Tag Archives: Wit

When Date Night Turns into a Seinfeld Episode

Certain names have been misspelled to avoid search engines.  I have faith you’ll know who I mean.

Ever have one of those nights that’s more like a Seinfeld Episode… Be warned: This is what can happen when facial hair goes terribly terribly wrong!

Now, I may be generalizing, but Atlanta seems to be a hotbed for outdated facial hair.  While on a recent trip to the ATL, my hubby and I found ourselves in a lovely upscale restaurant called Aria.  We were struck by our waiter’s very pronounced handlebar mustache (Please pronounce Moose-tashe for the proper feel) and pointed chin puff, basically the beard of the devil.

Not our ACTUAL waiter

Oh, the irony!

While ogling that for some time, he approached us, “Would you care  for a roll?”  “Oh, G-d did he say can I have your eternal soul?”  I asked my husband before answering.
After a few references to the “Joker’s Wild,” my husband noticed that seated at a ledge across from us was a man with a toothbrush mustache.

You may think you are unfamiliar with the toothbrush variation,   but it was seen on Charlie Chaplin, Hardy of Laurel and Hardy,

 

 

 

 

oh yeah and this guy:

I’d venture to say that the only mustache rarer and more disconcerting than the devil is what’s also known as the H1tler. In fact, I’d wager a bet that few people have rocked the H1tler since Adolph himself performed mass genocide on 14 million individuals.  Distressingly, this person not only donned the H1tler; he bore an uncanny resemblance to him, which made me that much more uncomfortable.  As a Jew in the South, no less, this guy actually sent a shiver down my spine.  Not unlike seeing a swast1ka on your neighbor’s replica WWII German war plane (which happened: see article here for that doozy).

No matter how handsome you look in a H1tler, I would think that after the war, it’s pretty much considered a fashion faux pas for anyone wanting to avoid public stoning.  I wondered if this gentleman was at our restaurant to visit his old friend, our waiter… AKA Beelzebub.

The man with the H1tler and his wife were out with another couple.  All I could think was, what if the couples hadn’t seen each other in a while or maybe he was the husband coworker?  How would one react if they found themselves at dinner with a man who looked like he’d be hired to make balloon swast1kas for a white supremist’s birthday party?

I looked at Mark as he was discretely pretending to text while taking a picture with my iPhone.  “Honey, this is an episode of Seinfeld.  In this scene George would be going on a double date with his new girlfriend’s sister and brother-in-law.”

Girlfriend:  George this is my brother-in-law Jan, Jan this is George Costanza, the guy I was telling you about.

George:  (After taking in the view and shuddering.)  Why would you be telling him about me?

Girlfriend:  Jan is into name genealogy, I thought he would want to look up Costanza I also gave him Seinfeld.

George:  Oh, so you’re into names and you found Costanza and Seinfeld interesting?

Jan:  mmm yes, interesting names, what Russian and Polish, no?

George:  Ah, you know I’m not really sure.  We never kept in touch with our ancestors… their boat sank.  Umm, Jan is also an interesting name?

Jan: Yes, it’s origin is Deutschland.

George:  Of course, If you excuse me, I’m just gonna make a trip, I gotta…

Jan:  Wait, I gotta hit the head myself.

Jan would then get up and goose step his way over to the bathroom.  George would look back at the girlfriend and return her cheerful smile with a forced one of his own and then run off.

Cut to:

Girlfriend: (to Sister) I see  Jan‘s gout is acting up again.

Sister:  Oh, He’s having a terrible flare up.  Between the gout and the arthritis he’s locked at the elbows and the knees.  You should have seen him trying to shave this evening.  I didn’t have the heart to say anything.

Girlfriend:  Poor guy.   I know how he hates the scar from his cleft pallet.

Cut to:

George:  (at the pay phone calling Jerry) Jerry, I’m at dinner with H1tler, H1TLER I TELL YA.

Jerry:  What are you talking about?

George:  Ingrid’s brother-in-law is a reincarnation of the man… he just did the deathmarch back to the table.  I’m telling you he’s looking up the origin of our names.  I think this is a set up, they’re in cahoots, they wanna exterminate me and if they get me you’re next, SEINFELD.

Jerry:  You gotta get outta their.

Of course it would go on from there, the usual… the brother-in-law would make a few off color remarks and motions alluding to his doppelganger, finally ending by heiling the waiter for the check. (Arthritis, remember?) In a side story, an orthodox Rabbi friend of Kramer’s who accused George and Jerry of being bad Jews would be seated across the restaurant taking the whole thing in to include in his next sermon.

Some couples have a romantic night at a nice restaurant.  We simply make fun of the staff and patrons.

PS By day I’m a lifestyle expert, by night I’m a do manscaping- just kidding – I do this blog.  It’s gaining steam, so if you like it please take a sec to share it and check out the right side for RSS, bookmark, email, and newsletter sign-ups.  Sooo appreciated, if I can grow this thing I can stop shaving mens’ private parts, I mean, oh forget it.  JUST SIGN UP!

xo

-Jenny From the Blog

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

Tip O’ the Mornin: Microdermabrasion, Do I Need it?

I have added a Tip o’ the Mornin’ to my regular repertoire of hilariously funny, thought provoking and possibly award winning articles.

RealSelf.com

RealSelf.com

Well in answer to the question, Do I need microdermabrasion?  Yes. yes you do.  I don’t know exactly who you are but your skin is probably dull and the elasticity is probably slack.  Okay, I may be projecting, but along with suffering from dull slack skin, I selfishly envy fresh faced youth. It always makes me feel good to drive by a highschool, hang my head out the window and scream at the cheerleaders.  Things like. “Your pores may be small, but your such a slut and everyone knows it.” or “So what if you don’t have any wrinkles now, one day your kids will stretch your nether regions beyond recognition and your HS sweetheart will be a cheater working a dead end job, and your face will show it all.    I know what your thinking, Can I come?

If you think there’s a better way, then maybe you should try microdermabrasion.  First it sandblasts your skin with an abrasive material or ultrasound, then it vacuums your pores clean like a shag rug in the bathroom and last it stimulates new collagen production.  I have been trying to coax my collagen into regenerate for months now, so if this works, I can stop begging!  It costs $100-$200 a blast and should be done by a licensed professional –it can cause damage in the wrong hands.

Will it minimize wrinkles?  Probably not, but it can help with fine lines,  sun worshipers with skin damage and those who went through that awkward teen acne.  Who am I kidding, I still break out at “that time of the month.”  That’s when I go to an old age home, hang my head out the window and scream, “I may have a zit or two, but at least I still get my period.”

If you have an experience with microdermabrasion, please share.

I Slept With Tiger Woods

TigerWoodsOMG, I have to tell you guys something.  I often turn to my iCarly diary with my darkest secrets, but this one is just too juicy.   Here goes…  I slept with Tiger Woods.  You guys are probably freaking out, as Tiger’s reputation has been sooo perfect up until now.   Let me be the first to tell you, he’s not the squeaky clean Jonas Brother, he pretends to be.

Our affair was rather recent.  I must confess, he was passed out when I met him.  Sadly, that’s not the first time I started an affair with an unconscious man.  The other time was when this guy was hit by a subway car and I went to visit him in the hospital.  His family showed up and took me for his fiancé.  I went along with it because I was lonely and it was the holidays.  Eventually, he woke up and I married his brother.  Oh wait, that wasn’t me.  DUH.

Anywho, with Tiger it was different.  He was admitted to the hospital (where I am a candy striper) after a rather harsh battle with a fire hydrant.  –See, it’s different already.  It appears he and his wife play late night golf and he took his car to search for a stray ball, when the confrontation occurred.  I can only imagine how far one of Tiger’s balls can fly (well, I don’t have to imagine anymore).  –That was a sex joke, in case you didn’t catch on, LOL.

As it turns out, it was lucky that his wife was caddying for him, as she was able to use his iron to pull him from the wreck and beat off the fire hydrant.   I didn’t even know fire hydrants could come to life, but I saw this movie about a car named Christine and she came to life.  So, I guess anything’s possible.

Tiger  even promised me a signed Fat Head of his best friend MJ.  I can’t believe he can get in touch with Michael Jackson, but after the stint with the fire hydrant, I can see Tiger’s special.  Other people can see it too.   He also had sex with my friend Luanne who mops the floors.   And then Gertie, who resides in the nursing home area.   Oh, and Becky who was in the pediatric unit to have her tonsils out.  I ran into him wandering around the Nursery.  He says looking at the babies calms him.  I get it, they’re so sweet and innocent.

I confronted him about all those other girls, but he said, “don’t worry honey, you’re my hole in one.”  He said if we do it enough I can be his “double bogey.”  I don’t know anything about the golf but the nicknames sure are cute.  Oh yeah, he made me swear I’d never tell… Shit.

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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.

The 1st Annual Toony Awards

BLUE'S CLUES

Leo: “Hello I’m Leo here with June of the Little Einstein’s and welcome to the Red Carpet for the annual Toony Awards. Unfortunately, my sister Annie is with Rocket and Cooper Anderson in the Gobi Desert. I’m told they’re singing baba waba Osama to Beethoven’s 9th, in a bunker that strangely resembles Salvador Dali’s “The Persistence of Memory” picture of melting clocks.

Quincy is not here because he is attending a rally for “Out” magazine. Not that an effeminate black male who is scared of the dark and plays multiple instruments including the flute, piccolo, and triangle has to be gay, he’s just exploring his options.

But, we are on a very important mission right here in Orlando Florida, cartoon capital of the world. Let’s check in on June who is with the cast of Blue’s Clues.”

June: “Hi Joe, I want to ask what is on everyone’s mind… What are you wearing?”

Joe: “I have on an green on green striped tuxedo by Ralph Lauren purple label. Side Table drawer is wearing a runner from Isaac Mizrahi for Target and a vintage Tiffany lamp.”

June: “Well she is truly glowing. Teehee.  Let me ask you Joe, is your acceptance speech written in your handy dandy notebook?”

Joe: “It actually is, and the notebook was encrusted by Judith Leiber to look like a handbag.”

June: “Fabulous may I see it? I see a crying boy in a monochromatic shirt, a can of gasoline, and a pack of matches. Hmm, these clues can be so hard to decipher. Leo back to you”

Leo: “Well it looks like another banner year for the Latinos. Regretfully, Handy Manny will not be able to make it due to a citizenship issue however, he did build the stage. Dora is up for best actress in a Series Over-Using the Word “Aaabre”. She appears to be solomente. This is a smart call after last year’s awkward celebratory french kiss with her cousin Diego and that highly disturbing make-out session with her pet monkey, Boots. June do you have any celebs over there?”

June: “Yes, I am watching the Mystery Mobile pull up, and what an entrance! Shaggy, Scooby and what looks like the 1976 Harlem Globetrotters have appeared like magic out of a huge puff of smoke. They seem to be heading this way however, it may take some time as there legs are spinning, but they are actually not moving…Ah, welcome fellas today must be very exciting.”

Scooby: “Reah, reah, rexciting.”

Shaggy: “Hey, like do you have any snacks, we’ve like got the munchies.”

Scooby: “Reah, runchies.”

June: “I actually do not, try the E! booth they don’t pay that vampire Seacrest the big bucks for nothin’. Hey Leo, getta load of that clown walking down the carpet.”

Leo: “Yes, June there’s JoJo and right behind her are the Disney princesses, who as you probably heard spearheaded a recent movement forcing cartoonists to draw underwear on all female characters. This of course is in response to circulating internet pictures of a fully plucked Daisy Duck exiting a limo on her way to Minnie Mouse’s “2 Weeks Jack Free” celebration… Monterey Jack, that is. Let’s ponder that while I send it back to June and the cast of Rugrats.”

June: “Hi, Tommy and Angelina Pickles, your show is up for it’s holiday special “Santa Woks” is that a cooking show?”

Tommy: “No, I have a wittle twouble tawking… I’m 1.”

June: “I see, well as you probably know you are one of the only Jewish cartoon families ever drawn aside from the short lived series “Moisha and the Shiksa.” And here you are nominated for a Christmas special. Angelica, don’t you feel it’s your responsibility to be role models to young Jewish children and to break stereotypes?”

Angelica: “We took our image very seriously as we calculated the estimated earnings of ‘Santa Woks’ vs. our original script ’2000 years of Bondage.’ Which by the way we are producing, but in another film genre. We just signed Ron Jeremy on to play Moses’s staff”

June: “Well I’m sure Quincy will want to check that out. Leo back to you.”

Leo: “Everyone is still waiting to see if Barney will walk the red carpet. He has been rather elusive after rare footage was released on YouTube of him purveying fire whiskey to minors and singing “I love you, you love me” to Callou, Little Bear, and Oswald during a raucous sleepover. This ended in the wee hours of the morning after they allegedly took turns riding Thomas the Train.”

“Well that’s our time…Enjoy the show! Leo OUT!”

This Mothering Stuff is Tough

I have something to tell you; please don’t spread it around, as it’s somewhat of a secret.  I screamed “shut up” at my son today. “SHUT UP!” not “shush” or “sshhhhh” or even “ferme la bouche.”  No, “Shut Up.” I didn’t say it in a whisper, or even hiss it through clenched teeth.  I yelled it in a vein popping tone, and it felt sort of good, aside from the fear of having an aneurism.  I hate to admit it, but in the moment I actually enjoyed the shock value.

In my house, “shut up” is still the “S” word.  That and “stupid”…fine, it’s “shit” also (look, we’re not Amish).  “Shut up” is a phrase that I – a person who has managed to use“Shniekees” and “Gaylord Focker” in place of harsher expletives for the last 7 years – have never uttered to my children.

Had I witnessed you on the street saying – no, screaming – that to your child, I would have judged you with disdain.   I may have even considered calling child services on you.  Now, I’m the one with the scarlet letter.  I’m just a few more outbursts from a knock at the door.

I’m not going to tell you what my son did, but just know, he started it!  Fine, I’ll tell you.  He was yelling at me, telling me “No,” contradicting me, and being incredibly obnoxious all at once, and all at warp speed.  He never took a breath.  I didn’t know whether to punish or have him try out for the swim team.

The funny thing is, I just finished writing an article about the Spanking / IQ study, and here I am doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t do… “ensuring my child will need hours of therapy.”  Way to go Jenny. Though I don’t believe in it, I would have been better off calmly putting him over my knee; at least I would have had more self-control.

The worst part of this whole confession inducing incident was the look on his face.  It was somewhere between “Uh-oh, you said a bad word!” and a lip biting, “Sniff, sniff.  You said that bad word to ME?”  As I’ve said before, I subscribe to the book of damage control parenting.  Doing as little damage as possible, and controlling the damage you’ve done.  This was one of those times I had to control the damage.   Somewhat in shock myself, I had to regroup and think of my options:   Apologize, use candy or some other bribe to gloss over it, or explain my actions.  I went the obvious route, and when he finished licking the Kit Kat residue off his fingers, I said I was sorry.

I’ll tell you, when my kids were little, I would have sworn this day would never come.  How could you look at those sweet chubby cheeks and imagine they could ever frustrate you so much?  Conversely, when I told a few of my friends the story, they were shocked at how long I’d held out.

Wait a minute, I think there’s some praise in there.  I amazed people with my nearly infinite patience.  I deserve a medal, not a scornful eye.  I take it all back… I am the best mom; it took me almost 8 years to tell my child to “shut up.” Wahoo!  See, if you practice patience (but not too much), and bottle up frustration like seltzer (that your kids can agitate until it pops), you too can astound people.   Then you can start a blog, and when you do terrible horrible things, you can seek contrition by telling hundreds, dare I say thousands, of people about them.

***This article is featured on the Sun-Sentinel.com  Show the love, and please copy any comments on this link!

My Gecko is Cleaner than Your Gecko

gecko

Alright, please don’t take that as a sexual reference, it means exactly what it says.  My gecko is cleaner than yours… so, don’t challenge him to a clean competition, ‘cause he’ll win.

As it turns out living in Florida is like living in a remake of Jurassic Park, on a smaller scale.  Like the miniature Stonehenge, for all you Spinal Tap fans.  The bugs are the size of softballs and the reptile life runs rampant… through my house.  Anyone who has been to Florida knows that lizards cross the roads and sidewalks with the frequency of jay-walkers in NYC.

Up north, where I am originally from, you might be lucky enough to see a majestic deer or cute little baby bunnies bouncing through your yard, but here you see the kind of things that eat cute little baby bunnies.  What I am shocked at, is how used to it I have become.  So much so, that I showered with a gecko the other day.  Please, all you sickos, clearly there was no funny business, though I did loofah his back for him.  He was just hanging out on the wall and rather than go get the cup to catch and release him, I simply went about my normal showering process.  You know, lather, rinse, repeat.

It gave me a little chuckle, but what really made me laugh was when I told my son that evening about the shower scene and he said that he too showered with the same lizard an hour before.  He of course played with the little guy, which makes me question whether soap ever made it to any of my son’s parts at all.  Though I’m sure the gecko got a thorough cleaning and is certainly missing his tail.  I said, “We must have the cleanest gecko ever,” which actually sent us into hysterics.

When my husband got home, we relayed our tale to which he said, “Yeah I showered with him this morning.”  I don’t know what this says about my family.  Are we all too lazy to remove a lizard?  Are we a bit promiscuous, taking showers with any Tom, Dick, or Lizard that enters the stall?  or Have we become so accustomed to them, that we are part of their ecosystem? Like Jane Goodall and those chimps.

I do know that if you come to my house, you’ll see a shiny lizard that smells like grapefruit conditioner and prefers air drying over being briskly toweled off.  Well, Jake would know more about that.

Let’s Name Our Dog Butt Munch!

Let's Name Our Dog Butt Munch and Other Bad CallsMy children are in that phase where all words referring to bodily functions and private parts are hilarious. I call it the Beavis and Butthead phase, and I’m eagerly awaiting its passing. However, I’m not holding my breath, as it appears my husband never actually outgrew that phase himself. So, with that in mind, we were trying to think of names for our new puppy. I was throwing out the more traditional names like Max and Charlie when J, my 7yo said, “Let’s name him Gary or Phil.”

Okay, not where I was going, but a name nonetheless.

I replied, “How about Copper or Cinnamon?”

R, my 4yo daughter: “I have a great idea, how about Cinnamon Toast Weiner?”

All: Ha ha ha, lots of laughs.

OK, game on.

J: “How about Tushie-Face?”

R: “Hee hee, good one.”

Minutes went by and R came running across the park screaming for all the other families to hear, “Listen listen, we should name our dog Vagina.”

J: “Yeah, yeah, we’d be like, ‘Come hear Vagina. Sit Vagina.’”

I was making every attempt NOT to give this discussion too much attention, but the attention we were getting from the other families wondering why my boy is practicing calling a vagina was making me moderately uncomfortable.

“Could we keep this conversation down just a little bit?” I said, then went on to suggest more realistic names.

I know I’m a party pooper. (Hee Hee…I wrote pooper.)

I’ll tell you who isn’t a  party pooper,  my husband.

Hubby: “I know – we should name it Penis, and then when people say, ‘Jake what are you doing?’ you could say, ‘Oh, I’m just playing with my Penis.’”

Mind you this is a concept a 7yr old would not come up with on his own volition, but it didn’t take long for him to catch on.

J: “Yeah…Hey hey hey, listen. I could say ‘I just taught my Penis to fetch.’”

All, but me: HEHEHEHE HAW HEW HAW HAHA – and tear filled laughter. (I held mine in as the family nearest to us moved their stuff about 20ft. away.)

R: “That’s not fair, ‘cause I don’t have a penis, I have a hiney.”

Taking R’s penchant for the word vagina into consideration, I decide this was the wrong time for an anatomy lesson.

My husband finally aware of the wrong turn this conversation had taken, reeled it in by suggesting a name we could really use: Butt Munch. (Ah, the ever popular with the pre-teen 1980′s set, Butt Munch.)

This idea sparked tons of laughter and affirmation. First of all, my children had never been exposed to this term, so they found a special joy in both it’s profanity and it’s originality. Yes, they beamed with pride, as if their father, king of the potty mouths, had just coined it. Secondly, they liked the way it just rolled so easily off of their tongues. “Butt Munch. Come here Butt Munch. Sit Butt Munch. Bad Butt Munch.”

R: At the top of her lungs, “J you’re a Butt Munch.”

J: “No R, you’re a Butt Munch.”

Me: “No Daddy’s a Butt Munch.

Thanks Mark!

Mark: “Please, they could be saying much worse.”

Me: “Perhaps you should teach it to them. Jake doesn’t know mother f@cker maybe you could remedy that right here at the park.”

So, for the last two weeks J has told everyone willing to listen that R wanted to name our new dog Vagina, and R now uses Butt Munch as a verb, noun, and adjective, sometimes in the same sentence. My friend Susan asked her if she was ready to go home the other day and she replied, “No way, Butt Munch.”

I’m so proud.

PS We brought our dog home a couple of days ago, and though R is still calling him Butt Munch, we as a family went with the more traditional, Ass Face. I hope she comes around.

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Other stories by Jenny: 40 Things Every Woman Should Have or Should Know By 40

So What If I Got Clifford The Big Red Dog Drunk?

This weekend we were sent Clifford, the Big Red Dog, along with a beautifully laminated journal containing an entry from each of the class members he spent weekends with in the past. Each page was beautifully written, typed, or hand calligraphied. All were accompanied by a montage of pictures showing the quality time each child and their family spent with Clifford. Clifford attended dinners, parties, one family even took him to the dog park…alone. Either I have the craftiest mothers in my class, or these ladies are truly hard-up for companionship.

Ryan’s teacher: I am sorry Jenny; I was unable to accept your pages for Clifford’s journal, as there were a few problems. You wrote that he “passed-out” from too much beer and wings while watching the Super Bowl with you and your husband. I don’t know if you are aware that we read these Clifford journals to the class first thing Monday morning.

Crappy Mom, AKA Me: I was not aware of that.

Ryan’s Teacher: I doubt Ryan would appreciate me reiterating how Clifford spent Friday and Saturday as you put it, “ …in his sack, suffocating.” Or that you “…found him sad, lonely, and dehydrated Sunday evening.” I would send him home with you for another weekend, but I fear for his health in your hands, not to mention his sobriety.

Crappy Mom, AKA Me: His sobriety? Had I known was battling alcoholism, I never would have played the drinking game where you chug every time someone scores. In my defense, it was T-Bone’s idea.

These Are The People In My Neighborhood

Everyone says their neighbors are insane…well so are mine. Each one of them a whack-job, and G-d only knows what they have to say about me. At the very least I’m the inappropriate exhibitionist who walks her kids to carpool in her underwear every morning, pulling down her t-shirt hoping to cover the cheeks protruding from her On Gossamer thong.

As you are probably aware, I live in Florida. You know, palm trees, severe humidity, hurricanes, prehistoric insects, the whole bit. Bearing this in mind, one of my supremely crazy neighbors is cultivating a pretty intricate desert-esque cactus farm, each one jury rigged to the other with a series of ropes, boating lines, and phone wires. Like a house of cards, or some other profound metaphor, even a slight gust (which as everyone knows never happens in Florida) would disrupt this fabulous display of “anti-tropics”. Last summer he planted a single leaf and then proceeded to encircle it with 8 stakes and do not cross tape attached. My neighbors and I eagerly waited to see what this leaf would become. He watered it, patted it, talked to it, got it high, and now it is a small bush. Fascinating, I know.

Today I drove by and found that he is digging a hole to China on the actual town property beyond his sidewalk. I’m told it’s called a swale, but don’t hold me to it. For the past couple days there has been police tape between a tree and a chair tilted back ever so carefully on a 37degree angle (I used a protractor), next to a kitchen trashcan with 3 long reflectors sticking out of it. I thought it was out for bulk trash pick-up, but now it appears he has “McGuivered” some kind of pulley system and is digging a trench around it. I am not sure if he as at war with the people across the street, but I feel maybe I should warn them as I think he may start shooting his cacti out of a cannon.

The man two doors down from me is running a crack den that offers a free car detail with every rock sold. I am sure of this as he has maybe 8 kids all of different descent, clearly the product of his crack ho disciples. There is a slew of hopped up Bentleys, Benz’s, and Hummers getting detailed outside of his house on the weekends. I was going to turn him into the association for running this drug ring, but I really liked the job his detail guys were doing and decided to hire them instead.

My next door neighbor is straight out of “Arlington Road”, you know the movie where the neighbors were terrorists and set up Jeff Bridges to look like the unabomber. First of all they spend a fortune every year on a 4th of July fireworks display that would make the Grucci family jealous. This extravagant celebration of our countries independence is very shady, as they are British. They are also anti-Semitic. I know this because they fought with me about our property lines. Oh, and also because they had a 4ft replica of a WWII German plane with a huge Swastika on it, which they fixed in the driveway of our predominantly Jewish neighborhood for like 3 weeks. I don’t talk to them much.

Two doors to the other side I have a woman who asked my carpool and the 5 other elementary school carpools on our street not honk in the morning as it wakes her middle school children. I said that might be a problem and suggested earplugs, a sound machine, or to just deal with it like every other person not living in Century Village. Now her husband gets a sadistic joy out of driving by my house around 9pm when my kids are asleep and beeping all the way to his house, passing 3 carpool houses along the way. Today I made a lovely introduction between them and the “Arlington Road” people, I’m sure they’ll become fast friends. Now if I can just get the cactus guy to attack their house all will be right with the world… or at least my block.