Why Steal Candy From Babies When You Can Steal iPhones | People are So Disturbed

When I heard a man was caught on video stealing an iPhone from a baby, I had to ask, “Really? what kind of immoral thief are you?” And “where can I see that video?”

Listen, I find babies super cute, not in a “OMG, I need another one of those,” or a “Can I please hold your baby — random stranger?” kinda way. In a “That little bundle is seriously precious when he’s quiet or cooing, and looks even cuter through the window of this Starbucks,” kinda way. I also believe that no one can resist a baby dressed in a costume or using an adult item that’s been miniaturized, like wearing those mini Air Jordan’s or carrying a tiny briefcase.

So, when I heard a man had taken an iPhone from the hands of a sweet innocent child, I had to ask the obvious questions:

  1. Was the child in a cute costume of any sort … perhaps wearing a tiny tuxedo?
  2. Was the child about to clear a board on Angry Birds that he had never passed or was he possibly watching an episode of Phineas and Ferb on the Disney XD app and now he’ll never know if Candice tells her mother of the boys’ hijinks in time to catch them?
  3. Was this some Robin Hood-esque act of justice, in which the thief took that phone to give to another baby who was needier — maybe one who had a first generation iPhone or dare I say, a Blackberry?!

Not knowing the answers to these questions will haunt me … will haunt us all. Worse, is the thought you may not have thunk, “How will this affect me?” When other crooks see how easy it is to take an iPhone from a baby, will they start adopting this practice as well? If so, does that mean I won’t be able to hand my child my iPhone/iPad/KindleFire/Nook in the hopes of taking a few minutes to peacefully assess my options in jewel-tone skinny jeans?

Will I not be able to wait patiently in line for my latte while my little one gleefully attempts to breed a rainbow dragon or learn random words in Spanish?  Because that would beyond suck. Not just because those coffee lines are long and my kids get bored if they’re not stimulated for more than 30 seconds, but also because it’s really cute when they say things in other languages.

I’d like to suggest that we not let the lawbreakers win, and simply fasten these items to our children like pacifiers.

“Oh, you want that iPhone?  Well, you’ll have to take the baby with it, and let me tell you she doesn’t sleep through the night and um, good luck breast feeding!”

“Um, no thanks ma’am you keep her.”

See, problem solved. 

You’re welcome.

Of course, feel free to let me know if you have any better ideas …

 

 

Pill Parties, Club Drugs and Roofies Oh My | What My 10yo Learned in School

Considering that back in my day the campaigns were simple and vague, like: “Just Say No,” this seems a bit advanced. I mean “Oh My” doesn’t cut it — I’m thinking  WTF, Shut the Front Door, that’s Ba-na-nas, did this really happen?

I don't even know what half this shit is ... but my son does.

Last week, my 10-year-old son walked in and proclaimed, “Well, I learned some pretty inappropriate stuff in class today.” Like most fifth graders, my kid rarely complains about hearing something he’s not supposed to, but as it turned out, he was right … or was he?

That day, a drugs and narcotics officer spoke to the class, which was all well and good. I’m sure I signed off on that lesson at some point. Though I don’t recall signing off on a discussion that involved club drugs, pill parties, and Roofies.

Yep, you heard me. Apparently, this lesson covered everything from the usual substances to why you should never leave your drink unattended in a club. Really?

Read the rest of my Did That Really Happen? column for The Stir (it gets worse)

PS While you’re there, feel free to tell me if you think it’s TMI or if it’s the world we live in???

Image via  CBS 5

The Premier of the Jenny Isenman Show YAY! (VIDEO)

As many of you know, I’ve been working on a new show for CafeMom!!! I am beyond excited (hence, 3 exclamation marks).

That said, below is the video and the top 10 reasons to watch this week’s PREMIER episode of THE JENNY ISENMAN SHOW, The Drinking Show, where we talk juicing, juice fasts, energy drinks, smoothies, and teas that are touted as “the next best thing,” but are they?


Top 10 reasons you should watch:

10. In 7 minutes we cover:

  • Why juice fast actually make you gain more weight.
  • Why you don’t have to down those 8 glasses anymore.
  • A good reason to justify your coffee addiction.
  • Why the blender you already own is better than the pricey juicer you want to buy.

9. My guests, Lyssie and Tammy Lakatos ( The Nutrition Twins ) are incredibly knowledgeable, but little and cute, like action figures … really smart action figures.

8.  I reference old school Gen X faves, like Mad Dog 20/20, Boone’s and Peach Shnapp’s … don’t pretend like you never sipped them from a paper bag!

7. I have a hot barista, whose sole job is to whisper “Mommy Porn” inspired sweet nothings like: “Tonight I’ll do the dishes and fold all the laundry!”

6.  You truly love and enjoy me and you want to support me!

5. You’ve been waiting for this show to come out as you only have a 7 minute attention span.

4. I embarrassingly, call one of my guests the wrong name, but to be fair, she called me Bill moments earlier, which was edited out, so I say we’re even.

3.  Your cat will like you more if you watch.

2. We go way back and you know I will make you feel insanely guilty if you don’t watch (or at the very least pretend to watch) and respond.

1. Did I mention the barista is shirtless?

Thanks for watching!

PS – If you learned anything at all, please share, and like, and comment, and pass it on! If you learned nothing at all, please pretend you did! Then share, and like, and pass it on (you should probably skip the comment part).

Here are a few behind the scenes extras:

  • The barista who makes a shirtless appearance was inspired by a Ryan Gosling meme I created in my spare time.  I know, what’s that, right? What spare time?
  • My favorite makeup tip is a highlighter at the top of your cheekbones it makes them really pop! I use Moonbeam by Benefit at Sephora. Put it right below your brow-line to make your brow pop!
  • I really wanted to ask if there is a drink for better more frequent sex that would stop me from crying “headache” 3 times a week. Though, I think I could take a guess: Vodka, the answer is vodka.
  • Yes, I called one of the twins the wrong name! In my defense, moments before she called me Frank (that incident was edited out), but I think that makes us totally even.
  • I DID drink MadDog 20/20 and Cisco, and Boone’s Strawberry Hill and Peach Schnapps and often straight from the bottle. If you’re 35 or older, you know you did too, so don’t try to deny it!

Thanks for you support!!!

XO,

Jenny From the Blog

Does Your Hubby or Wife do Things that Annoy the Crap Out of You

I know, that was a stupid question (and frankly, “stupid questions” are number 1 on my list of pet peeves), but at this point in my marriage, I’m thinking it’s possible that most things my hubby does falls into the “annoying” category, which probably makes living with me and absolute pleasure!

So, I’ve decided to take action, well action — in the form of an experiment. We’re all told, “You can’t change people, you just have to accept them,” unfortunately I can’t accept that advice anymore than I can accept my hubby’s, ahem, little ticks.

But maybe if we try not to sweat the small stuff slowly, you know, one small thing at a time, we can change our outlook?!  That said, each week, I will TRY to accept a different (most likely NOT) Earth shattering annoyance, until I have accepted them all … or I’m too old to notice them anymore, whichever comes first.

I would love for you to do this with me!!!  Because, like running a marathon, it helps to have someone to train with and complain with and stretch with.  Though, no stretching will be required for this experiment, unless you want to stretch, I mean, it’s not prohibited either and if that’s what you need from me I say let’s do some toe touches.

For MY first week I will attempt not to complain about my husband’s parking for an entire week!  This will be extremely hard, as my husband likes to take the first available spot upon entering any lot, which is usually also the farthest.  He clearly didn’t read The Secret, which explained that you CAN get the best spot everyday, if you believe.  I am a believer and frankly, I’m also lazy, and willing to circle endlessly, which ensures I ALWAYS get an impressive spot.  In fact, I wish we all compared spots when we entered a mall or other establishment, so that I could show off my parking prowess!

To add to my hub’s penchant for picking bad spots he likes to park between cars when there are corner spots available (hello, only one side of your car is exposed to damage!), and he doesn’t know to park slightly closer to the nicer car or to car on his side!

He NEVER, well, only after my constant whining, reparks to straighten out the car (we’ll add my insistent whining to his list of pet peeves). We could be hanging off a curb or parked on a diagonal, and it just isn’t worth going into reverse, because apparently that’s a major chore.

Lastly, he doesn’t consider the fact that I’m usually in super high-heeled shoes and wedges! How is not thinking of my foot attire at time like that, or all the time for that matter?

By the time I enter a store I’m tired from having walked a mile.  I’m possibly limping from having twisted an ankle and I’m most certainly hoarse from saying, “there’s a spot, look there’s a spot” while pulling in and continuing to point out ALL the spots we could’ve parked in as we walk through the lot.

So, I imagine my barking and bitching could also be on his list of peeves.  Yes, I know, we seem perfect ladies, but we have little miniscule tiny barely noticeable flaws (we’re only human).

So, I will bite my tongue all week and see if I can let it go … and if letting it go makes us less bitter by the time we hit our destination, we call it a score. If not, I will of course, go back to complaining and pointing and whining, duh.

You can obviously pick your own peeve for this week and let me know what it is so I may use it in a column and of course, dedicate it to you!

Next week, be ready for (forgetting trash day)!

PS- Go check out my new show – The first episode it up!!!

Photo Credit/ Iheartlaughing.blogspot.com

Oscar Turns His Trashcan into a Meth Lab and I Got a New Column

Just to be clear, I didn’t get a new column because Oscar built a meth lab, and frankly, Oscar didn’t build a meth lab because I got a new column.  Though, I’d like to narcissistically think that my writing could have such an insane effect on Muppets.

Needless to say, Slimy wasn't very pleased!

Muppet domination has been a lifelong dream of mine (you know you’ve had that dream too) and if a couple innocent puppets get hooked on street drugs along the way, I say “pass the crack-pipe.”

So onto the first statement:  I got a new column, called Did That Really Happen?, which will run at The Stir!!!  One of my favorite sites EVAH!  Why?  They’re snarky, they’re stylish, they think I’m funny, and they’re owned by Billy from Melrose Place!

Plus, I’m in the company of some of the best humor writers out there: Best selling authors, Jenny (the Bloggess) Lawson, and Jill (Scary Mommy) Smokler, Kristin Chase from Motherhood Uncensored, and Aunt Becky from Mommy wants Vodka.

That said, I’m feeling a ton of pressure. I mean, it won’t be easy to compete with these babes, but I intend to kick some Mommy ASS! Oh, that’s right, I’m ready to throw down!

I’m not sure if you peeps are aware, but I have a black belt.  A freakin’ black belt! Sure, it’s not so much in Karate as it is in Marc Jacobs, but I think the amount of style it omits could really pack a punch … or smartly cinch a skirt (one or the other).

Now that my worthy adversaries are probably shaking in their boots, I must ask, “are they stilettos?” (the boots, I mean), because I’ve totally been looking for a new pair for fall and I’d love if you could send me a picture of them on instagram!  I mean, ahem, “Send your stiletto boots my way immediately — and I’ll back off, bitches!!! Hey, no COD, either … and I expect you to pay for shipping (but I have a UPS number if you need it).”

Oh yeah Bloggess, we’ll pretend this really happened and Mrs. Smokler, who’s scary now?!

Fine, the truth is, I’m honored to hang with these chicks and I would love YOUR support in my newest endeavor!!!

Sooo, please choose 1 of the following options:

1. Send me a pair of stiletto boots ASAP, I’m a 7.5/8!

2. Come give me some Karate lessons … or at the very least a gift certificate for a Zumba class!

3. Like this update to spread the word and most importantly … Check out, comment on, like/share my first article:

In the Wake of Romney Big Bird Debacle — Oscar Turns Trashcan into a Meth Lab

(A look into the possible fate of Sesame Street – for The Stir)

This shit is TAME, yo!
PS — The first comments I’ve gotten on the new piece go something like this: “THIS IS THE DUMBEST THING I’VE EVER READ” and “SHAME ON ME” — I’m off to a great start!!!
But I KNOW you guys have amazing senses of humor, so I suggest going with option 3  – and show it some love! If you think you’re dumber for having read it … umm, keep that to yourself!!!


Thanks for your support xoxo!

Jenny From the Blog

First Bennifer Then TomKat Now DiRhea | Celeb Break Ups Test My Marriage

Like with debacle that was Tom and Katie’s marriage, or the demise of any celeb union, for that matter, Danny Devito and Rhea Perlman’s split, directly impacted my chance at a lazy  happy marriage, don’t act like it didn’t affect you!

Everyone remembers when Devito and Perlman got together right? I mean, I wasn’t born yet but I heard tales.  Yep, just like Brad and Angie, it was a whirlwind — or something like that.  Fine, I just know that they’re both short and funny and if short funny people can’t stay together… who can?  Who can?

Ummm lesson learned. Do not marry someone as short or funny as you!

Listen, following the love lives of celebrities is like couples therapy … only cheaper. I think we’ve all learned some pretty amazing things  for the price of a weekly gossip mag:

The Travolta’s taught me to avoid marrying arguably gay Scientologists, but if I must marry one, to now know that the house must be staffed with people who give happy endings and sign confidentiality agreements.

Brangelina justified me spending our entire life savings on a Chateau in France for my family to live in.  That was the best week ever! Hey, do you think I can trade my food stamps for flying lessons?

I learned from TomKat that marriages with buyout clauses and auditors rarely work. Though sharing lipstick and Louboutins with your 4 year old is always a super awesome idea.

Posh and Becks made me see the need to conceive another child, with the sole purpose of naming it something totally random like, Stockbroker or Almondbutter or Miami.

R. Patz and K. Stew’s recent reconciliation taught me that the love of your life should totally take you back if you get caught on camera, making out with another man. Which is why I unexpectedly mounted a local anchorman in the middle of his “Live at 5” newscast (BTW they really don’t wear pants behind the desk!).

And yes, “DiRhea” once gave me the impetus to stick it out in the tough times to attain similar longevity.

Sure, their celebrity morph name wasn’t the sexiest, but it didn’t stop me from asking Mark during heated arguments, “What would DiRhea do?”

He rarely answered, but I like to think the mere inquiry got us through some tough times.

Now, with the news of DiRhea’s marital demise, I realize, there’s no finish line. You can never throw your hands in the air, run through the proverbial ribbon, and scream “We won! We lasted 3 decades, now we get to coast!”

No, on the contrary, it proves that we’re gonna have to work at this whole marriage thing for like, ever, which sucks because I’m pretty much phoning it in already.  At this point my kids are numero uno and after a short list of important things, like our pets, success, and freshly folded laundry, comes my man.

So thank you DiRhea, because of you I’ll make my hubby a higher priority in my life. Well, within reason.

I mean, if Hollywood has taught us anything, it’s that when women get divorced, they find younger, hotter, more energetic men — with abs!  Madonna, Halle, Demi, Katie C., Mariah, Susan S., Ellen B., you give hope to us all… mmmmmm abbbbs!

Promos for My New Show are Up!

I thought I’d keep you guys posted as the Jenny Isenman show takes form. Yes, the promos do include dancing and Gen X references…  both of which age the crap outta me.

Please take a sec to share with your friends and like or comment on the video. Frankly, I’m hoping to parlay “likes” into free shoes. Does it not work that way?

*Please note that I did not say Ricky Shroder would beat Rob Lowe  in a hotness contest, that would be a totally amateur statement, I mean, duh, it’s not like we were pitting Leif Garret against Shawn Cassidy or Scott Baio against Kirk Cameron (those would be a toughies).

However, the power of editing is great.  And now you know a fun behind the scenes fact, like on Pop Up Videos.

(If you don’t know what Pop Up Videos is, I must assume you’re young and wrinkleless and I’d be so jealous of your taut skin, well, either that or you’re Amish.)

Actually, the Ricky Shroder comment came from a confession about how I always wanted to take a ride on Ricky’s train and

maybe do a lap or two in his race car bed.   Whoa, that sounded way more risque than I meant it.  When I was wishing to ring Ricky’s bell (train bell, you sick people), I was barely a tween, though “tween” wasn’t a term then, and I was innocently wishing to do nothing more than hold the his hand.

OK, I wouldn’t have minded a little peck.

FINE, I probably would’ve let Ricky feel me up.

Whatever judgy people, he had freakin’ video games in his living room and a phone that looked like a mallard, you would’ve totally let him feel you up too!

 

PS if you missed the first promo, here you go (this is my favorite I think you’ll see why):

And definitely subscribe to the show or send me shoes, but one or the other.

Show set - LOVE!

Thanks for the love and support!!!

xo – Jenny From the Blog

The eNup | Why People Should Sign One Before Giving Them Your Email

E-Nup – When giving out our email addresses we should require people to take an oath promising to refrain from forwarding anything that evokes guilt, fear of bodily harm, or doesn’t mesh with our personal humor requirements. THIS IS WHY…

Of all the things that annoy me about email, people who incessantly insist I need a larger penis, need Prozac or Cialis, and I should be getting said drugs from Canada, the worst offender is the email chain letter. What’s worse is how I handle receiving them — Yes, I erase them right away. Not just because they’re junk mail but because, as ridiculous as it sounds, there’s a part of me that feels that once I’ve read one of those things, the clock has started. How the universe is somehow connected to my AOL account, is a mystery, but a powerful one.

Some chain letters go so far as to mention G-d. The idea that The Almighty is busy checking my inbox and confirming that I have forwarded the mail to the specified amount of people, in the allotted amount of time, seems like a stretch. Yet, there is this irrational side of me that’s like, “What if?” “What if G-d wants me to pass on this sentimental poem about growing up in the 80’s?”

Yesterday, I got one of those emails. In the subject box it read, “Sorry, I Had To. “ I have to say, if your subject is an apology for sending an email in the first place, rethink pushing that FORWARD button. This particular one was a message to empower women, yet to reap the true empowerment you were required to forward it to 9 of your “Sista’s.”

The list of recipients was 50 scroll-downs long. Apparently, Sista’s, hopeful at the thought of being empowered by diligently following the rules set by the email creator (probably a snickering man) were passing this thing around the globe.

This irks me even more because, I spend my days trying to disseminate relatable, humorous stories that look at the lives of moms, women and gen x-ers and here’s some poorly written warning – that actually refers to women as Sista’s – and it’s more popular than my well thought out, hilariously funny, albeit poignant articles.

So I will apologize in advance for the rest of this post.

If you “Like/Share” this article on FB or Email this:

“OMG, Jenny from the Blog at The Suburban Jungle may be the most poignant humorist of our millennium, nay, Ever! You must read her observational humor and slice of life stories as I think they’ve cured my momnesia, plus my wrinkles are 63% less noticeable.”

to 75 of your closest friends within the next hour you will meet with great fortune. Your children will be smarter, your hair will be thicker, your boobs will be fuller, and you’re husband will have a 6 pack again (or for the first time)!

This may be a humor column, but it’s NO JOKE!

I had a paralegal look it over and she said it’s legit.

Just yesterday, a woman in Westchester sent this on to 75 of her friends and the minute she hit that button, she got a call from her Mother-In-Law saying they couldn’t make it over for dinner!!!

Need I say more?

Unfortunately, if you do not take this seriously, I must fear for your safety! A mother in Idaho who ignored this request, was shopping at a Gap later that day, and inadvertently smashed into the window trying to exit the store. She was not physically harmed, but she was extremely embarrassed.

I guarantee misfortune if you do not send this, because I will personally come out to your home or place of work and open fire. I have a moderately powerful Nerf gun that shoots like ten rounds, and those suctions cups can have a very strong stick factor. I could get one right between your eyes and then it would take a lot of spit and pulling to get it off. I don’t know for certain, but it could leave an unsightly mark! All I’m saying is think about it… $10 MILLION or my saliva all over your face?

Okay, tick tock……………………………………………………………………….

Hey Sistas – If you like my writing — share, share, share and share! Ooh, and subscribe to the blog! Ooh, and did I mention I got a show? Oh, and totally comment!

xo

J From the B

Someone Stole Our Money Tree

And other perfectly plausible excuses for not spending in this economy… Frankly, with the amount of times my children ask for something — from $2 gems for Dragonvale to a dress from Justice to a new iPhone, I’m assuming they believe that money either grows on trees or at the very least flows to us on a river of gold.

“Someone cut down our money tree.”  This is the line I used to explain why my son would not be getting the new iPhone 5 the moment it hit shelves, like some of his other friends, who shall remain nameless.  “That’s right, just yesterday I was fanning myself with fresh dollar bills, off the darn thing and today… gone,” I waxed.

“I remember the old days, circa 2000, when times were good, the tree bloomed so plentifully.  I would walk out and stare into the buds, too blurry to tell what they would blossom into, but so excited by the prospects.  The beautiful $20’s and even a rogue $100 here or there, opened in glorious subdued hues of matte greens.  Benjamins and Jacksons — the good ol’ boys.  Recently, the soil has not been as “rich,” if you will, and Washington, old faithful, as I like to call him, has been the only one to flower.

The spots once reserved for George and Abie became clusters of kernels, heavy copper and silver colored nuts, that plunked down on our heads at even the slightest gust of wind.  Every once in a while, a seed would hit with concussion causing force… “Damn Susan B.”  I’d curse at it, and then plant it, in hopes of growing another tree.  Alas, the bush it bore only sprouted subway tokens, which are of no use in the Florida suburbs.

Each Tuesday, I would pluck all the ripe bills from the tree, as Wednesday is the day the lawn people come.  Well, need I say more.  It’s so hard to find honest help these days.

But today, well today… I don’t need to worry about picking the fruit, because the tree is gone.  All that’s left is a hole in the ground and some scattered pennies that even the horticultural filchers found not worth risking back injury for.

“So, no new iPhone 5 for you OR ME, for that matter.”

My son walked away confused and mildly appeased.  Next I will explain to my husband why the boot fairy made a recent visit to my closet.

The True Bane of Suburbia

The bane of suburbia… the teenage wannabe gangsta.  Beware their 8 Mile lingo, tee-shirts with moderately offensive sayings, and fro-yo addiction.  They’re hoodlums alright. Well, they wear hoodies and they live in the hood, well, the middle class suburban neighbor’hood.  

So the last two days I’ve taken my son to the skate park at the Kirshberg YMCA in middle/upper class USA.  Be careful with the bigger kids, I warned my son, I don’t know if they’re so good.

“What, those kids are bad?  How do you know?”

“Well, for one, none of them are wearing helmets or pads.”

“Mommmm.”

“Plus, none of them is lucky enough to have his mom cheer him on from the sidelines.”

“Come on.”

“Oh, aaaaand I saw one of them smoking!”

“No way.  No one was smoking” my little innocent said, aghast.  (Kids are really anti-smoking these days.  If only they knew what chimneys their grandparents were.)

“Yo G, I got 4S” one of the older kids yelled to the others.

“No way, Seri is my bitch, yo.” Another yelled back… through his braces.

Wow, you know who thinks these kids are baaad? They do.  I mean, really?  Is this what happens when you’re so bored of suburbia?  Can their parents stop laughing long enough to tell them how ridiculous they sound?

“WHAT’S UP WITH ALL THE LITTLE KIDS?” inquired one of the white suburbanites, who got dropped off in his momma’s Beamer.

“I know, yo.  Is that one on a rip stick?” The one wearing the unfortunate fashion statement of a tee-shirt, which said, “Smell my Bag,” asked…  referring to MY little kid.

My ears perked up, ready to jump in with something like, “You got a problem with my son biatch???”  Oh, I can do “thug wannabe” just as good as these pishers.  Plus, I’ve actually lived in a city, that’s street cred, G… Props.

“Shit, that kid is bad ass, that’s hard to do.” One marveled.

Phew, he’s lucky he called my kid “bad ass,” ‘cause homie was about to get a beat down.  Plus, he  IS bad ass.  I wonder if he knows it?

“Mom, mom watch me do this… mooooooooommmm watch!  Are you watching???” Jake yelled, unaware.

Well, that answered that question.  

Frankly, Jake had no problem with these boys.  He climbed up to the highest ramp and chilled at the top, as all the suburban gangsta’s tried to decide where to go next.  (Hollister, Starbucks, Jamba Juice?)  I know, you wouldn’t want to run into them in a dark alley. It would look like this (insert squiggly dream sequence lines here.)~~~~

“Yo bro, where do you think you’re going, BIATCH?”

“Umm, I was going to Abercrombie, but take what you want…”

“F@ck that, we were going there too!  I got a sick coupon, G.”

As I contemplated the irony of this scene a new playa‘ walked up to me and asked, “Are my eyes ridiculously dilated?”

Oh, this one’s the real deal, huh? Doing drugs at the park and flippant enough to ask an adult about his “tells”?

“Um. yep, kinda.” I answered, “Why do you wanna know?” I followed.  Look, if he’s insolent enough to ask, I get to ask back.

“Oh, because, I just went to Dr. Rothberg, you know the ophthalmologist?  He did those drops and I don’t know if I should skate in the sun before they wear off.” He replied like a kid debating whether to wait the full half hour after eating, to go into the pool.

“Well, sure sure not a great idea.” I said, trying to squelch my laughter.

“Ok then,” he said as if I had given him sound parental advice.  Then he walked into the ramped- up hockey rink and yelled to his boyz, “F@ck this shit, I’m gonna get a f@cking smoothie, yo.”

“Yeah f@ck this, let’s get smoothies,” Smell my bag, concurred.

“No way, bro, I want fro yo, yo.” piped another…

And they were gone, those crazy hooligans arguing off into the sunset about toppings and calorie counts, and spoiling their appetites.

f@ckin’ thugs.

If you liked the post push “like” up top. If you loved it, please share at the bottom and if it didn’t float your boat … let’s keep it on  the DL!!!

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I was nominated for Circle Of Moms — please please — Simply click and vote!!! XO

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 →