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Tag Archives: humor
Top 5 Reasons Moms Should NOT Take Sex Advice from Magazines
Many women’s magazines have a “Mom” version of a “How To Have Better Sex,” most of which make me feel like I should keep an extinguisher by the bed, along with a bucket of cold water to douse on myself and my partner when we begin to spontaneously combust from sheer passion. “How to Keep Your Love Life Hot, and Your Sex Life in Flames.” “10 Ways to Reignite Your Marriage.” “How To Turn Up the Heat In the Bedroom, Without Singeing the Sheets.” (Oh, I like that last one)
Seriously, I’d like to disband the sex myths propagated by magazines, and have a little straight talk here? Be warned though, the side effect of discussing such truths could be a shockingly unsatisfying revelation that your unsatisfying sex life is just that… unsatisfying.
Let me break it to you (in case you haven’t figured it out already), sex after kids is often not so hot, or often for that matter. That said, here’s what I think about the most common tips given to moms about sex.
1. Tip From a Writer Who Clearly Has No Children: Don’t forget to “Set the Mood,” you know, candles, aromatic massage oils, and sexy lingerie.
Brutal Honesty Response: Are we still taking time to set the mood? I mean, isn’t that what got us here in the first place?
Listen, if there’s no lingering gas odor in the room and you’re in an old t-shirt without any holes, I say you’re as sexy as you need to get.
Work your dimmer switch and voila… ambiance. Better yet, utilize the TV as a source of beautiful ambient light. If you can get the volume to an audible level, you can work in sex without giving up The Voice. It’s called multi-tasking, something we moms are all too familiar with.
As for a massage, I’m lucky if I don’t get one of my kids’ leftover Doritos corners embedded in my thigh. Wait, when I ask my husband to flick it out and slide the remaining crumbs off my tush like sand paper, does that count as a massage? Well, arguably, it’s more like an exfoliation, but it’s undeniably hot.
2. Tip From a Writer Whose Kids are Not Involved in 500 Activities: Continue reading
My Ecard of the Week
Social Media peeps, you sooo get this!
-For my twitter tweeps, Linkedin associates, FB friends, blog commenters… this one’s for you!
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?
- I thought it would look something like this.
- 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
20 Indicators that You May be Addicted to Words with Friends
Love Words with Friends? If more than half of these describe YOU, I’ll see you in WWFAA or we could just play a game, my schedule’s too tight for a twelve step program these days (TWELVE min- 14pts.).
Ok, I’ve played my fair share of Angry Birds, and Fruit Ninja, and Cut the Rope, but there’s something unique about Words with Friends, that has me utterly fixated. (FIXATED minimum 18 points) Maybe it’s the fact that I get to whup other people and feel superior. (WHUP min- 13pts.) I don’t exactly know. I do know that I’m not alone, 20 million players have downloaded this addictive app. (ADDICTIVE min- 18pts.)
I mean, I’m not an addict – Frankly, I could quit at anytime. Though, I’m told that’s the first thing an addict says. Well, right after, “I’m not an addict.” S&*t, I’m screwed. (SCREWED min- 14pts.)
In an effort to see if I’m truly hooked, I compiled a list of indicators. Feel free to test your level of obsession, as well. (HOOKED min- 13pts.)
1. You know every two letter word in the WWF dictionary AA, JO, ZA, KA, QI etc… (QI min 11pts.)
2. You know every word that can be made with the letters J, Q, X, Z, from AJEE to ZYGOTE… (ZYGOTE min- 19pts.)
3. You realize it’s sometimes worth it to leave open a triple when you can get a high score on a double-double. (HIGH min- 10pts.)
4. Number 3. didn’t sound like gibberish to you. (GIBBERISH min- 17pts.)
5. You know that to win you need strategy and persistence. A good vocabulary is near the bottom of the prerequisites. And you’re ok with that, because you’re a persistent strategist. OK (OK is not a word. Didn’t see that one coming did you?)
6. You can only use about 50% of the words you play in an actual sentence. “Gi, your hair smells terrific.” (GI min- 4pts)
7. You’re willing to try every letter combo in your stack to make a bingo. (BINGO min- 11pts.)
Sex or Oven Cleaning : The Age Old Dilema
That’s the question I was faced with the other night… and after a decade of marriage, I chose to clean my oven. (Sadly, that’s not a metaphor.)
Recently, I went to a sex party, which one of my friends was co-hosting. Upon entering, I was quickly introduced to the “Sexpert.”
“Jenny this is Julie, she is a penis expert.” No joke, that’s how she was introduced. This made me wonder: why people don’t introduce me as something cooler?
“That’s funny. I’m somewhat of a penis expert myself,” I said, buffing my nails on my shirt as if cleaning an apple. Then I blathered something about not being a pro like her, because I didn’t want to jeopardize my amateur status. You know, for the Olympics? Jenny what the hell are you talking about? Did you just mention the Olympics? The Olympics of what – hand-jobs? Just shut up, already.
Sometimes when I’m uncomfortable I use exaggerated humor to fill conversational gaps. Did I say use? I meant abuse, like in the form of an oddly misplaced stand-up routine, which can become painful to watch and often requires more than a two drink minimum.
“Oh, what do you do?” she asked, not knowing what to make of my schtick. “Are you a urologist or something?”
“No, I’m just a slut.“
Really, Jenny? Did you just say that? What’s the matter with you?
“I’m not really a slut, I’ve just… 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
Productive Things to do While Doing it – The Cure for Boring Married Sex
You might be thinking, “Jenny from the Blog, the Jen X’pert, silly girl – that’s just you. My sex life is as hot and heavy as ever.” Well, to you I ask this, “When was the last time you had sex on a surface that didn’t have sheets?” (Hmmm? been a while huh?) “Ok, when was the last time you had sex not between kids asleep time and you asleep time?” I rest my case – B-O-R-I-N-G… Continue reading
What Those Candy Hearts Should REALLY Say – After Marriage – A little post V-Day fun
While searching for a pic I found this. I guess I
On Valentine’s Day I was reading through the V-day Sweethearts, you know, the conversation hearts, the ones that are supposed to represent the sweet nothings you would whisper in your lover’s ear before bed. Like: I love you, be mine, kiss me… blah blah blah. So in that vein, I’ve made a list of what should be etched in red on those cute little hearts.
BTW this article is not for newlyweds, so you can refrain from reading and telling me how head over heels you are. Give it a few years. Ahem- I mean, I’m happy for you. Frankly, you can avoid this article unless you’re past the 7 year itch. Sorry, but resentment and boredom takes time to cure, like a salami.
WIVES CONVERSATION HEARTS:
I BOUGHT ANOTHER PAIR OF SHOES, DON’T WORRY THEY WERE ON SALE
SHH… THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF BEVERLY HILLS IS ON
NO, I WON’T PUT THAT IN MY MOUTH Continue reading
Wanna Know Why Moms Can’t Relax? – Shit Like This:
Yes, every one of us has had an attempt to get a little peace backfire like this (and you men think our lives are so rosy)…
I’m finally getting a long overdue pedicure and a long overdue moment of respite ( or so I think). This current span has been about 2 months or 68 days, but who’s counting? I like to let the nails grow unattractively long in the true spirit of martyrdom. Then I wear sandals and constantly draw attention to how badly I need a pedicure, by saying things like “How badly do I need a pedicure?”
The trick is to go as infrequently as possible and only surrender when your nails split and a jagged edge pulls threads in your sheets, thereby making a 3 AM roll over feel like chewing on a metal gum wrapper. Eeeek.
Most importantly do not, under any circumstance, remove the polish. This way you have undeniable proof of your hectic schedule. It implies that your “me time” is so sparse that you don’t even have enough to simply wet a cotton ball.
Today I arrived with the red so far at the tip it looked as if I was wearing a vampire’s French pedicure. Sarabeth, whose real name is Choi Jae Hua, or Yi Hae-Won or something else I can’t pronounce, looks at my feet with a “Tsk.” “I know it’s been a long time,” I say with the joy of squeezing in one last sympathizer. Then she looks up at me and asks if I’m aware there’s a Hello Kitty sticker on the bottom of my foot. “Oh, my daughter was looking for that, if only it were so easy to find my keys.” She then asks if it’s okay to remove it. “Well if you can’t work around it.” I’m not sure if she can hear me; my chair is set on high-multifunction-10. Its “Human Hand” technology is loudly knocking me out of my seat while it heats my tush, vibrates my thighs, froths milk for my cappuccino, and sorts my mail.
I lie, well shimmy back, trying to enjoy my favorite part, the massage. I can’t seem to relax. I am so keenly aware of every left over scrub granule that is kneaded into my legs. Worse, I can sense her daydreaming of the family she has left behind and I’m sure she’s totally resenting me for not shaving, detesting America for making her touch feet, and cursing her boss for making today “$20 Tuesday.” I finally start to relax as she coincidentally realizes she has massaged long enough.
She halts to do the required Korean calf knocking, which she follows with the “Ten Toe Pop” event. She’s seems let down when she can’t get a good snap out of the last two toes (not unlike that annoying handshake of the mid-nineties).
“Okay, pick you color” she says pointing to the wall. I can’t decide between “After Sex” or a hue one shade darker, “3 Bottles of Whine.” I don’t understand why all the colors are sexual innuendos. In the end I go with “Popped Cherry,” which is a medium shade of…well, you get the picture. I spend most of the polish application staring at the tranquil paintings of nude women relaxing on furniture. The woman in the painting across from me appears to be giving herself a breast exam on a plush sofa.
I decided to heighten my relaxation by purchasing a 10 minute massage. I swiftly wriggle myself into the pretzel seat after viewing a short video demonstration by Cirque De Soleil. Then she literally beats the tension out of me. “Excuse me Sarabeth, that knot you’re trying to knead out, I think that’s bone.” She ignores me as she does not recognize the sound of her own name. Probably because she picked the tag out of a basket this morning.
No matter, she manages to pummel it smooth regardless. Then she grabs my wrists, pulls my arms back and relentlessly yanks trying to crack my shoulder blades. She ends with vigorous karate chopping to the back of my neck. Sarabeth then signals someone, and an EMT rushes in with the Jaws of Life to free me from the chair. I walk away totally relaxed, one arm carelessly dangling from the socket. No worries. I’m sure it’s nothing a good orthopedist can’t fix. Seriously, ALL of my attempts at relaxation seem to stress me out!
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Fifty Shades of Why Can’t I Put this Trashy Book Down?
WARNING: This post is for peeps reading the Fifty Shades series of “adult” novels… it is most certainly not for my parents my in-laws or anyone who does not want to hear me talk about sex! Just sayin’.
Fifty Shades of WTF?
Ok, so I’m on the bandwagon. Yes, you people with all your oohing and ahhhing and “Oh, Mr. Grey-ing.” And your running to the nearest Pleasure Chest Sex Emporium – have got me reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Here’s what I have realized from reading the first two installments of the Fifty series: I may start calling my vagina “my sex,” I find the sound of ripping foil erotic, and I don’t have a very hot sex life! Continue reading