Author Archives: Jenny from the blog

Camp Phone Calls Could End my Marriage

Who knew the highly anticipated camp calls would be such a blow to my relationship? (BTW – I’m not always this overbearing, but when my baby is 1000 miles away for a month and I get 10 minutes to talk to him… it’s ON….)

Okay, it’s camp time and everyone is getting their calls from the kids.  What I’m finding is that I want to strangle my husband during and after each call.  The crazy thing is, I’m apparently not alone.

Look, we moms are ready.  We’ve stayed up until the wee hours waiting for the pictures to download and we’ve studied them.   We know what our kids have done each day and whether they look like they’ve made friends or they’re feeling left out.  We know whether they’re arms are around a friend or they’re sitting uncomfortably next to someone with their hands in their lap. 

We can tell every detail and our minds are racing to find out the truths behind the images and we want to hear their sweet little voices.  We also know that what we have to say is way more important than what our hubbies have to say and we let them talk simply because well:

DONOR, Ahem, Father

Me:  “Jake, your hike looked insane yesterday.  Was it fun?  How cold was the water?  Were the rocks slippery?  Are you wearing your sunblock?  Your headgear?  Do you love the rock wall?  How long is the zip line?  Who’s the other boy with braces?  Is he your best friend?  Is anyone mean?  Are the counselors nice?  What are you eating?  How big is the zipline?  Was your camp cooler looking than the one you played baseball against on Tuesday?”

Sure, I spouted off a lot of questions… there’s a lot to ask and only 10 minutes to talk.  After he gave me a one or two word response to each, I moved on to the next.  I looked over to see the frustration in Mark’s eyes.  A couple of times he started to butt in with an “ummm, Hey Jake, do you umm” and I bowled right over him with my inquisition.  Then he looked at me sideways and I whispered, in that angry whisper that would be a yell if you could speak louder, and say “What?  Have your questions ready.”

Mark:  Jake, have you gotten all my letters?

Jake:  Yep

Mark: Which ones?

Jake:  Ummmm, Well the one about my new team when I get home, and ummm, I don’t know, I don’t remember them all.

Is he f-ing kidding me?  I sit on hold for Verizon longer than the time I have allotted to talk here, and my husband wants Jake to rattle off about letters???  This is not an acceptable caliber of conversation!  And I’m am the conversation rater, I’ll have you know.

Mark:  Did you get the one where I bowled a 300?

Jake:  Oh, yeah.  That was awesome.  Did that really happen?

Okay readers, I have to interject here.  You’re thinking this is high enough caliber right?  Well, I mean how often does someone who is not a pro, actually bowl a 300?  What I should share is that he’s not so much talking about this:

as he is talking about this:

Yep, I’m listening to my husband waste time talking about Wii f-ing sports!

So, I interrupted again…. “How was your camp-out?  Were you scared?  Did you sleep through the night?  What song did you do in the lip-sync; you looked like Eminem.”

Again, Mark gave me the look, but this time he put the phone by his side in annoyance.

So, again I did the whisper/yell: “You are so selfish, you don’t want to hear him talk ‘cuz I’m asking all the questions?”

Me:   Do you have a girlfriend?  Do you like the go carts?

Mark:  How many go carts are there?

Did he just ask that question?  I told him last week there are 2.  TWO Freakin’ go carts.  Great, now he’s wasting my time with shit he already knows.  Tic, Toc, baby.

Mark then went on to rattle off the line up for his travel baseball team this season and tell him about the bat he just ordered…

Mark: Guess which bat I got you?

Jake: The Louisville Vertex?

Mark: noooo

Jake: the new Worth?

Mark: noooo

Jake: Nike Aero?

Mark: noooo, I’ll give you a hint, it’s made by Easton.

Is this happening?  Does anyone feel my pain here?

Apparently, you do… I had a friend tell me that she just took the phone out of her husband’s hand when she felt he was done. Two minutes she gave him and then she plucked it right away from his eager ear. They didn’t talk to each other for the rest of the night.

Another said she arranged all calls while hubby was at work.

A third said Her husband’s only question was, “Is your bed comfortable?”

“You gave him one question and that’s all he could come up with?” I asked.

“No, I would have given him more but he lost his privileges based on his first.”

And yet another told me she can’t deal with the calls because her hubby’s voice changes. “It gets all high like he’s talking to a dog– Hi Lindseeeeeeey, how are your Friennnnds? Are you, woushey woo having fun? Hmmm? Huh?”

Tell that man to "HEAL"


In the end, I realized that we moms want OUR time to be all ours. Even if the hub is right (and he was).  All my babe wanted to do was hear us and all I wanted to do was get answers to every thought and query I’ve stored in my head from the minute he set foot on the plane.

Luckily for my hubby the calls are infrequent enough that our marriage will withstand these bumps in the road. Next year, I’m just gonna tell him they did away with calls altogether due to the rise in the divorce rate.

Take a sec to check out some of the humor that any parent can relate to:  The Day My Son’s Ladybug Ran Away – who knew saying goodbye to an insect would be so hard?  or  I May Have Run Over an Elderly Person While Driving Carpool.  OH, ENTER TO WIN a robotic floor cleaner and a bag of goodies from iVillage’s “Stuff We Love” leave a comment here to sign up.

 

– JENNY FROM THE BLOG

 

What’s Hot for 2011-2012 School Year

Tips for Back to School Shopping,  What’s hip for 2011-2012 and where to get it on a budget.

I know, it’s still 10,000 degrees and the kids are way more exited about slip and slides than sliding scales, but it’s back to school time. Part of me wants to give a woof woof a la Arsenio Hall and the other part realizes, that simply referring to the dog pound makes me seem really old and shockingly uncool.

He was doin the "fist pump" long before the Situation

 

So let’s just go with a pound don’t forget to explode it… cuz that’s cool.

Now, the question is, How do I get the kids equipped, organized and on trend… on a budget and on the bus? Look, mine are at each other’s throats. Frankly, no school in the animal kingdom maybe the reason some eat their young. Well, except fish… they have school. But when was the last time you heard about fish eating their young? Hmm? I think I’ve made my point. 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 →

Why is it So Hard Sending Kids off to Camp

The other day I got my first letter from my son. It was signed thus: “Mom, I love you sooooo much. Let’s keep in touch.”

Really? Let’s keep in touch? Shall we, shall we do that? Hmmm?

I don’t know where he learned that particular sign-off or if someone told him to write KIT (Keep in touch) at the end of each letter and he decided to formalize it, but the “Let’s” is really the kicker, huh?

You see, “Keep in Touch” as a phrase is simple.  It implies that the other person should write often. “Let’s keep in touch” implies that he’s decided to move out or that we’ve just run into each other at the mall after years apart and one of us needs to run off because a cute outfit in the just caught our eye.

Brunette says, Let's Keep in Touch. Blond says, Not if you buy that sweater vest!


Let’s Keep in Touch says:

“You know, it’s so easy to lose touch these days, let’s not let that happen to us.”

“Hearing from you was so nice, why don’t we make a real effort to keep each other up to date and not let too long of a span go by.”

“I’ve always enjoyed you, I don’t want to let our distance tear us apart, if we can help it.”

Well, gosh darn’it, I will keep in touch. I know, easier said than done, but I mean it. I know you will too, because the rent on your new apartment won’t come cheap and I don’t think they accept stars.

Summer Trend Report : How to be a Chic Mom

In my latest assignment, I sat down with Andrew Taylor the director of a major company that just totally revamped to find out what’s hip for summer.  Wanna know?  You gotta watch:

http://youtu.be/NvgS39SkWhA

What’s your favorite trend for summer?

No One is Immune to Peek-a-Boo | Jenny From the Blog

Jenny From the Blog goes beyond any beauty pageant hopeful in the question/answer portion and not only strives for World Peace she finds a means to achieve it.  Please, hold your Pulitzers until you’ve read the piece.

Today, I was in a crappy mood.  I walked into Starbucks, as is my routine, with a sluggish gait knowing it would take my half-caf grande, no fat, no foam latte to remotely tackle my morning.  When I entered I realized 22 other people had the same thought and my crappy mood got exponentially worse.  An acquaintance two people ahead of me foolishly tried to make chit chat, which I quickly put a stop to with my terse responses.  Don’t try to talk to me right now lady, I’m pissy and I haven’t had my coffee.

 

Frankly, there should be a rule that no one talk to you in the morning coffee line, because we’re all in the same boat (barely awake and coffee-less.)  Unfortunately, the person in front of me did not get that memo or maybe she did, but she couldn’t read it because she was approximately 1 year old.

She was also being carried by her mother and therefore facing me directly.  The one thing about lines that you can usually count on is that people face front in anticipation of their turn, which means less talk.  Kind of like the way people stare at the doors of the elevator until it’s their floor.

It would be odd to have someone facing you in an elevator… and this was my current situation.

 

 

 

Sure, she was cute.  She had fiery red curls and sweet blue eyes.  But she wouldn’t break me, uh uh.  I was not smiling for anyone and some baby was not about to change that, even if she flashed me her own 4 tiny, little toothed smile.  Then out of nowhere she started laughing this adorable little giggle.  Clearly, she sensed my disdain and was taunting me.

Puhlease Baby, you think you’re soooo cute don’t you?  But not to me, uh uh.  I’m in a bad mood and your precious, I mean dumb little laugh does nothing for me… NOTHING. But this baby was not giving up; she was relentless in her torture.  She cooed and ooed and ahhed, but I would not crack.  It was my will against hers and I would win.  Finally, in defeat she buried her head in her mom’s shoulder.

Ha, Ha Baby, I’m the winner, yes I am… Wait, what’s that?  What’s she doing now? She popped her head back up and put her hands over her eyes, she wasn’t cowering as I had hoped; she was playing peek-a-boo. Nooooo, not peek-a-boo.

She opened her hands to show me her eyes and I clenched my fist ready to weather the storm.  “Peek-a-boo,” escaped from my mouth before I could reel the words back in.  She giggled and next thing you know I had my hands over my own eyes.  Then she giggled, then I giggled, then I smiled like a big pile of mush.  She was working me like a marionette.  Oh, she was smug one… cooeing and flashing her 4 tiny teeth.

My mood had picked up, even before gulping down my latte.  I wasn’t all daggers and evil thoughts, I was rainbows and unicorns.  Don’t judge me for crumbling.
No one and I mean NO ONE is immune to peek-a-boo.

In fact, I think we deal with the unrest in Libya and Egypt by sending cute little babies to the front lines.  What would enemy militia do if a Hummer pulled up and a bunch of babies trained in the art of peek-a-boo waddled out?  Hmmm?  Sure, you’ve probably been asked that before, but have ever given it any real thought?  What if we air dropped babies over enemy lines with their tiny little baby parachutes?  The campaign would be called “Drop Babies, Not Bombs.” Brillaint, right?  Sheesh, why do I have to come up with all the ideas? Gaddafi and Mubarak you better watch your step, chubby legged cooing babies with parachutes will be dropping in when you least expect it.

Okay, I’ll take my Pulitzer now.

For Other Articles I’ve Done on Hybrid Mom or to comment directly at their site: HYBRID MOM

COMMENT QUESTION:  Do You Got Any Better Ideas? and if not could I borrow your baby?

Beer, Cash, and Mix Tapes? – Best Tips for Father’s Day Gift Giving EVER

How miniatures, cash, beer, and spa products can make the dad in your life giddy on Father’s Day.  And who doesn’t like a giddy man?

“It’s a sweater!!!”  Yes, that was the infamous (in-famous) exclamation of the great El Guapo.  See pic below.

El Guapo's banditos knit him a birthday sweater. See how happy he is? (Three Amigos)

And yes, that was some good acting and yet… it’s the exact response I look for from my hubby on Father’s Day and rarely – ok, never get.  I don’t know how to make you men happy.  Well, I know, but I don’t want to go there.  Please, I’m a nice Jewish girl.  I’d never do that kinda stuff… after marriage.

Besides, I prefer the old fashioned way of keeping a spouse happy:  Material Goods.  Unfortunately, you men don’t seem as wowed by a new pair of stilettos or a spa day as we chicks do and that is why you suck to get gifts for and also why we married you.  Oh, the irony.

On the Sunday after next, men all over America will open slender boxes and say, “It’s a tie” yawn.

Why?

Because we don’t know what the hell else to get you.

And we like very much that you’re currently employed.  Also, Because you never tell us what you want.  So, I, Jenny from the Blog, Lifestyle Expert extraordinaire, have compiled a  list of the best gifts for the guy that doesn’t need, want, or ask for anything.

Was $88 Now $49

1.  The wallet full of stuff.  Oh, I truly looooove this one.  Take a look at your guys money holder, if it’s falling apart or has Velcro located anywhere on it, it’s time for a new one.  The best part isn’t the wallet, it’s the thought you put into it.  You need to go to Starbucks, Blockbuster, and Sports Authority or a rounder at your supermarket and pick up gift cards from some of your man’s or your Dad’s favorite places.  The denominations can be small (you will have to get the cards in store if less than $20), but it’s worth the smile on his face.  Oh, and don’t forget to put in pics of the kids or yourself if you are “the kid.”  PS – Cole Hahn outlets are the best.  They are an average of 30%-60% off all the time and they smell like Italy (or at least how I imagine Italy would smell.)

2.  Lot’s of guys like beer, name one who wouldn’t like their own tap?  See, you can’t can you?  The Krupps BeerTender fits on your counter and keeps your beverage at optimal serving temperature.

$80 with a 20% off coupon from BB and Beyond

It features a temperature indicator, signaling when the beer reaches its optimal 37.4° F serving temperature and lasts up to 30 days.  Plus you can remove the tap so the kids can’t access the beverages.  Like the key the liquor cabinet.

If you don’t get a coupon from BB&B like every other day, sign up for their mail online and you will soon receive one.

If you want to make it super thoughtful, get frosty mugs from your hubbies favorite team at Bed Bath and Beyond or if you’re willing to get a dozen you can have his initials or name laser engraved into a mug at DiscountMugs.com for an amazing price.


3.  The Mix Tape for the Millenium.  Remember how much you loved getting a mix tape from your high school beau?  You know, a little Journey, maybe a Chicago tune or two?  Well, now you can give that dope gift to the man you love.  Pick him up an MP3 (I recommend an iTouch) and fill it with songs for him.  Your song plus anything else that feels right and don’t forget to put on a few from the kiddies.  I’m thinking Yeti Stomp by the Backyardigans and let’s not forget C is for Cookie from the Monster himself or if your kids are like mine maybe some Zepplin, Who, and of course Ke$ha for my 6yo.

If your man has an MP3 steal it and add a few and then surprise him with a pair of high tech headphones.

$14 - $20 at Best Buy, depending on sale.

 

$95 from $179 at Best Buy

4.  Everything’s better in mini size, well not everything, but miniatures do make things cuter (get your brain out of the gutter and think Tea Cup poodles). Get the dad in your life a Dopp kit, which is a small toiletry bag that’s used for storing men’s grooming tools for travel. Then get a bunch of mini’s to fill it with, think: comb, brush, deodorant, shaving cream, shampoo, conditioner, scissors, toothbrush, toothpaste, cologne, men’s eye cream, moisturizer and of course a razor and extra blades. It’s a gift every guy LOVVVVVVES.

Great Buy Cabela's leather Dopp Kit on sale for $29

5.   It’s Tee Time baby.  Give the golfer the newest gadgets.  If you don’t know what’s big now, I’ll lay it out for you… I mean fore you.

Taylormade R11 Driver

$399 not crazy for a driver.

Taylormade R11 Driver – This could be the biggest golf product launch of the year. It’s a Golf Digest Hot List Gold Metal Winner, and was selected as Editors Choice for drivers for 2011.


Only R11 can be adjusted in 48 combinations of:

Loft

Increase or decrease launch angle to get more distance

Face Angle
Select and open, closed, or neutral address setting for more distance

Flight Path

Promote A Fade
– Heavier weight in toe, lighter weight in heel for more distance
Promote A Draw
– Lighter weight in toe, heavier weight in heel for more distance
In other words, if you’re confused, go with this club!

$200 with mail in rebate

Garmin Approach® S1, a GPS wristwatch for golf courses with no annual fee.

 

  • Preloaded with over 13,000 courses (and counting), US and Canada
  • Includes par & distance to front, middle, & back of each green (accounting for dog leg distances)
  • Measures last shot distance
  • Odometer provides distance walked on or off the course
  • Watch mode features GPS time & date, alarm and automatic time zone detection
  • Easy to use interface featuring automatic hole transitioning
  • Waterproof design with high sensitivity GPS
  • Rechargeable lithium-ion battery – 3 week watch mode / 8 hour GPS mode

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Check Golf Galaxy for online coupons.

Well, there you go no need to buy a tie this year unless it’s this one:

"it's a tie"

Did I mention I like irony?

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?

I’m Freakin’ June Cleaver Gosh Darn’it | Jenny From the Blog

Every once in a while you have a conversation that is that is so stereotypically female, it makes you wonder if things have truly changed that much. It also feels like you’ve unwittingly set women back a half century.

I had one of these conversations last night at a baseball practice, and the sad part?  It was so natural, I didn’t notice the irony until today.

It started with someone discussing her phobia of germy sponges.

spongebob sick

Other Mother: You don’t have to be afraid of them, when they get dirty you can just nuke ’em?

Me: I run mine in the dishwasher.

Spongephobe Mom: I’d NEVER use a sponge.

Spongephobe Mom (to us moms, who sat with our mouths agape at the idea of not using a sponge):  I don’t need a sponge. I just let my dishes soak in some hot water with JOY.
The above sentence, which really occured is the very reason the rest of my tête-à-tête with the team moms will include 1950s translation.

Other Mother (visibly shaken): What do you use… a paper towel?

50s translation: Don’t tell me you use paper towels?  They can rip and tear! Why, they’d never hold up to vigorous dish-washing.

 

Spongephobe Mom: Nope.

50s translation: I’m confident in the cleaning power of Joy.

 

Me to the Other Mother (accusingly — like an evangelist being told about evolution): I bet she’s scraping that crud off with your nails.

50s translation: That explains why her nails look so unkempt. (For that phrase to have the truest 50s effect, one would have to utter it in a loud whisper to other disapproving woman during a game of mahjong.)

 

Spongephobe Mom: Nope.

50s translation: Stop staring at my nails, gossip maven.

 

Me: But what if you sauté?

50s translation: How does it hold up to grease from deep frying?

 

Spongephobe Mom: No problem.

50s translation: It cuts right through the oily residue that frying can leave behind.

 

Me and Other Mother (in unison):  NO?!!!

50s translation:  Gasp?!!!

 

I nonchalantly inspected her hands for cracking and chaffing.

50s translation: “I bet your manicurist isn’t pleased with the way you do your dishes.” (Snicker snicker, then I would look to other girls for nods and implied high fives.)

 

Spongephobe Mom:  I only soak the dishes, not my hands, dumbass. (okay, in the actual conversation the dumbass was merely implied.)

50s translation:  Joy leaves my hands supple and soft, and it’s emollients condition as it cleans. Then she would look at my hands sitting in a bowl of what I thought was simply water and say, “You’re soaking in it.”

 

So that happened. I can’t take it back, in fact I wish I could just not have realized how trite the whole thing sounded a day after it happened. Let’s be honest, you’ve read my blog … I so rarely have cliche conversations, I’m due one every so often, no?

 

Isabella Rossellini is Doing Duck P*O*R*N — and I Like it

I’m witnessing a DuckRape.

Those were the words said to me this morning by my closest friend.

Her next words: “You have to come see this. It’s horrifying.”

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: Moving on, 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 schtup? Like they say, “there’s never a reason to miss ducks getting laid.” Wait, is that what they say?

howard the duck

I thought it would look something like this.


ducks mating

But it looked more like this.

 

Half hour later: HOLY CRAP!  First, let me explain that she wasn’t kidding or even exaggerating.  If you’ve ever seen Mallards or their cousins, the Muscovy ducks, mate – and frankly, who hasn’t – you’d know of what I speak. The drakes are like boys at a frat party gone wrong—very very wrong.  I swear one of them quacked, “No means Yes.”  Well, it was “Quack, Quack, Quack,” but he said it with the same intonation (He then shot-gunned a beer and smashed the can on his beak).

As I watched with disturbing fascination, these guys just pecked at the female, attacked each other, and took turns attacking the female until she relented.  It’s like my husband any Saturday night he doesn’t eat himself into a food coma. (So, like, once every couple of months.)

I walked up to the female, let’s call her Daisy, and said, “Look, I can get video of the whole thing.  This will definitely hold up in court, and we’re gonna see Donald behind bars in no time.  We’re talking heavy, metal, cage bars.  I’ll represent you if I have to.  I don’t think a duck trial would be too complex.  I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing like a kangaroo court.”

I took her lack of response to mean she didn’t trust my legal abilities. “Yeah, well, good luck getting a better lawyer.  Most of them are busy with Lindsey Lohan.  How about this – just let me call Florida Animal Control, and I’ll have him removed from the premises.”

This time, I took her lack of response to mean that I should give it a try.  She was also pinned to the ground, so I thought a bit of creative interpretation was called for.

Operator: Animal Control.  How can I help you?

Me:  Yes, I’ve witnessed a heinous crime in the animal kingdom, and I need you to come and remove the offender.

Oper:  Ma’am what are you talking about, do you have a gator?

Me:  No.  I have a rapist duck.

Oper:  What kind of duck is it?

Me:  Why does that matter?  Do you discriminate against certain types of ducks?

Oper:  Is this a serious call?

Me:  Yes. It’s a Muscovy duck.

Oper:  I’m sorry ma’am.  We don’t deal with animals that aren’t indigenous to Florida, and Muscovy is actually a breed from Mexico.

Me:  And you have a thing about Mexican Ducks?  What, do you think they’re taking all the jobs from American ducks or something?  How horrible, this poor duck crosses the boarder for a little clean agua, and next thing you know she’s flying with a fast crowd, a gang attacks her, and she has no recourse.  It’s just like West Side Story, but with less dancing.

west side story


Oper: Ma’am, I’m hanging up now.

Me: Wait, is there a Mexican Animal Embassy I could call?

Oper: Lady, that’s how ducks do it.

I especially love the operator’s last line because she was so serious throughout the conversation – calling me ma’am and such – even though it was said in an accent straight out of Deliverance. But she ended with “do it,” not “mate” or even “have sex.” I wanted to be like, heh… heh-heh, you said, “do it,” but she hung up too fast.

Beavis

So, I got directly into my car. I couldn’t even look Daisy in the eye, mainly because I promised to put her old man on Dragon Pearl’s menu, but also because she’s really ugly. Seriously, have you ever seen those Muscovy ducks? If there was a lesson to be learned from the “The Ugly Duckling,” it’s that people really do hate ugly ducks.

So, I got home and googled “DuckRape.” It didn’t say “Did you mean duct-tape?” No, it actually gave me pages of studies on duckrape and the forced copulation habits of ducks. But, this was my favorite find. This is what Isabella Rossellini is doing now: Yes, she actually says the line, “Ouch ouch, one of them is raping me… I don’t care.”  THIS VIDEO WILL LEAVE YOUR JAW ON THE GROUND… SERIOUSLY.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/player/bcpid1745093298?bckey=AQ~~,AAAAAGLt-No~,6QdLGNH5aG59AJPlSJdu6OKXtcxLbX9d&bctid=77813783001

 

Oh, that happened. You should know, you watched it. You sick perv, you.  Gives new meaning to “Fuck a Duck” right?

Who would have thought you’d be learning so much about duck sex today? Probably not you. And yet here you are, looking at a video of Isabella Rossellini’s duck vagina.

So what’s the message here? Don’t move to Florida if you’re an animal who’s not a native species. Maybe try California – they’re pretty liberal. We’ve also learned that ducks frequently get raped, but there’s no such thing as consent in the animal kingdom… so technically it isn’t rape.

PS thank goodness for the “no consent” thing. If animals could withhold consent I’d feel pretty guilty about eating them.

Oh, and lastly, the beautiful Isabella Rossellina is now doing animal porn.

If You Liked This Story, Pass it on.  Oh, and Check out:  I May Have Run Over an Elderly Gentleman While Driving Carpool… oops.

Did I Really Give a Policeman the ‘Just a Sec’ Sign?

motorcycle policeman
On Wednesday, my day started as such: I dropped off 6, yes I said 6, rowdy elementary schoolers in carpool. I then hurried to get my piping hot latte to bring back to school to volunteer. After purchasing my piping hot latte I proceeded to rest it on my center console as my dashboard cup holders were filled with important necessities like barrettes, Polly Pockets, and a part from a McDonalds happy meal toy. Insert sound of plan screeching to a halt here. I’m sure you know how this story goes… despite my best efforts to hold the coffee in its cardboard cup holder carrier, it flipped out and splashed onto the middle row of my oversized (Due to carpool needs) SUV.

So, here was my dilemma:

Do I run home,ring out my car so it doesn’t reek of spoiled milk and race to school to be an on time for volunteering?

or

Do I run back into Starbucks, while the coffee seeps deeper into the carpet? Wait in another line to get a new piping hot latte and clean my car with those brown Starbucks napkins, which wouldn’t absorb the contents of an eyedropper. And of course be late for volunteering?

Well, it goes without saying that I chose the obvious. The taste of that latte was enough to mask any guilt I may have felt when I saw those sad Kindergarteners. It did not however mask the odor of milk rotting in the sun, which hit me like a Trenta sized latte when I re-entered my car. No worries, I’ll rush home, clean the car, write the article that’s due at iVillage in less than one hour and be on my way to the pedicure I’ve been dreaming of all week. Well, as it turns out, getting 16ounces of coffee out of a car without a wetvac is yeomen’s work. 40 minutes later, I was without an article and needed to be on my way to my pedi. Ok, I can do this, I will grab my new latte and my netbook and write the article while getting my relaxing, long overdue, escapist pedicure. Well, scratch the escapist part, mainly because it’s used in the wrong context and also because it would now be out of the question.

In the interest of saving time I took out my iPhone and started recording what I was going to write in my article on Dragon Dictation (voice recognition software). I prayed it would comprehend enough of my speech to enable me to simply edit while getting my relaxing, long overdue pedicure.
While holding the phone directly at my mouth, allowing me to enunciate perfectly, I drove past a policeman on a motorcycle. He looked me dead in the eye with utter disdain. Look, another Jappy girl blabbing into her phone, I should pull her over. I looked as he pulled behind me and… phew, he was moving to the other lane. I wasn’t speeding, well speed talking. Let’s face it, I could have been like all the other “Road Pirates”: typing with one hand and watching the road with one eye. I was being responsible and I gave myself a pat on the back. Of course to him I was just some distracted blabber and he doubled back into my lane and turned on his lights. Over I pulled, ready to explain my responsible choice to use a voice recognition app, but what would he care? It’s not illegal to talk on the phone in Florida.

Cliché cop with graying moustache: “Yes, license, registration and you’re insurance card.”

Naive me: “Um, was I speeding?”

Officer: “Nope, you have an expired tag ma’am. Are you aware of that?”

Dumbass Me: “Yes, my husband just sent in the check” Why didn’t I tell him that I wasn’t just gabbing to some friend? I’m working mom trying to make ends meet. Or maybe I could have told him how badly I needed a pedicure and shown him my dried out calloused feet or at the very least flashed him my tits. But noooo, I went with the ‘check’s in the mail.’

I rummaged through my glove box to find nothing, but the original car sticker, some McDonald happy meal Barbie toys, 6 pairs of 3-D glasses that I keep so I don’t have to pay the extra $3 and a rubber-band.

Me trying to infuse some humor: “Ummm, no registration or insurance card. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this being pulled over stuff, am I?” oopsie, silly me. Boop boop be do.

Smiling Officer: “Don’t worry ma’am, I got all I need. Even though you clearly don’t.”

Sexy Me: “Oh, I got what you need right here, Mr. Officer.”

Okay, the last line didn’t happen… This wasn’t a scene from Cannonball Run.

As he went back to his motorcycle to write me up, I emailed iVillage that my article would be late and called The Strand salon to tell them my feet would be late. As the policeman got to my window and began to explain my infractions, The Strand’s receptionist picked up. I gave the policeman the “just a sec” finger and proceeded to alert the receptionist of my current predicament. Holy shit, did I just give the “gimme a minute” sign? it was a natural reflex, I didn’t want to be rude to the receptionist, I mean duh? I really am bad at this being pulled over stuff.

Apparently, he could have given me something like 74 violations, but he only ticketed me for one. I imagine signaling him to hold his horses didn’t make him feel too intimidating, but he seemed to take it well. In the end, I had to get a relaxing, escapist, long overdue pedicure and turned in my piece an hour late. Then I locked myself in my house until morning.

Is it Hard to Say NO to Your Kids? |Jenny’s Topics and Tips

This week in Jenny’s Momtourage Column, Jenny from the Blog asks: Why do I find it so hard to say “no” to my children when they clearly have no problem saying it to me? She also gives 5 tips to help any parent stand their ground. Good Luck! READ MORE