Tag Archives: funny

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

How Many Vibrators Does it Take to Turn On a Blogger?

I know, you’re thinking, wait, haven’t I heard this one before? And now you’re wondering, Are any of the bloggers blond or Polish? Well, it doesn’t matter, because the answer is the same.

6.

Yes, the number is 6. Shit I kinda ruined the suspense on that one, huh? I shoulda’ made you wait until the end. Yes, it was premature elucidation, which is fairly common when talking vibrators.

More importantly, you should be wondering, How did you calculate this number and what does one do with so many vibrators?

I was wondering the same thing. See… Continue reading

How Well Do You Know Your Vagina

Why do we need to “know our vaginas,” anyway? I’m happy keeping mine at arms length. Yet, I’m told we should be more acquainted. I have to be honest, I think we’re good, me any my hoo-hoo, that is. I’d definitely miss her if she wasn’t around, but we’re not conversing during long walks on the beach, though we do like to take them (so we have that in common — which is nice).

Could you pick your va-jay-jay out of a va-gyne-up?

Recently, in the pediatrician’s office, I was reading a pamphlet on puberty. Please, it’s better reading than an outdated TIME, or a Highlights where all the hidden pictures are already circled (and they always are). Anyhoo, it suggested that ‘tweens (I’m assuming that’s who it was for) should and I quote, “GET TO KNOW YOUR VAGINA.”

If there are any preteens reading this just know, you shouldn’t be — now, go google One Direction and stop reading my columns.

Now that they’re gone…

I began to think about how WE were schooled on puberty. Oh, those awful videos that hadn’t been updated since the 60’s and 70’s, so the people still had combs in their back pockets, bell-bottoms, and afros. I don’t remember the exact details, but I know most were grainy, some slightly resembled School House Rock, and I’m pretty sure one of them convinced me that you could get pregnant from dry humping — if the guy came — which I’m pretty sure no cool guy ever did.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly no “dry hump” virgin. Nope, I know more than a thing or two about the friction caused by two pairs of button fly jeans rubbing uncomfortably against each other, on a waterbed, the bucket seats of a Nissan 300ZX, or the ultra-suede of a basement sofa. Look, I’m a Gen X-er, that’s what we had. Also, I was a good girl (who liked to fool around), which means I was forced to be a “dry hump” slut.

For years, I was convinced that sperm, being so powerful and microscopic, could travel through a guys boxers and Z Cavaricci’s and past my Guess jeans and little Bloomies straight into my cervix. This may be a sign that I didn’t know much about sex… but at least I was on trend.

See, we weren’t told to get to know our vaginas. In fact, I’m a bit concerned that at nearly 40 I don’t know my vagina at all. Frankly, I couldn’t pick her out of a line-up. Seriously, could you? I mean, I could probably narrow it down, like they taught you to do in SAT prep, but any vagina with the same grooming, coloring, and general size — could be mine. How sad is that? I don’t even know if my vagina has any defining marks, characteristics, or other traits that make it uniquely my own.

To make matters worse, the pamphlet may have mentioned that each vagina has a distinct personality. WTF is that all about? She has a personality? Maybe we should be conversing more, I haven’t the foggiest idea what she’s all about. Is she saucy, shy, extroverted? I don’t freakin’ know. I mean, I know she’s obstinate, yet easily swayed. That counts, no? She’s highbrow, well groomed, extremely particular, and yet, I like to think she’s adventurous.

Oh, the contradictions.

My vagina is a flippin’ onion, so many layers. How could anyone claim to truly know her? They, you, I… we couldn’t, so stop trying.

Do you hear me people? I’m saying back off — give my vagina some space. (If I had a nickel for every time I used that phrase…)

And you pamphlet writers, who are either men making a ridiculously misguided attempt at feminism or clueless guidance counselors disconnected from modern ‘tween society, could you work on being a bit more creative? Telling teens to get to know their vaginas and expecting them to take it seriously, REALLY? That’s fodder for parodies. In fact, all I could think of, while perusing your literature, was the SNL skit “You and Your Uvula,” which I’m sure dates me even more than the School House Rock reference. If you must tell girls to get to know themselves, at a bare minimum, slap a picture of Justin Bieber on the cover.

http://img.metro.co.uk/i/pix/2012/07/13/article-1342181591190-140C03F8000005DC-366763_466x310.jpg

YOU, should get to know your vagina!

Most importantly, after pondering this piece and spending some QT with my vag — you know, dinner and a movie, non fat no foam lattes at Starbucks, a raucous round of kegals, panty shopping… I’ve found vaginas, like their owners, are complex creatures, who deserve the right to be themselves, to roam free, to explore. That’s right, we not only deserve better pamphlets, but free range va-jay-jay’s as well.

Ones, who don’t need to be pigeonholed into one personality trait, but can be all things at once (just like us): Happy, sad, elated, shy, giddy, self conscious, confident, and insane.

Have you never seen a woman simultaneously laugh and cry during an orgasm?

I rest my case.

PS – Take a good hard look at your va-jay today, it would be really embarrassing if she ever got arrested!

Christian Grey Ecards Part II Fifty Shades in the Future

The Christian Grey | 50 Shades Ecards are back… by popular demand.  These are based on the article, What it Would REALLY be Like to be Married to Christian Grey, which takes a glimpse into what the Grey’s life might look like after years of marriage and children.  But let’s face it, everything looks better in an ecard. So, here you go — Fifty Shades in the Future (insert wavy lines to imply future montage here)…

 On Irony:

Share this ecard on FB

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On The Usual Toy Clutter: Continue reading

Siblings are Not Supposed to Compete for Parental Favoritism | is This True

What, are familial relationships not about winning? I’m sorry, I’m an only child, I never had to compete for parental favoritism with siblings. And I must admit, my son’s essay puts him slightly ahead of his sister in the race for my love. I’m totally kidding. I love them both, but you can’t love them the same, can you?…

As this is the end of the school year, all of my children’s work has slowly trickled into the house. You know, like the way Andy Dufrene releases the bits of wall in Shawshank? Tests, artwork, essays, scraps of scribble.

One of the prizes in the huge pile of things that will never make it to the circular file was a piece on who my son admires most. It started with this line, “I look up to my Dad and my Grandparents, but the person I admire most is my Mom.”

My first thought?

I won! Yep, you heard him. He admires you other people too (or maybe he just wrote that to be politically correct), but I’m in a class by myself. He said so… Continue reading

Too Graphic for National Geographic

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

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

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

Susan: You make me sound so cheap.

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

Susan: Yeah.

Me: Okay.

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

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

 


ducks mating
But, it looked more like this.

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

A Thought on New Celebrity Parenting Trends: WTF?

For years I’ve tried to keep up with the celebrity mommas, but maybe it’s time to call it quits. Here are some of the trends celeb parents have started thus far. Yes, I’ve logged them for you.

Let’s go back to the simpler days, when “with child” became the new “in rehab.” Oh, how I enjoyed that shift in trends, I was able to finally stop popping Adderall like Smarties… and start a family.

Next, the paparazzi traded the “crotch shot” for the “baby bump” — another adjustment I was willing to make. I loved being on baby bump watch with Access Hollywood and Us Weekly, even if I was looking at  false alarms of bloated actresses who had just downed some salty Chinese take-out.  Look, anything’s better than staring at LiLo’s firecrotch… again.  Plus, let’s just say my Brazilian waxing bills were through the roof, as I never knew when someone would snap a surprise pic of my undercarriage while I provocatively exited a cab.

Then of course, celebs threw us for a loop by naming their kids things like Continue reading

Phrases we Could Teach our Kids to Say – to Make us Feel Younger Smarter and Prettier

“…It may be too late to train our hubby’s to dole out the ego boosting compliments, but our children?  Yes, yes (twist handlebar ‘mooostache’ if you have one), we can work with this.  Here’s a list of phrases I’d like to teach my children to say.  Feel free to borrow it – it’ll make you feel good…”

Not my little girl... but still pretty cute.

The other day my daughter said,  “I bet people who just meet us think we’re sisters.”  Frankly, that’s a bet I wouldn’t take, but who am I to sneer in the face of lovely sentiment?  I mean, that’s the kind of phrase you would have to train (or pay) a child of 7 to say, but no, she did it on her own volition.  No, coaxing or prodding, not even in the hopes of getting a new Barbie out of the deal.  Though I think a phrase like that deserves a new iPad – at a bare minimum.

The effect of this simple observation, that my clearly brilliant child made, was utter joy- total narcissistic mirthfulness – and that’s not a phrase I use often, as you can imagine.

This got me thinking:  If this tiny guileless thought could make me feel so great, why can’t we train our children to say things that will make us feel more hip, young, or smart, and less twitchy or stabby?

Truth is, Continue reading

Moms of Boys are Jealous Shrews – So Here’s a Contract for Potential Future Wives

Moms of Boys are Jealous Shrews, So Here's a Contract for Your Future Daughter-in-law to Sign

The moment you bring a baby boy into the world, you start to wonder when he’s going to leave you. That’s right. You know that one day he’ll leave you for another woman — even though he’ll propose to you all through toddlerhood and tell you that you are the only girl for him.

LIAR

Then he’ll spend all his time with his girlfriend, ‘cuz she’ll trick him into loving her, with the partying and the drugs and the play-dough.  Yep… and that’s just kindergarten.  What, there are no drugs in Kindergarten?  What about sniffing Elmers and eating paste?  You feel silly now, right?

You’re already quite certain that the woman he marries will probably resent you for being so awesomely cool. And you’re betting she’ll do whatever she can to break the strong bond you have with your sweet prince. Women say it’s good to marry mama’s boys, but they don’t really want to deal with the mama part.

Wenches!

My husband has told me time and time again to cut the cord… no f*****g way! I’m waiting until that thing rots and falls off. I mean, for how much longer is he going to say “I love you” when he walks out the door, or hug me in front of his friends, or ask me to lie with him at night? Frankly, I don’t know, but I won’t be the one to stop it.

If he’s 40 and wants me to lie with him and scratch his arm, I’ll be all “Move over, Megan,” or whatever his unappreciative, son-stealing wife’s name is.

Let’s be honest: he may be 5 now, but before we know it, he’ll be shaving, and driving, and then he’ll leave us to go to college somewhere cold. Then he’ll get married and move to be near her mother, because that’s what girls make boys do: move near their mothers! Then he’ll be a father, and then one fine holiday he’ll have “wifey” call us to cancel our plans. Then he’ll try to make up for it by sending one of those Harry & David gift baskets filled with pears, because he’ll remember that we love pears, but they’ll be bruised — like our hearts.

Next thing you know we’ll be an old crones – calling our cats by our childrens’ names and answering things that aren’t even phones.

(The last part will be because everything will be a phone – key fobs, throw pillows, hats.  I imagine it’ll be confusing for lots of people, not just us, OK?)

No, we can’t go down that road, well, we may not have any control over technology, but we can take a stand against son stealing right now.

Look Obama’s already babbling into a shoe, crazy aging guy

We’ll make those Jezebels pay… no, sign! Yes, a contract for us to make them sign, besides the pre-nup. That’s right, like using WiFi in Starbucks, they’ll have to agree to our terms.

This is a MIL-nup, and it goes like this:

  • I will realize that my Mother-in-Law (MIL) and all her awesomeness is a gift to me that should not be taken for granted.
  • I will marvel at her beauty and miraculously never aging skin, every time I see her.
  • I will compliment her cooking, her decorating, and most importantly the incredible way she raised her son, my husband.
  • I will acknowledge that her son is on loan to me so that we can make grandbabies, which will probably look like her and have her wonderful traits, which I will mention in conversation frequently and with great fervor.
  • I will remind my husband to call my MIL daily saying: “Have you told your mother you love her today?  You should, you’re really lucky, she rocks.” Plus I will throw in phrases like this:
  • “That amazing woman raised you, you should call and thank her… again.”
  • “You can truly never thank her enough.”
  • “Let’s go over and thank her in person.”
  • “We should bring her a gift when we go.”
  • “She’s so deserving of gifts.”
  • “Let’s take her on vacation with us.”
  • “And get her another gift.”
  • “Maybe a beautiful locket with pictures of you and our children.”
  • “No, I don’t need to be in the pictures, she didn’t raise me… unfortunately.”
  • I will tell other women that their mother-in-laws are not as fabulous as mine and I shall be willing to throw-down in the event that said women disagree.
  • I will take my MIL to her weekly hair salon appointment and shopping at Loehmann’s, when it is deemed necessary by age.
  • I will spend ALL holidays with your family because they are so awesome and gracious and I realize how much mine sucks in comparison.

And lastly:

  • I will move to be near my MIL, whether she has retired to Century Village in Florida, decides to live in a nudist colony in Arizona, or she goes bat shit crazy and moves to Alaska for the fresh sushi.  She is so wise and wonderful, I’m sure her choice of habitat will suit us perfectly!

Oh, and:

  • My MIL can soooo live with us when she’s old and can’t remember who I am.

There.  You can send this to other moms of boys and print it to be signed when the inevitable happens.  I just saved you from losing your sweet sweet boy.  You’re welcome.

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40 Things Every Woman Should Have or Should Know by 40

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What Does a Gal Gotta Do to Get a Compliment Around Here – Oh Not That

I know what you’re thinking from the title and I’m so not going there. Though that would probably work with the hubby. But, that boat sailed on our wedding night. What? I’m Jewish, it’s in the handbook. We drop that trick from our repertoire faster than we admit to not liking football.

Well, there are exceptions, but they’re pricey… cough Channel cough bag cough. Excuse me. Throat tickle.

Moving on to more likely occurrences. I was in the hip ATL – that’s Atlanta, for the white people – last week and I found the people to be incredibly cool and shockingly friendly. It was kinda like NYC meets Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and they were all hopped up on green tea frappachinos.

They have style, but a touch of that southern hospitality that you don’t usually get in big cities. It was very refreshing. Like a glass of Country Time Lemonade or an iced green tea frappachino.

Plus the ATL is filled with gay men and I love me some gay men. Southerners and gay men are a recipe for lovely conversation and usually some well placed compliments, as neither are stingy with flattery. Unlike husbands who you have to spin for, and glare at, and say subtle things like “Ahem, eh-heh-hem, do I look good in this?” Or do the kinda stuff I mentioned at the start of the post.

Let’s be frank, gay men wouldn’t want a hummer from me (unless I actually was Frank) and Southerners, well I imagine they wouldn’t mind, but I think they’d be more polite about it. You know, like. “Darling, that’d be lovely If you’re so inclined?” I don’t really know how Southerners ask for a BJ. I was picturing a gentleman caller from the Glass Menagerie on that one. I don’t have a lot of experience with Southerners and I didn’t want to make them sound too Of Mice and Men or worse, Deliverance.

Did I get off track? Damn adult onset ADD.

The people were so courteous, they asked kind questions, said “hello” as they met your eye as if they knew you… and yes there were some compliments, which required nothing on my end, but in all fairness, they weren’t exactly complementary.

I definitely felt the hospitatlity, but where were the gushing compliments that were going to get me through to the new year and pump up my confidence like a commission based sales person at Saks?

Not in the ATL.

First, there was a male hairstylist at the American Doll store. I was sure he would come up with something ego boosting. We talked… did the witty banter thing and then it came.

“I’m obsessed with…” he started.

Finally. Obsessed with what? My ombre hair? My new sweater? My smokey eye effect?

“…with Kanani’s snow suit, I haven’t seen that one in the store.”

“Oh, I got it from a company online.”

“It’s super cute. You have great taste.”

Seriously, I have great taste in American Doll Clothes? That’s what I’m getting here? Kanani is getting more love than me. She probably can’t ski anyway, she’s Hawiian!

Yeah, skiing? I don't think so.

I knew the smokey eyes would be a waste of time.

While walking in the mall a man who I don’t think was all there, or maybe I should say “was there at all,” stopped me.

“I love you’re teeth,” he blurted out.

I kid you not. I love your teeth? There’s not even a good response to that one.

“I love your beard” I said and walked on.

“Wow, all these Southerners, gay men and escaped mental patients – and I can’t even get a normal compliment?” I vented to my Mother In Law.

“Maybe that guy was a dentist,” she said, trying to give his praise some validity.

“I said I love you’re beard and he said thank you.”

“So?”

“So, he didn’t have one.”

The next day my mother in law introduced me to one of her friends, a good looking young gay man from Brazil.

“Wow, you’re daughter is hot,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said with an obvious sense of pride.

Finally. And it sounded extra sexy with his accent.
What? It was a shallow conversation?

“She is hot as hell,” he went on.

I blushed. Sure, I know, he’s gay, so when you account for the fierce factor it’s worth about half a straight compliment, but “Hot as hell?” I mean that’s a good one, no? You don’t get to hear that one much after college.

“And this is my granddaughter, she’s 7,” my mother in law went on.

“Wow, she’s hot too,” he gushed.

ummm ok, creepy, but maybe in Brazil “hot” is like our “beautiful,” we’ll let it slide.

“She is hot as hell.”

Oh, come on!!!

On a side note, if you have not yet checked out the humor site I’m a part of please do: I’m a Jewish Mom What’s Your Excuse? .com it’s hilarious and a bit racy. You’ll enjoy it whether you’re Jewish or not. Today’s post by Lori Stefanac who is outta control : I’m Such a Bubbie – she has vowed to make being a Bubbie cool. One Bubbie at a time!

IF YOU LIVE IN SOUTH FLORIDA!!! – I’m the new humor columnist at South Florida Parenting Magazine! If you see it in your area check me out.

Jewish Mom Gone Mild – Ahem – Wild \ I’m a Jewish Mom What’s Your Excuse

This post is from my favorite new blog:  I’m a Jewish Mom, What’s Your Excuse?   It’s a blog about GUILT, ANXIETY, MISCONCEPTION, AGING, SEX, SARCASM, SALES, SHOPPING and OTHER SHIT.

You do not have to be Jewish to read it, thought there is a reader test.  You only have to have a good sense of humor and not be anti-Semitic.  I will be a big part of this blog along with other hilarious Jewish mamas that will make you feel saner with every passing post.  Check it out.

That's me in the red bag. Well, it represents me. I'm being anonymous. I know, it's mysterious right? Is it attractive? They say mysterious is attractive. How about appealing? You kinda love me huh? I guess the other person in the bag represents my husband, though in reality he doesn't tower over me like Kris did to Kim. Sure, another reason for their inevitable demise. A good rule of thumb: When it looks like your husband might eat you, it's time to get out. (Or carry a lot of saltines.) Please, every Jewish woman knows that a two pack of saltines can get you through to your next meal. There will be other awesome tips like that to come so seriously, stay tuned.

‘This is my alter-ego.  The me who says it all with no holds barred.  I’m so not telling you who I am… or at least until this thing takes off, but let’s just say I’m Uber famous.

Yeah, let’s say that.

I mean why not.

Of course with all my wealth I can’t afford a computer that puts the two dots over the U in uber, which by the way are called umlaut-dots.  I know this because I am also uber smart and know how to search things on Google.  But you know what, those umlauts can go f@ck themselves.  Oh yeah, I said that, and I cuss too. Kinda…

They weren't so chipper when I told them to F@ck Off

Yep, like a truck driver.

Without provocation.

When it doesn’t even fit the story.

Gratuitously… Like Halle Berry nude scene in “Swordfish” or Paris Hilton in sex scene in her texting video, I mean sex tape.

See, I would never tell umlauts to f@ck themselves in real life for fear that one might beat me up or worse, not like me.  But anonymous alter egos can do lots of shady shit.

For instance:  You know Superman was some kind of deviant exhibitionist?  He lived in a house made of ice for G-d’s sake.  I’m sure Lois didn’t even know about his kinky side. Please, the man could put on glasses and she wouldn’t recognize him, imagine how easily she’d be to fool by a cock-ring?

I can’t believe I just used the word cock, which let me tell you, does not fall trippingly off my tongue in my day to day life.

Sorry, I have to take a sec and point out that the last line was meant to be a  Shakespeare reference that ended up sounding shockingly dirty and was so not my intention there. Look, I’m gonna let you know when I’m being crass on purpose or not.  That’s my promise to you, the reader. 

Being that I get to completely reinvent myself here.  I’m going to call myself Lady Gaga.  No wait, that’s totally taken, okay, how about

Madonna? Pink? Li Lo? Fire Crotch?

Ugh, all the good names are taken.

I’ll just go with Cher, that’s original.

For my husband I’m thinking Thor, no wait, Thor doesn’t quite fit.

Dion?  No that’s too “Clueless.”

How about something more Jewish, like Abraham?  No, that’s too jewish, ok Adam Sandler, Seth Rogan, Jason Segal, Jon Stewart? All taken?

Maybe we should go back to the one name kinda names?  Ummm, let’s see, Barney? Elvis? Fabio? Jesus? O.J.? Prince? Q-Tip? Shaq? Waldo? Noah?

Yes, perfect.  You know, Noah… from the ark?  Great, a one name Jewish moniker. Lovely.

Noah and Cher. We will have a Boy and a Girl and a dog and a cat.  Names to come.  That was exhausting enough. But if you have suggestions please leave them in my box.

Hello, my comment box.  Sheesh, you people are already out of hand and the balls are barely rolling.

Incorrigible!

*By the way, you don’t have to be Jewish to read the blog, though I prefer you not be anti-Semitic.  I know, that was exclusionary of me, but it still stands.

Welcome,

Cher the Jewish Motha’”

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