Here’s the thing, I’m not saying you’re neurotic, but we’ve all had those moments that totally defy all logic and reasoning. It’s just that some of us have more than others. I have these moments almost daily, hourly. I know… you’re jealous.
You too can have them, just develop a hearty case of OCD or throw all rational reasoning out the window and start to believe your thoughts can control the world (they’re the same thing).
My please-don’t-have-me-committed moment du jour was focused on a prescription of antibiotics for my daughter’s double ear infection. Please note, the child’s never had an ear infection and for her first, she’s decided to have two. Let me tell you, that kid NEVER does anything half-assed, which is something I usually marvel at.
Anyhoo, after 4 days of diligently doling out her meds, twice a day (No easy task, as any mom will tell you), I accidentally knocked the bottle over onto the counter.
I felt the way an alcoholic would watching interventionists pour the last bit of liquor down the drain, or worse, the way EVERY breastfeeding mom feels when a bottle of pumped milk AKA “liquid gold” is spilled – sob worthy.
I watched as the pink milky blob spread across the counter and did what any other self respecting mom would do. I grabbed a medicine syringe and started siphoning the remains. But, I couldn’t put it back into the bottle, why? I mean, there were 6 days left and at least 4 were staring at me in a blob on the counter. Instead I filled a separate glass with everything I could suck up, and stared at it.
I was telling a friend that I’d totally trade in my Gen X status for that of a 30 year old hipster who wears black rimmed glasses (yet has no prescription)… Then I wouldn’t have to admit that I spent most Saturday nights of my childhood hoping beyond hope that Charo would be the surprise guest on The Love Boat or that somehow Shari and Lambchop would find themselves in an eerie episode of Fantasy Island where Shari was the puppet. (What, I’m the only one who wished for that story line? I think not.)
No, I wouldn’t know a ton of things about pop culture, big hair, or bad TV, had I not been a poster child for Generation X. Things like this:
1. I wouldn’t recall the Facts of Life before Edna’s Edibles burned down and Cloris Leachman took over. I’d say, “Who’s Mrs. Garrett?” and “Tootie on roller-skates, really? I don’t think so.”
2. I wouldn’t know what it would be like to get up to change the channel on the television set or how to adjust bunny ears. (For those non Gen Xers, “bunny ears” is not a photobomb technique.)
3. I wouldn’t know how incredibly ridiculous and large, I mean gorgeous, my hair could look by spraying my bangs to the ceiling and simply adding an over-sized scrunchie or clip on the top of my head, or an attractive horse mane-creating banana clip to the back of my hair, or how to weave my own ribbon barrettes à la Olivia Newton John in Xanadu.
4. I certainly wouldn’t have learned most of what I know about grammar, science, math and history from School House Rock. To this day, I can tell you who invented the cotton gin, why 3 is a magic number and how our nervous system is like a telegraph line. I’m also fairly certain the Great American Melting Pot is an actual stew made by the Statue of Liberty.
5. Nor would I know what a Yuckmouth is, what to do when I “hanker for a hunk a cheese” or how not to drown my food in ketchup or mayo or goo.
6. I wouldn’t have diligently listened to Casey Kasem count down the weekly hits while praying Bananarama, Debbie Gibson or The Bangles would take the number one spot (and not have been ashamed to admit it).
7. I wouldn’t know the joy of waking up at 6AM on Saturday morning to catch The Super Friends and wishing there would be a storyline that included one of the random heroes or villains. You know like, Apache Chief, Plastic Man, Mxyzptlk or Bizarro. (Did anyone else think Wonder Woman was hooking up with Aquaman?)
8. Plus, I don’t think I would’ve made it through adolescence without “One to Grow On” or “After School Specials.” Frankly, without the likes of Mr. T, David Hasselhoff, Kim Fields or Punky Brewster telling me not to steal or cheat or throw up after meals — I don’t know that I would’ve turned out OK.
9. I wouldn’t know from Corey Apple, Adam Bomb or Sy Clops.
10. I wouldn’t know the excitement over getting a brand new Brother Word processor (you could type an entire sentence at a time, I kid you not – goodbye white-out).
11. I would have never annoyingly used the phrases and terms: “Where’s the beef,” “Barf me out,” “No Duy,” “Tubular,” “Faced” (as in, “You got faced”) or like the word “like” every like other word in like a sentence. (All to my mother’s dismay.)
12. I wouldn’t have been able to watch (while pretending to be asleep) Eddie Murphy sing “Unce, tice, fee times a mady,” or teach me the word “scum bucket.” I wouldn’t know why Mr. Bill screamed “Oh No,” or why it ’tis better to look good than to feel good.
13. I probably wouldn’t have owned a rainbow assortment of EGs, that we all know were beyond perfection with a pair of simple Keds, or awesome Reebok hightops, or fancied up with a glorious pair of shoe boots!
14. I wouldn’t have attempted to do the flash-dance quick-toe-tap and hair swing while wearing leg-warmers and a splatter painted, off the shoulder sweatshirt for my 4th grade talent show. (Oh, if I could erase that day! Alas, I cannot — years of therapy says so.)
15. I wouldn’t know what it’s like to use my allowance to buy the Beastie Boys License to Ill album (as in LP), and play it on my awesome record player with mono AND stereo… nor would I understand how speakers were also furniture… mine were used as makeshift bedside tables.
16. I wouldn’t know the feeling of getting a Cabbage Patch Kid after being on a wait-list at Caldor that felt like an eternity — and not even being able to pick the one I got, but loving her/him nonetheless. Extra points if you can remember the name, mine was Mitzy Shirley.
17. I wouldn’t be able to wow my children with my awesome dance moves including: The Running Man, the Roger Rabbit, the Cabbage Patch, the MC Hammer, the Robot, the Sprinkler, the Shopping Cart, the Walk the Dog … Oh, I’m goooood.
18. And those references to winding cassette tapes with a pencil that you see on Facebook — I’d see them as meaningless graphic designs to be silk-screened onto a tee shirt.
Shit, did I age myself saying silk-screened?
I meant iron-on.
No?
Glitter decal?
Still no?
Acid washed? Stone washed? Distressed?
Getting better?
Organic? Composted? Made from hemp… green coffee… some material that wicks sweat?
Fine. I can’t fool myself or anyone else, and when I look back at all the crap I got to enjoy, I kinda don’t want to. So, I’ll embrace it!
Gen Xers are like totally awesome…
Happy 40th to ME!
PS Am I the only one who remembers this shit??? Test me: What wouldn’t you remember?
After writing Tuesday’s post on things I’d never know if I weren’t a Gen Xer, I came to realize that I’m some kind of Generation X genius. I mean, I could be the “Rain Man” of the Gen X set. Seriously, throw some quotes on the floor, I’ll tell you who said them. OK, that test may not work as well as it does with toothpicks in the movie.
But I now see that I’m somewhat stuck in the ’80s, and I kinda like it there. So I thought I’d share some of the most random stuff I remember as a Gen X poster child.
1. Being on a wait list for a Cabbage Patch Kid and not even being able to pick the one you wanted (bonus points if you remember its name — mine was Mitzy Shirley and she had the dreaded short curly hair).
2. Jumping on the eyes of the alligator with Pit Fall Harry.
3. Thinking Flash Gordon had the best special effects ever.
4. That coffee-flavored sucking candy all elderly people had (before anything coffee flavored was cool).
5. The random Super Friends like the Apache Chief, Gleek, and Samurai.
6. Screaming, “Oh my God, the girl in Sleepaway Camp has a penis!”
Living is South Florida has taught me this: If you want to feel really crappy about yourself and guilt yourself into a starvation diet, you should simply go to South Beach, but if you wanna feel like Giselle, go to a water park.
Look, the beaches here are filled with hot, svelte, uber-tan, scantily clad, could-be models who do things you would normally see in cheesy 80s spring break movies or the making of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, like whip their hair out of the water in a single choreographed move in slow motion.
For this reason, I always have a cover-up no more than an arm’s distance away as I sit under an umbrella and wonder, “When did I stop being that young, hot, frolicy, slow-motion girl? Wait, was I ever her? Shit, I don’t know if I was ever her, and now I’ll never be her again or for the first time…”
This is why I rarely go to the beach. Buuuuuut, I’ve also learned that to combat this feeling, one does not need to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas break in an Alaska-esque climate where she can bundle up and hide under a trendy puffer jacket.
Nope, one simply needs to take herself and her beach attire to a water park. Though water parks and beaches seem similar on the surface, they’re at their core polar opposites, like Walmart and Target.
Frankly, any park will do because here is a water park truth: No matter how much cellulite, varicose veins, stretch marks, regrettable tattoos or unsightly moles you have, there is someone within a 10-foot radius of you who has more… and she is wearing a bikini.
Often people are one or the other… in terms of their feelings about pets, hence the terms “dog person,” “cat person.” Frankly, as a rare “both person,” I often wonder, the way I do about the East Coast/West Coast rap rivalry, why can’t we all just get along?
Unfortunately, we never can. Well, not until dog people are willing to see the cat people’s side? What makes that endeavor harder is that most people who aren’t cat people are actually anti-cat people.
They’re wondering what’s enjoyable about having an animal that doesn’t know it’s name. Which (for all you anti-cat people) is not true, they know their names, they just choose to ignore you when you use them, so that you’re always aware, they have the upper hand… paw.
Cat people are also the victims of ruthless discrimination and stereotyping. In which cat people are believed to be: losers, uncool, lazy, empty nesters, old maids substituting cats for children … BLOGGERS. Cat people are thought to be creepy collectors of felines or feline replicas: sculptures, wood carvings, tee shirts, meme pics… And if they’re men, they don’t make good husbands because they’ll probably confess to you years into marriage that they are in fact, gay.
These things are rarely true. Except the meme pics, I think we can all agree that they’re worth liking and sharing.
I wasn’t going to write anything today, as I couldn’t imagine sending out a humor piece right now, when we’re all mourning and trying to comprehend such unfathomable evil, and having enough trouble sending our own babes back to school. But, then it dawned on me: This is why I — we — many of us (bloggers, humorists, comedians) write.
Let’s be real, for the most part, my writing is pretty useless. Well, unless you print it out and use the back of the paper to write a to-do list, or as a make-shift tissue, or dare I say it… TP?
The other day I wrote a rant about someone cutting me off in the carpool lane. It was for a site I love, TheStir, where most of the readers don’t know me my motivation, sense of irony, and penchant for poking fun at cliches and stereotypes. As any blogger knows, the comments on major sites can be pretty harsh. Some of them mentioned how trite my article was, “The polar ice caps are melting … and people starving in our own backyards?” “Why did I even waste time typing this response to such drivel.”
This is what my house sounds like around the holidays. (Oh, and the rest of the year, but I say “around the holidays” to make myself look like a better parent.)
“Mommy can I have that?” “Will you buy me that?” “Mommy, my friend’s neighbor’s cousin has that.” “I want that.” “When can I have that?” “Mommy?” “Ma?” “Maaaaaaaa?” “MOM!” This exchange of words usually ends with:
“If you mention it again, and the answer will be never.”
“Never? I can’t even have the Easy Bake Ultimate Oven that bakes more batches, when I’m 25?”
“Sure, but if you don’t have a real oven by then, making cookies may not be the best use of your time.”
“How about she gets it for her next birthday, or maybe Kwanzaa?” my son pipes in. He’s already eying a Penny Board for Secretaries Day, and has informed me that, although we are Jewish, he will be giving up vegetables for Lent.
My children’s Hanukkah wish lists were so comprehensive this year, I was forced to explore alternative channels in my search. Consequently, I have sent a friendly letter asking someone who has slighted me in the past for a little holiday help. Some might say it’s more of a formal accusation, but really it’s just a hand delivered note that needs to be notarized and signed on receipt. It goes:
Dear Santa, I have never complained about you forgetting us Jews in the past, but Continue reading →
Do you get zits from unwashed pillowcases or cellphones?
Will you age the way your parents age?
Do retinoids make you more susceptible to sun damage or sunburn?
What’s the magic ingredient you should look for in beauty products?
If you were a vampire, would you need anti-aging creams?
On this week’s Jenny Isenman Show, my favorite dermatologist, Dr. Doris Day is back! You know, the uber famous one I told you I would totally stalk? Well, she answers tons of my insane questions. Be warned, before you watch, some of the answers are awesome and some may totally piss you off.
Enjoy –
Jenny From the Blog
The questions Dr. Day couldn’t answer: “When the f@ck did I get all these wrinkles.” and “Wasn’t I just going to my prom like last week?” Continue reading →
Recently, I wrote about Move-a-Body-Friends. You know, those people you would do anything for, like say, move a body? Since that’s a metaphor (sorta), I thought I’d make a list of things I would actually do (and in most cases already have) for my nearest and dearest. I think most women I know would, and that’s why the fairer sex is kinda awesome!
Be designated driver on a girls night out because I know you need a glass of wine (or shot of vodka) more than I do, and trust me, I need one.
Say, “That skirt/dress/jumpsuit makes your butt look fat,” when that skirt/dress/jumpsuit actually makes your butt look fat.
Explain that jumpsuits only look good on Rihanna and Rachel Zoe — and encourage you to stop wearing them.
Pretend I need you to fix my bra strap to save you from a tedious conversation with a boring mom at the playground or that annoying guy at Starbucks.
Despise someone I barely know because of something they’ve done to you, and then treat them kindly if you decide to forgive them.
Hold your hair if you’re throwing up in a club, which probably wouldn’t happen because we’re so, not that cool anymore.
Call your mother/father/siblings/other friends to have an intervention if you get hooked on Meth, Crack, or One Direction. Continue reading →
This one’s for the ladies and also gay men with excellent taste: Thoughts from the Suburban Jungle about Jon Hamm’s Penis.
Yes, after all the shares and comments on FB yesterday … I realized this is the question on everyone’s lips: Can Jon Hamm’s penissave the world? (Which in some way means Jon Hamm’s penis is on everyone’s lips and that’s kinda gross, Jon Hamm!) So, I made this for you guys, also, I was really bored and happened to be wearing full make at the time…
(On a side note it was reported recently that during season six of Mad Men according to the New York Daily News, AMC had to ask Hamm to wear underwear because “This season takes place in the 1960s, where the pants are very tight and leave little to the imagination.” The source also said”Jon’s impressive anatomy is so distracting that they politely insisted on underwear.” The AMC insider also said they had to Photoshop in seasons one and two to cover up Hamm’s distracting bulge.)
Well, I guess I was on to something when I made this video.
ENJOY – XO JENNY
I couldn’t find his penis anywhere in this picture, which was not for a lack of trying.
Nearly a decade ago, I moved to the suburbs from NYC (it’s the sole reason I started my blog). In that time I’ve learned some pretty important things to ensure my survival, nay, my sanity.
If my ‘burb sent out a handbook it would look something like this. Feel free to use it as a mini-survival guide. Good luck and in the words of that guy on Hill Street Blues, ‘Hey, let’s be careful out there.’
All children must be signed up for multiple sports and extracurricular activities, to ensure that no family can plan anything on a Saturday until their kids are too old to want to spend Saturday’s with their family.
Do NOT be alarmed if you try to enter the wrong minivan or SUV, this is common. Try to lessen the confusion by putting fun stickers on your back windshield representing each of your children performing their favorite activity.
You can paint your house one of 477 shades of tan. Other colors will be categorically denied, so don’t even try it!
If your child has strep or hand foot and mouth, be aware that the entire town will know about it before you get his/her prescription filled. PS this same urgency in passing news applies to affairs as well!
As a suburban mom you are expected to start some kind of craft business immediately. Your choices are: hair accessories, jewelry, embellished clothing, or things you can print on card stock — anything else must be cleared through the Chamber of Commerce.
If you already have a job, you are expected to purchase these crafted goods, in bulk, at the myriad of local holiday boutiques that celebrate everything from Ramadan to Flag Day. Like PTA meetings, being absent is frowned upon.
If you do not find a grocery store or Starbucks within one mile of your current position, you’re lost and have entered an inferior neighborhood! Please stay calm and return to your suburb immediately.
You are required to join a gym. There, you must take spin classes with disco lighting, pretzel yourself into a reformer, and learn the art-form that is Zumba.
You will be expected to pressure clean anything and everything from your sidewalk to your dog. Be prepared.
Make sure your dog is cute, as neighbors will constantly stop to pet it. Be warned, the same neighbors will turn you in to the association the first time Rufus barks after 9PM. (Don’t name your dog Rufus)
Make an immediate trip to lululemon/Athetica/GapBody/Target … and pick up workout/athletic/golf/tennis gear that’s trendier than simply wearing sweatpants. Wear these goods at least 50 -100% of the time; in the winter, simply wear your athletic gear with Uggs.
You will need to attend a mind-numbing amount of birthday lunches/dinners for ladies turning anywhere from 30-50. Get there early, as who you sit next to (or don’t sit next to) can make or break your day.
Cut back on sex ASAP, as you will find yourself in conversations where moms discuss their infrequent, and unsatisfying sex life regularly — at lunches, parties, dinners, play-dates.
And stop giving blow-jobs! People in the ‘burbs are only expected to give them on birthdays and anniversaries (it’s one of the perks).
Living in the ‘burbs is a little like reading Us Weekly: Everything is sensationalized. It’s fun to discuss “who wore it best,” but not as much fun as playing Fashion Police. You will find yourself looking for cellulite/wrinkles on young skinny moms. And gossip is treated as gospel.
I hope this helps you fit into the suburban life you’ve chosen. Maybe I’ll see you at the next boutique sale — I’ll be selling picture frames with random findings glued on to them!
Last week, I wrote about having MABFs (Move-a-body-friends): peeps who would help you move a body, no questions asked. I learned some pretty interesting things while assessing where a couple of my “besties” really stood.
Me: Hey Susan, would you move a body for me … no questions asked?
Susan: Before I answer, is this something that will come back to bite me?
Me: Um, let’s hope not.
Susan: It depends on who. If it was Mark, I’d help you.
Either it’s human nature to assume it’s the hubby or my friends really don’t like Mark very much.
Susan: If it was someone random, I’d have to ask questions.
Me: Like?
Susan: Like, was it an accident? Was it self defense? Could we bring along another person?
Me: Why, you don’t think we could lift a body alone?
Susan: No, I wouldn’t want you to turn on ME!
Wow, I thought it went poorly with the last person I asked. Now, my college roommate who’s known me for like, ever, would want some protection?
Me: After 20 years, I’m thinking I should start branching out.
Both of us were laughing about her distrust in me and fear that I may murder her — hahahah, when this happened FOR REAL:
As she watched me cross the street to go to my car, a gust of wind blew my dress fully up to my ears. Stupid trapeze dresses! We’re talking full view of thong, with my hands full and no way to maneuver to hold it down, other than to completely bend over to place my stuff on the street, which I was NOT about to consider.
I stared at her from my frozen position, in utter shock that she wasn’t rushing to help, but rather standing on the curb laughing. Ahem, laughing doesn’t describe what she was doing — she was in such hysterics that she could barely breathe. “When you start choking over there, just know, I won’t give you CPR!”
I mean we JUST had a conversation about whether she would move a dead body for me?! I think this IS the definition of irony, no?
Still laughing, she came into the street and removed my computer from my arms.
Susan: What? I told you I’d move a body for you!
Me: Oh, I know where we stand. You’d help me move it, but if I tripped over it, you’d just point and laugh. Not cool Susan, if we had a “Best Friend” charm, I’d ask for your half back.
8. Plus, I don’t think I would’ve made it through adolescence without “One to Grow On” or “After School Specials.” Frankly, without the likes of Mr. T, David Hasselhoff, Kim Fields or Punky Brewster telling me not to steal or cheat or throw up after meals — I don’t know that I would’ve turned out OK.
10. I wouldn’t know the excitement over getting a brand new Brother Word processor (you could type an entire sentence at a time, I kid you not – goodbye white-out).
“Mommy can I have that?” “Will you buy me that?” “Mommy, my friend’s neighbor’s cousin has that.” “I want that.” “When can I have that?” “Mommy?” “Ma?” “Maaaaaaaa?” “MOM!” This exchange of words usually ends with:
