa’s Lap Without Being a Ho Ho Ho?

girl-santaIt’s that time of year again… Time for that timeless Jewish tale that should be read the night before Christmas after eating Chinese and watching whatever movie your kids talk you into.

How many of you will be sleeping through this flick this weekend?

I’m not gonna throw myself under the bus and call my children spoiled, as I would have only myself to blame.  I will say, however, they have an extreme sense of entitlement, which I am sure has little to do with them being lavished with gifts undeservedly.

My children want everything they see, hear about, could get as a party favor, could find in a McDonalds happy meal, a cereal box, a piñata, or view in a commercial.

“Mommy can I have that? Will you buy me that?  Mommy my friends neighbor has that.  I want that.  When can I have that? Mommy? Ma? Maaaaaaaa?  MOM!  This exchange of words usually ends with, “If you mention it again, the answer will be never.”  “Never?  I can’t even have a Fijit my beat friend when I’m 25?”  “Sure.  If you still want a Fijit my best friend at 25, you being it with you to therapy.”

“How about I get it for my next birthday, or maybe Kwanzaa?”  My son is already eyeing a camouflage pencil set for Secretaries Day, and has informed me that, although we are Jewish, he will be giving up vegetables for Lent.

My childrens’ Hanukkah wish lists are so comprehensive, I may be forced to explore alternative channels in my gift search.  Consequently, I have sent a friendly letter asking someone who has slighted me in the past for help.  Some might say it’s more of a formal accusation, but really it’s just a hand delivered note that needs to be notarized and signed on receipt. It goes:

Dear Santa,
I have never complained about you forgetting us Jews in the past, but times are tough.  I mean, I don’t want to threaten you or anything, but let’s talk religious profiling, shall we?

I’m sure the fact that we don’t believe in you has something to do with you snubbing us year after year.  Do we, a people known to produce a whiner or two, complain?  No, some of us, me included, have made an effort to believe.

Let us not forget Christmas of 83’ when I sat on your lap asking for a Speak N’ Spell, a Magic Eight Ball, and Shawn Cassidy’s “Da Doo Ron Ron” 45.  I have a laminated picture from Macy’s to prove it.

Do you not bombard us with your festive songs and holiday movies made with delightfully animated reindeer and elves?  Do Jews get to go a-wassailing?  No, we have one song… about kids gambling.

Has Dreidel ever starred in a delightfully animated holiday movie?  Even the Rugrats sold out, ahem, converted.

What, Hollywood talk you into losing your religion?

 

Has Snoopy, or Barbie, or a single Disney character ever lit a Menorah?  Maybe in the privacy of their own homes, but certainly never on camera (it’s in their contracts.)

We’re okay with that, because we wrote those contracts.

Sure, we take advantage of your sales and vacations.  We watch your shows, and sing your catchy songs.  We’ll decorate a tree with blue and white twinkle lights, top it with a six pointed star, and call it a Hanukkah bush.

Santa, my Roth IRA is down 40%.  I deserve a little holiday cheer.   You can look me up, I’ve been nice, and I’d like to keep it that way.

My daughter wishes to receive more of those squeaky –and possibly poisonous– Zhu Zhu pets.   She would also like the newest Bratz Doll, which comes complete with Brazilian waxing kit and requisite diaphragm.

My son “just has to have” Ubisoft’s Rocksmith “I Choked on My Own Vomit Tour,” the iPhone 4s that he thinks will answer any question, including where he left his last cell phone. Oh, and some alone time with my daughter’s Bratz doll.

I will forward you the unabridged version via zip file. I look forward to us all getting along!
Sincerely,

Frustrated Jewish Mom

P.S.  I feel like maybe we got off on the wrong foot here.  I didn’t mean to sound so hostile.  Santa, just tell me what a girl’s gotta do to get some Christian love?   I can be naughty if necessary (wink, wink).
HAPPY HOLIDAYS

Want more Holiday Humor?  Check out Little Things That Make me Wanna Convert and of course, please share this tale as a holiday treat

Plus, don’t forget to sign up for the Suburban Jungle feed or email to get weekly humorous relatable pieces!

The Day My Son’s Ladybug Ran Away | Best of Jenny From the Blog

ladybug-Dealing with a lost pet can be extremely daunting… even if it’s a ladybug.

I can still hear the faint murmurs of my son Jake’s 40-minute meltdown when his pet ladybug, “Lady,” flew away. We kidnapped this 4 year old (or 4 day old bug – whatever the spot things mean), at the top of Mount Aspen. Jake loved her, cared for her, nurtured her, taught her to ride a bike, and started a 529 plan in her name. About a quarter of the way down the mountain, Lady flew to the ceiling of our gondola and made a mad dash for freedom.

Jake jumped out of his seat and bounced towards the door. This caused the gondola to start swinging. According to the warning sign that pictured a man falling out of the gondola to his unexpected demise, wild swinging was strictly forbidden. “Jake, you can’t jump around. Do you see what happened to the unfortunate man on the sign?”

This is seriously the picture!! What???

Jake continued searching, intensely focused on the whereabouts of Lady. “Hey, do you guys hear her? I can hear her. Do you hear her?” he said desperately, like someone who could put a straight jacket to good use. Continue reading

Why Can’t Moms Let Boys be Boys | Jenny From the Blog for Momtourage

What if he doesn’t catch that kid!???

I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time with the rough-housing and horseplay that comes along with having a son. Okay, those are totally 50’s terms, yet I can’t think of a better way to say it.

Girls definitely give us moms a huge mental workout. Mine came into this world with an attitude; my closest friend swears she gave her the evil eye on day one. Those little lasses are often cranky and snippy. They can get catty, jealous and yes, they even fight over boys before they’re out of Pull-Ups.

Oh, she will get her way!

 

But boys are a different breed. Sometimes they can be so mushy and sensitive, like little Prince Charmings, and other times they’re more like Neanderthals. While my little girl is busily primping in her room, trying on outfit number seven, and attempting to apply eye shadow, my son is out front flying across the yard with reckless abandon, as he tackles a neighbor’s son in a “friendly” game of “touch” football.

My neighbor, who has two sons and a brother, looks on half-heartedly as she files a chipped nail. I, on the other hand, am on the edge of my seat, well, my patch of grass, ready to hurl myself onto the makeshift field at the first sign of injury. Was that a wince? Was that a double- blink? A groan? A sigh? I’m on it, like a ski patrolman on a toboggan.

How can “neighbor mom” be so calm? Does she not realize that this is bound to end when somebody gets hurt? Could an eye not be poked out here? Continue reading

My Son was the Featured Student and I’m Pretty Pissed about it

Any mom who gets that “featured student” backpack sent home, with a stuffed animal and journal instructions, knows why this “honor” is better left to somebody else’s kid.

Don't let the smile fool ya. He was miserable... miserable, I say!

Last week, my son was the featured student in his class.  Oh, don’t get all congratulatory; I’m pretty sure his teacher picks the names out of a hat.  On top of this, my son wasn’t even happy to be featured student, and frankly, I understand why.


One of the perks of being “featured student,” is that both student and mother get extra “homework” each night, so that the class can learn more about said student.  Let’s not forget the obligatory schlepping around and journaling of a stuffed animal.  Sure, watching my kids carry around Clifford in nursery school was cute… well, minus the barrage of snot and germs each of the other kids left on him before it was our turn, but carrying a stuffed dog around in the 3rd grade could ruin a kid’s rep.


Day 1: Took a picture of my son pretending to play basketball with a stuffed dog, which he was actually using as the ball.  Who could blame him, a 5th grader was watching.  That evening I was required to write an essay about why I love my son, and what’s special about him.  (yet another writing assignment that I’m being underpaid for).

Let’s face it, writing about your kid for the whole class to hear is cheesy and prohibits you from saying what you’d really like to say.

Hello, parameters people.

Clearly I didn’t want to embarrass my son in front of his friends.  Hence, a sentence such as, “I love it each night when you beg me to come lie with you, and we giggle as I give you a kiss attack,” though true, isn’t advisable.  Also unacceptable: “You’re the best at insert sport, smartest at insert subject, and easily the cutest kid in your class, even better looking than insert name. Yep – extremes, though you’re certain are true, are totally frowned upon.

Day 2:  Took a picture of my son pretending to feed cereal to his stuffed dog, and ended up wiping spilled milk from both parties’ faces (secretly prayed that dog didn’t reek of rancid dairy by recess). We also had to find pictures for him to bring in which showed the major occurrences in his life from birth to date.  I printed a bunch from an SD card and wrote Disney with varying years on them.  (No one will be the wiser)

Disney 2010

Day 3:  Took pic of stuffed dog, among all my son’s other stuffed animals.  It was meant to be ironic, like in E.T., except it wasn’t because the stuffed dog is in fact also stuffed.

Notice how you can barely distinguish the dog from the stuffed animals? Crazy!

Also, pulled stuff together for “collection” day.  When my son asked what the heck he collects, I said, “Bring in the last 5 books I bought you, and tell them you collect dust.” Ba da bum. In reality, I handed him a bunch of pennies and said, “Tell the class each is from a different year.”  What, like someone’s gonna check?

Day 4:  Took a portrait with stuffed dog as if he was part of the family.  (That picture turned out good.  Note to self: photo-shop real family cat in later.)

Not a holiday card... but not bad.

Also, brought in a special lunch for the featured student.  After allotting an hour to get the stuff together, including cupcakes for the class, (a precedent some mom started 10 featured students ago,) I was ready to enjoy a meal with my kiddo.  I arrived to find that it happened to be “Lunch and a Movie Day.”  Yep, the kids were watching the “Cat in the Hat” on a huge screen at the front of the lunch room.  What the hell am I paying for at this school?  Oh right, I don’t pay… figures.

We didn’t get movies at school; we got some hostess pies, a roll that was seran wrapped with a pat of butter on top and a “full fat” chocolate milk, and a bunch of other deliciously fattening junk, that’s what we got.

Remember him?

“You guys are so lucky,” I said to my son and his friends.  A few of his friends responded.   My kid, who recently told me not being able to do more than one thing at a time was his downfall, was captivated by Mike Myer’s portrayal of Cat and barely nodded in my direction.  Correction, that wasn’t a nod, he was tilting his head to see around my head, as I was blocking his view… silly me.

I then conversed with a few of his friends about how my day was going and what they had learned thus far, but a woman screeched onto a mic and interrupted, “If you can hear me clap 2 times.”  We all clapped like cattle, ok, cows don’t clap, but you know what I meant…

Or Do They? Mawahaha

The woman continued, “Now, let’s use our movie manners!  We are not here to socialize so let’s not talk to our friends and let’s just eat and enjoy our movie.”

Really, they’re not at lunch to socialize?  They get like a 15 min recess and now they can’t talk during their 20 min lunch? – Which, didn’t even get them to the introduction of Thing 1… or Thing 2, for that matter.  (Leave it to a school to ruin movie lunch.)

Day 5:  We returned stuffed dog and I breathed a sigh of relief.  “I get a year’s reprieve from this awesome task.”  Maybe in 4th grade the boys can bring home something a little more masculine, like a sword… or a condom.  Well, that was just silly, a condom would look ridiculous sitting next to grandma in a family portrait.  Of course we could always photoshop in a pet snake or this guy:

See ya next year!

What is the worst thing the school has your child do?

If you enjoyed this, read about the time we got Clifford the Big Red Dog Drunk. Oh, and you have to read the Duck Porn article if you haven’t yet… it may be my all time fave!

One last question for a segment I’m doing on CBS:  How do men mess up on Mother’s day?

The Power of Thought

wish flowerI was asking people their thoughts on positive thinking when my manicurist, Sandy told me a story about finding her “By the time I’m 40” wish list. One of the items on the list was not to do the nails of an elderly lady at her home in the evening anymore. She didn’t have the heart to cancel her weekly appointments, which had been long standing. “And would you believe it, the woman died right before my 40th birthday? For a while I thought I killed her,” she explained with an odd sense of accomplishment. “Talk about powerful thinking. What a stroke of luck.” “Yeah,  I don’t know if luck is the word for that kind of stroke. I’m betting she would have preferred that you simply canceled on her.”

That tale made me realize that more interesting than the power of positive thinking, is the power we give our thoughts. I should probably warn you, I can control things with my mind. Bad things. Like Continue reading

I Am This Month’s Celebrity Host at Nickelodeon’s ParentsConnect.com!!!

patrick-star-spongebobOkay, if you wanted more of me, you finally get it.  I am doing a daily post for Nick’s ParentConnect.com on how to find time to do stuff for YOU.  Yes, I am their Celebrity host for the month of November.  Either they are seriously hard-up or I am getting “awesomer.”  What a fitting turn around from my last post… Humiliation on the Roller Rink, Circa 1984!  I read on Page 6 that Patrick Star was slotted to host this November, but was forced to decline after an unforeseen jellyfishing incident. Also, he is illiterate, though reading was not a prerequisite for the job.  I will be toiling away at my keyboard all month, so you can get stuff done. If you have had just about enough of me at one post per week, I must warn you, you will be getting an annoying update every morning that links you to that day’s Me Time problem and solution.  I hope you stick around, read some… and even comment or join the site!

Yours,

Jenny From the Blog

Me Time Challange Link

I don’t have time for my Hubby:

Remember when you first met your honey? That look of love in your eyes? The way you could just go to a restaurant or a movie without having to call anyone but the reservation line? Do you remember when you could “get it on” in places other than your bedroom… with the lights off… while trying to catch an episode of The Amazing Race… and praying no one wakes up hungry, wet, or scared? It seems like forever ago, right? The idea of a date seems arcane, and the thought of uninhibited sex is nostalgic. Well, you’re together now, so you need to make time to enjoy yourselves.

How to find time for your mate: MORE

I don’t have time to work out:

There used to be a time before kids and before my 30’s when I ate chicken wings, nachos and burgers freely. Now I can trace the outline of a single Cheeto in my belly. Even worse, my thighs seem to be having a love affair with one another, which makes walking in corduroys a very noisy endeavor. If you want the bod you had pre-babies, you have to work at it. So, I will help you find ways to work working out back into your schedule.

How to find time to work out: MORE


I don’t have time for a hobby:

Since I loooove writing, this is one challenge I have a lot of experience with. I can tell you that it’s not easy to find the time. Our hobbies, crafts, and other creative endeavors get left behind by feedings, diaper changes and helping with homework. But whether you like to write, draw, knit, crochet, paint, sculpt, take pictures, play an instrument, scrapbook or make crafts, you don’t have to let go of the things you enjoy. Here are some creative ideas to find time for your artistic side.

How to find time for a hobby:  MORE

Total Humilation on the Roller Rink, circa 1984

You know when you’re feeling a little big for your britches? (Using that phrase alone should nullify anything I’m about to say.)  Then you get a flashback, a glimpse of some past experience that is earth shatteringly embarrassing and the universe puts you right back in your place?

Well, here I am trying to parlay this “CBS Expert Mom” thing into a piece for a national magazine.  I am at my laptop touting myself as an “expert,” and trying to seem way more important than I am.  Just as I am rambling on about my amazing qualifications to a senior editor, whom I shouldn’t be writing directly in the first place, Eddy Grant’s “Electric Avenue” comes on the radio.  I am immediately transported to Cockeysville Skateland circa 1984.  Its Girl’s Skate, the disco lights take over the floor.

Now, if you are unfamiliar with roller skate culture, “Girl’s Skate” is the precursor to “Couple’s Skate.”  During “Girl’s Skate,” your job, as a girl is to look as cool as possible.  You have to rock your shirt with the iron-on decal, those jeans with a comb sticking out of the back pocket, and those leg warmers you shoved up over them to add a “Flashdance” effect.  The boys watch from around the rink and if they likes what they sees, they put out a hand for you to slap.  The hand out also implies that they would like to Couples Skate with you.  If you think they’re cute, you slap their out-stretched hand.  Yes, it is an exercise in self esteem.  Years of this did quite a number on my psyche.

On one particular day, I had my eye on a very cute older boy; he may have even been a preteen!  I spotted him from across the crowded rink, as my dad laced up his skates trying to catch up to my speedy entrance.  Oh, I didn’t mention that my dad skated with me every week?  How could I forget that detail, this story is about how cool I am right?

Here I am doing my best tricks: The speed up and glide,  the crouch down and stick one leg forward, the professional leg cross weave around the corners.  I look around at the outstretched arms, More than a feelin, should be my background music.  As a sensitive kid, I am an equal opportunity slapper.  So, I slap the hand of anyone that puts it out there, unless they’re really dorky and everyone else is avoiding them, obviously! Those poor kids go home and make “kill lists,” or comfort themselves with their Star Wars figurines.

Then I spotted him, that cute preteen, he looked bad.  I mean good bad. He probably drove here on his motorized dirt bike with his skates hanging from the handle bars and a switchblade hiding in his pocket.  He was definitely from the other side of the tracks. You know, like Matt Dillon was in Little Darlings. I noticed that he wasn’t really offering his hand to too many girls and in a defensive action started to skate towards the middle.  As I got closer, he did it.  He eyed me and then threw out his hand.  Holy crap, that’s for me and now I’m so far on the inside I’ll never make it, and then we won’t get to couples skate.  I won’t be able to hold his hand, which I’m sure will be cool and big, not small and sweaty, like the other boys I always couples skate with.  He may even be good enough to do the envied backwards hands on hips skate! My life is officially over…Move Jenny, move. I weaved through a few slow girls and reached as far as I could to touch even a fingertip.  Then in a crushing blow he pulled his hand back and pretending to slick his hair… Shit, he gave me the “psyyyyych.”

To add insult to injury, or in this case injury to insult, my arm had overstretched to meet his teasing gesture.  I felt myself going down think slo-mo in some cheesy 80’s film.  Ohhhh Nnnoooo, I grabbed at the wall to pull myself in and slammed straight into it, then ricocheted off, and slapped to the ground.  I am SO COOL!  I got up quickly and ran to the bathroom to cry in a stall, while reading about who is ez, and who loves whom 4-ever.  “Couple’s Skate” started without me, as if the most horrifying incident had not just occurred on that concrete slab of rejection.  I remember the song perfectly, it was Air Supply’s, “All Out of Love” or maybe Journey’s “Open Arms,” or some ballad  by Foreigner or Styx.  I also remember the pain, oh the pain and the uncoolness.  Apparently, you can’t get too cocky in Cockeysville, cause someone will put you right back in your insecure, struggling, awkward place… where you belong.  Unfortunately, I’ve been put in my place too many times than I care to remember.  Even as an adult, a simple song can bring back an experience that sends you to rock in a corner.

Dear Senior Editor- I am a lowly writer, eh forget get it.