Tag Archives: Jenny Isenman
The Most Common Personalities on Facebook
I’m not gonna name names, as I would certainly be one of them, but there are distinct qualities that describe most Facebookers.
The Over Sharer -This person seems to think that a trip to the store, a traffic jam, or the weather is worth repeating. They give updates like a minute to minute log. “Sitting in traffic.” “When will it stop raining?” “Just left SB, grande cap, mmmmm.” The Over Sharer is also the most enabled of all personalities. Other Over Sharers are constantly responding to their minute to minutes with fascinating epiphanies like “LOL” or “Rain makes me sleepy” or “Love Starbucks J” (Yes, let’s not forget the smileys, winkeys, and frowneys.)
The Workout Addict and the Closet Alcoholic -These people are actually the same, personality-wise. They feel the need to tell you what they’re drinkin’ or what they’re doin’ in the gym… and the stats. I think they’re both sending signals that require intervention. “20 mile jog, 500 sit-ups and feelin’ it.” “5 mojitos, ahhh” Not only do they flaunt the accomplishments of their pastimes, they like to question their friends as to whether or not to do it. “Do I climb a mountain, or go to the 10:15 spin?” “Drinks with the boys at Lucky’s, or sit on the couch with a cold one?” 😉
The Just “is” – At first I thought these people were publishing this status by accident, but then I realized certain people do it more than others. Either they have sausage fingers and can’t work the keyboard or they just “are.” What does that mean? Is that a call for sympathy a cry for help? A Buddhist feeling of zen? You people are too profound for me. ):
The Gibbrisher -Everyone knows a Gibbrisher. This person speaks in code. Code that at least one friend understands, while the other 500 hundred friends are wondering what the hell, “is so $ due MJ explosion!” means? LMAO
The TMIer -This person is like the Over Sharer in that they have too much time, but takes it one step further by including info about last night’s sex, a bout of diarrhea, or an overly itchy rash. Anytime you talk about your own genitals in any fashion, you fall into this category, BEWARE. TMI
The Self Promoter –Don’t waste your time thinking, “Oh, the irony,” I know this is me. This person thinks that their business is of the utmost importance, TO YOU. They don’t want you to miss a single sale, review, TV spot, story, or promo. They ask that you join the 50 fan clubs, groups, and subscription sites that they have spent valuable work time setting up. Don’t think we, I mean they don’t check to see if you join every one of those clubs and sites! IMHO
Honorable mention: The Quoter and The Lyricist.
BTW-There will be a sequel. I would love to hear about your experiences with these personalities and the other personalities you have encountered.
OMG I almost forgot please join my fan page on FB , seriously!
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RssGoodbye Disney World, Hello Backyard
Dear Mickey:
Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think we need to take a break. Sure, I love the way you and your friends with oversized heads eat breakfast with my family and entertain us with your theme parks, but you ask for so much in return.
I pay a near fortune to see you, then you woo my daughter into expensive princess attire and offer pricey oversized turkey legs, costly Pooh shaped popsicles, and expensive embroidered hats with ears… that don’t really translate in the real world. I’m sorry, that sounded like I was blaming you for the economy. I’m sure you and Minnie have a ton of Disney stock options, so I know you’re feelin’ it as well.
According to the latest statistics, me and 1/3 of other American families are cancelling trips this summer and taking a “stay-cation” instead. I know you’re angry. The last time you waved at me and said, “See ya real soon,” you thought it would be sooner. I’m thankful you only have 4 fingers, because I know what you’d be waving at me now.
This summer, like most Americans, I will be visiting (Chez Pa Tio). I will take a portion of the money I’m saving and recreate much of the awe and wonder you provide, without ever leaving town.
I will save $60 on those mandatory Mickey mist sprayers, and have my family stand in the general vicinity of wet neighborhood dogs when they shake. Each night my husband and I will wrap ourselves in twinkle lights, and then we’ll run by the kids really fast and call it Space Mountain. Then we’ll slow down and call it the Light Parade. Who knows, we could wear them to bed and call it Pleasure Island.
I will cook pancakes in your likeness. Then I’ll have my neighbor with an abnormally large head come over and eat them with us. I’m sure my family will be none the wiser, as his head is really big. Have a great summer now, ya hear.
Sincerely,
Jenny from the Blog
This was written for the new site saleHOP.com. I am now the feature writer for this awesome site. Wahoo! Here is a little info on it so you can be one of the first “in the know.”
SaleHOP is an online sale listing service for:
PEOPLE who host garage sales, yard sales, moving sales, estate sales, and more.
SMALL RETAIL STORES who seek a more effective way to attract new shoppers.
LOCAL EVENTS who want a cost effective way to promote their sale online.
BARGAIN HUNTERS looking for ways of saving time and money
They provide bargain hunters with a better way to find items they need at any sale or event occurring in their local area; while providing sellers an affordable and effective way to attract shoppers; in a comprehensive and feature rich website that provides a safe and fun environment.
Beware of Grandmas Wielding Reddi-Wip.
This one is tough for me to write. While finding the irony in the situation, the neurotic part of me still gets a pit thinking about it. My children had a sleep over at my Father and Step Mother’s house this weekend. Like any overly anxious mom, I am not capable of total relaxation when they are away because I am unapprised of their minute to minute safety status and whereabouts.
To make matters worse a sleepover at their house is like a carnival. They go from arcades to movies to the beach to the boat to Dunkin’ Donuts often in a 4hr span. Getting in touch with them in near impossible and guessing which activity they are doing, even harder. What if my parents make a bad decision? What if they feed them food that is not cut small enough or let them ride the escalator at the mall alone…in their flip-flops!? What if they don’t account for the beach’s undertow? What if they lose them, step on them, dehydrate them, don’t apply enough sunblock?! These types of things worry me, actually all types of things worry me, down to the pillow placement on their beds and if my son, who sleeps in my antiquated brass bed, will get a limb or worse, his head stuck in the unregulation sized slats.That being said, I had a lovely dinner with my husband and a glass of champagne, or two, or a bottle lessens the concerns. The next day we went to pick up the kids and stayed for a BBQ. It was at said BBQ that the offense occurred. We were having desert, fresh fruit and Redi whip. Like butter, cheese or chocolate, whipped cream makes anything edible. My children, having control of the whipped cream can, joyfully and excessively sprayed it in heaping mounds, masking the fruit below. Squirt, squirt…air.
My step mother grabbed the can walked towards the trash then stopped as if a light bulb went off above her head. “Who wants to suck out the air and talk funny?” she said with the enthusiasm of an eight year old.
“Um the preteens that hang out by the dumpsters in the grocery store parking lots, maybe.”
“Huh?”
“That’s not helium in there, that’s a whippet.”;”>Whippet: Slang term for the inhalant drug “Nitrous Oxide.” Use causes a momentary lightheadedness due to a depletion of oxygen to the brain. In worst cases can lead to brain damage, and SSD (Sudden Sniffing Death). People also risk falling and getting a concussion.
“I’ve never done it, I just remember hearing something about it.”
“I remember hearing something about hypodermic needles on the beach, but I’m not going to play Doctor with them.”
I was trying to play it off, but my heart was pounding. In my minimal experience with whippets, I remember falling on my dorm room bed, giggling and most likely killing enough brain cells to forget the SAT words I had spent the previous year trying so desperately to drill into my head.
I have no idea what that rush would do to a 4 and 7 year old, and THANK G-D no one was finding out! Ahhh, something new to add to the list… fear of grandparents offering my children recreational drugs. A new concern, a fear I would have never imagined and I imagine some far fetched scenarios.
In all seriousness, I will use this as a warning. Take a moment to make sure your parents know that sucking the air out of whipped cream cans, computer dusting cans (Dusting), and air-horns is very dangerous and should never be used as a game. It seems so obvious to us, but intelligent people who were not teenagers beyond the 80’s may have no idea.
New How-to Vlog “How to Sit on a Chair”
New Vlog! I started doing how to videos for some of the Mommy sites I write for. Though not totally serious, the concept of explaining even the simplest thing, gave me quite a giggle. So, I taped this video on “How to sit on a chair.” In it I explain in layman’s terms the delicate artform that is “sitting on a chair.” You may want to use a spotter your first couple attempts. I assure you, with my expert guidance, you will be sitting on chairs in no time!
If you know anyone that could use this kind of instruction, please pass the link on -so they can take a load off!: mom demonstrates important skill “how to sit on a chair
Good Luck!
Twilight Obsession or Mid-Life Crisis?
I was at my neighbor’s house the other day and her nine year old daughter sat down at the table with me. “Soooo, who’s your favorite character?” she asked, in the way one would while sharing tea and crumpets. I was not having tea, however, I was having coffee, one of the few things that still separates me from nine year olds. Well, most of them anyway.
My favorite character of what? Disney movies? Are we talkin’ Hannah Montana, or like Monsters vs. Aliens?
“No, my mom said you love Twilight, and OMG, me too! I am so in love with Jacob. How about you?” she squeaked eagerly, awaiting my answer.
Okay, as most of you know, I have a very unhealthy obsession with the Twilight series and the main character, Edward. I also believe, after giving the subject way too much thought, that this is either a sign of total immaturity or a mid-life crisis. So, either I’m mentally stuck in high school, or wishing I was.
“Are we having this conversation? Aren’t you nine?” Hello, clearly the fact that you love Jacob is a sign of your immaturity. “Everyone knows Edward is like the ultimate hottie,” I continued, drawing a line in the sand between me and the child that stood before me, who was excitedly bouncing to hear my answer.
“Yeah, he’s cute but I like werewolves better than vampires,” she replied, shrugging off my belligerent tone.
“What?! You’d rather date a werewolf than a vampire?” I argued. Jenny, don’t get yourself all worked up. What does she know anyway, she’s nine? While talking myself down, I noticed her Jonas Brothers concert tee. I realized that we may have the same taste in literature, and as it appears, nail polish, but I was the adult.
In fact, one of my readers had just sent me a very racy version of what supposedly happened on Edward and Bella’s honeymoon. A night that the author skimmed over to keep the books appropriate for her teen audience. Of course, in my suburb where the kids rule, “teen” means nine.
I reminded myself that I had a nugget of Twilight information that she would not be able to read for at least 2 years… at the rate she was going. I told her when her mom said it was okay, she could see my special chapter. You might be thinking that I got great joy in dangling that carrot, but nay I say. It was when I gave her a raspberry that I got the most joy.
She ran to her room and returned with a picture, the fold out kind that you pull from Tiger Beat Magazine, or One Day I Will Be a Know-It-All Magazine or whatever the teenie boppers are reading these days. You know, the ones that show young girls who are famous and rich, and handsome boys that are out of reach, and in turn, set their readers up for future disappointment and body dysmorphia.
She handed it to me, and I opened it up to find a picture of Robert Pattinson, the actor that plays Edward Cullin, who is also 13 years my junior. Don’t think it’s odd that I know that. I’m no stalker, but I do admittedly frequent the website: RobPatzStalkers.com
I think her poster was a peace offering, and in hindsight, a very mature response to my childish behavior. I looked at her, and then the picture. Then as I went to leave, I said, “By the way, the Jonas Brothers Suck! Yeah, they’re for babies and you love them.”
So who’s the most mature one in the room now?
PS- don’t forget to take today’s poll, and as always, make sure you have my RSS, or email subscription!
Coffee and Flogging -Vlog attempt 1
Here is my first vlog (video log). For many of you this will be your first time seeing me, which I know is weirdly like watching the movie after reading the book (it’s all in the casting). I think I’m perfectly cast in the role of “me,” as I find myself to be the epitome of me. If you don’t agree, talk to my agent.
If you enjoy it, please pass it on.
If you hate it, keep it to yourself, you obnoxious person with nothing better to do than sneer at other people’s attempts at branding themselves and living out the dream… the American dream. But know, I will get better and I will continue to blog if you prefer the blogging.
Most importantly, thanks as always for your support!
I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry you have to click the link, I am too technologically challenged to get it directly on the site.
CLICK HERE: VLog-1
Yours,
Jenny From the Blog
We’ve All Done Something Illegal, Right?
AAAAAAAAH! I am so excited! (That was a scream.)
On the subject of my personal fame… one I like to write about maybe a bit too often, I am a character in a non-fiction thriller. A “bad boy” pal of mine, from my college days of selling shots for extra dough, just got his book published. He penned it in the joint, I don’t know if that’s a cool thing to call it, but I am trying to sound cool.
It’s the story of the events that lead to his arrest and incarceration. Events, which I was apparently in the middle of and was completely oblivious to. Look, as you’re considering what kind of crew I hung out with, let’s not forget I’m a nice Jewish girl from the ‘burbs who literally saves worms from burning on the sidewalk. So, without giving anything away, I’ll say he was not in the clink for murder. To be quite honest my copy is on the way, so I don’t know all the details.
This sparks a story of my own that I did not think I would tell because it could ruin my pristine image. But, what the hell, I’m sure I’ve done that already on this blog. Between the nose picking, the yelling at other people’s kids, and telling my daughter’s nursery school teacher that I got Clifford the Big Red Dog drunk.
I was, as I said, a shot girl at University of Miami. We’re talkin’ test tubes on a tray kinda stuff. Unlike the shot girls in some of the local bars, I was clad in a lot more than lingerie. I was pulling in like $200 a night, which in the 90’s was more like a grand. Okay, maybe not quite, but good money for a 20 year old still getting an allowance. Said friend was a bartender there. He was one of the few people I was friends with that didn’t go to school with me and he was a bit out of his mind, which made him even “funner.” He watched out for me and regularly reminded my boyfriend, how lucky he was. Then when my boyfriend would run off to some party he would chivalrously walk me to my car so I wouldn’t be in a dark parking lot alone.
I can’t say his influence was all good. He was an integral part of the one illegal thing I think I’ve ever done. I mean ever, I don’t even think I shoplifted a lipstick when it was in fashion to do so… you remember 7th grade?
We noticed that when someone finished their test-tube they usually put it back on the tray. In a sinister plot to up my nightly take, he would make me a flask of shots to refill those used tubes with in the bathroom. Before I go on, I must explain how even writing this offends me now. Not because of the crime, because I am such a germ phobe. To think I would allow people to unwittingly drink out of second hand test tubes that had been in a germy bathroom, ugh. If I did it now, I would have to find a much more sanitary way to swindle the bar out of their 3 bucks a shot.
My other evil ruse was to fill the back row of shots with water. That was my personal reserve. Often drunk people like to get the shot girl drunk. I was not a fan of this as; A) I’m a lightweight and B) Who wants to be drunk while working? So, for $3, which was usually $5 with tip, you got the pleasure of sharing a shot with me and watching me make some over reactive wincing face as if downing straight vodka. Then maybe I’d high five you, or do a “woo” to reflect how it burned on the way down. What, you should get what you pay for.
I was pullin’ in more like $400 a night and still sold the most shots, by the management’s count. I’m sure I spent it on all frivolous items that were hip in the 90’s, from vintage 501s to those trendy micro-fiber body suits by BCBG and Bisou-Bisou. I recall a few overly chunky heels and a lot of flannels from Structure. Flannels, that looked “perfect” tied around the waist of some shredded jean shorts with a man’s braided belt, and a baby tee from Contempo. I know, you’re thinking, stealing shot money is not the only crime I committed in the 90’s.
This is my confession, I hope you forgive me. I will send the links to the book and review it ASAP.
How To Make People Hiss At You
I considered not posting this because so many people witnessed it happening. I wasn’t sure if there was anyone left to read about it. Because there is some pertinent information, I decided it was worth sharing. I have discovered the quickest way to make people despise and hiss at you. If this is something you may be interested in… read on.
Bring a cranky child with less than five hours sleep under her belt, to the grocery store. It’s a brilliant plan for anyone with too many friends or any kind of social interaction disorder.
She began our trip like a giddy drunk: a little unstable, but cheerful and capricious. I may have even gotten an, “I love you man… I mean Mom,” accompanied by a hearty chest bump. Well, her chest, my knee. But, like most drunks, the second you shove them in to the seat of the shopping cart they get belligerent.
Cindy our favorite check out girl made the tragic mistake of saying, “Hello my sweet Ryan,” When we arrived. Her “Sweet Ryan” responded with bared teeth and an ominous growl.
“How could you Cindy?” I snarled. I should have done a 180 then and there, but I selfishly decided that it was more important that my family have their precious food than maintain any good will towards neighbors.
By the meat counter Ryan lost it when I pulled the number out of the number machine. When I felt her eyes bore a chasm through my forehead, I succumbed and allowed her to pull out 10 more numbers…much to the dismay of the deli staff.
By the time we hit produce she had spiraled out of control. I said something so horrifying, it left her no choice but to unleash an Earth shattering scream of disapproval. The grapes looked old, but I now realize, I should have kept that scary tidbit to myself.
I also affronted her by pushing the cart too slowly. When I sped up she hit her back on the cart which was adding insult to injury, actually injury to insult. Semantics aside, it was unforgivable and ohhh, did I feel her justifiable fury.
As I waited for her head to stop spinning, I decided to spare the customers the migraines they were acquiring and spare myself the gossip that was developing. I grabbed a few essentials and made a beeline for the checkout line. Cindy’s line was the shortest. I reluctantly got in it and shot her a scowl, letting her know I had not forgotten the cruel injustice she showed my child when we arrived. Ryan continued to sulk, which triggered the woman in front of me to say, “Aww, Poor thing. She’s so cute.”
I took one look at her blood shot eyes as she was rolling them at me for some unknown wrongdoing and simply said, “She can be cuter.”
As I approached the end of the belt, Cindy looked at me with the sad pouty face adults make when imitating crying children.
“Hello Jenny,” she said in a not your day, kind of way
“Don’t even go there Cindy, you chipper woman or I will knock that annoying pout clean off your face,” I barked in a stint of misplaced frustration. Okay, I didn’t say that, but I did give her the, “talk to the hand” gesture. No, I didn’t do that either. I said, “hello Cindy,” but I said it in an Indian accent, so she would be oddly confused.
Next time I choose feeding my family over my daughter’s surly mood, I will remind myself that, there is a reason Mc Donald’s is making the youth of America fat. Then I will head to the nearest drive-thru.
What have you done for me lately? Too much!
In one week Suburban Jungle will celebrate it’s first birthday! Yes, one year of building a following of tons of readers and 1000’s of visitors each month… sometimes each week. One year of amazing comments, personal email responses, and whispers at the grocery store. The gestation period for this baby was about 7 years longer than the standard 9 months, but it was well worth it.
I started this blog after signing up for FB. Before I knew it, I had hundreds of FB friends, because I am extremely popular. I realized, here is a huge audience of people that I can awkwardly and annoyingly push my material on. Due to nostalgia induced guilt, they just might read it. Since then, it has grown into a legitimate site, read by people all over the planet, literally. I have become a contributing writer for CityMommy, NewParent, SheJustGotMarried, and the JewishTimes. I have been mentioned in Good Housekeeping, and I am contributing to a hilarious book!
Because of you, I am looking for an agent and working on pitching two books. I have gotten multiple calls about writing a pilot and am very seriously working towards getting many of my articles published… articles that started out as blog posts, for your entertainment. If I did not have such amazing people following the blog, commenting, calling, and emailing, I don’t think I would have been so inspired to pursue this dream. So, I want to thank you.
This is around the time I would start to insult you, by saying something like, “It was you, the little people, the peons, that helped me, a titan of brilliant creativity. Who would ever have imagined?” But I wouldn’t dare, because I still need you little people.
I need you now more than ever. Because I am focusing on making this a career, I can not focus on marketing the blog. I need those of you who are technologically savvy to Stumble me, Mixx me, Digg me, Blog Roll me, Tweet me, and Tickle me. I made the last one up, but who doesn’t like a good tickle? For those of you who don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, please pass me on to friends, neighbors, class lists, and Mommy And Me programs.
This is an official amendment to our contract, like getting an annoying packet explaining the change in your insurance coverage. I write a blog that is mostly article driven. If I want consistent traffic without marketing, I need to be more “bloggish,” and POST, POST, POST. So rather than let the Suburban Jungle suffer, I will enhance it with more frequent posts. Not all will be articles, I am still just one insanely talented person. But, I promise they will be witty, relatable, and sometimes short.
I will continue to give you the articles you love so much, and in return you will continue to enjoy the posts… that’s an order. You will talk about me at lunches, PTA meetings, water coolers, and play-dates. You will sign up friends to the email subscription with out their permission. You will annoy them with requests to join the Suburban Jungle group or networked blog on FB, and insist that they follow me on twitter. Most importantly, you will ignore all spelling and grammatical errors.
I will hold you to our contract, which like an insurance company, I have the right to amend at any time, without prior notice. Thanks for reading and inspiring every word! You are truly the best audience ever!
Much Love,
Jenny from the blog
I always love feedback and hope to hear from you.
The FB Suburban Jungle group will receive articles only… not the entire feed, for the full experience sign up for the FB networked blogs thing-a-ma-who-ha.
I will not have as much time to post on LinkedIn, so if you find me there, sign up directly on my site, and feel free to link to me.
Is it just me or does money seem tight these days?
I don’t know about you guys, but I have watched my investments plummet. it’s probably just me. I must have made bad choices. Reeling from the tech fallout of 2002, I cautiously invested in low risk things like bonds, and solid proven companies like GE and CitiBank. What was I thinking?
Oddly, I also assumed that my husband would receive his weekly commission based paychecks well, weekly. I appear to have been wrong on both counts. The constant chatter I hear on line at the supermarket, where people are pulling coupons out of their Chanel bags to save a buck on T.P. (one ply), makes me think, “maybe I‘m not alone.”
I want to know when I started to sound desperate and entitled? Was it when I complained that I have to make my own coffee? Or when in an attempt to avoid such a dreadful task, I offered my barista a BJ in return for a Grande latte?
You know Sally Struthers once said, that a child in a third world country could live on the price of just one cup of coffee a day. There’s probably a Starbucks like every 8 huts in Ethiopia, but how can I buy them coffee everyday when I can’t afford my own? Oh, the irony. You know Sally also said, “Stop calling my husband Meathead, Daddy.“ so I don’t know why I’m letting her make me feel guilty in the first place.
Here in the first world — America, there are people who struggle everyday of their lives and in the face of that I still manage to be upset that my husband and I haven’t exchanged gifts this year.
In an attempt to be frugal and responsible I recently returned $200 worth of “barely” used makeup and creams to Sephora. Look, we all know that stuff looks perfect in the blinding color melting lights of the store and not so perfect in the natural lighting of … reality.
That was a resourceful plan. Unfortunately, I couldn’t use the credit to buy groceries or vaccines, so I did the next best thing and prudently bought myself new creams and make-up that probably won’t look good in reality either. I may have, in a hopeless attempt to feign normalcy, wrapped those items and given them to my husband to give me for Valentine’s day. Don’t judge, the manager said I could bring back anything that was barely used. Under that premise, I’m going to try to return my diaphragm to Walgreens tomorrow.
As is obvious, I am using as many creative saving outlets as possible. Yesterday, I caught myself thriftily gazing upon my husband’s pile of dry cleaning and wondering how much of it a little spritz, elbow grease, and a strong wind couldn‘t fix. That thought gave me quite a chuckle and then I spit on the stains, rubbed them together, and blew them with my hair dryer. It worked… I may have discovered the “Ancient Chinese Secret.“ Let‘s keep that one between us. I’m using the money I saved to stave off my barista for couple weeks.
This morning I went so far as to wrap a barely read book for Ryan’s book exchange. Actually, that one kinda falls under laziness. A big sorry to the recipient, I think the one time we read it, Ryan had hand foot mouth, but I’m sure the dog hair tumbleweeds and pet dander in my house just scrubbed those germs right off.
PS I am still negotiating with said barista. He countered my offer with a week of free Grandes with extra whip (wink wink). To which I replied, “Make them Ventis, and we got a deal.” He drives a hard bargain, but I am confident that I am coming out ahead on this one, pun always intended.
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I vant to bite jour neck and suuck jour blud… blaaah!
So, I am reading the Twilight series. I’m sorry did I say reading, I meant obsessed with as in, would be a stalker of the main character if he were not A) A Vampire B) Fictional. Not exactly in that order. What this says about me is that I am mentally stuck somewhere in high school, and living vicariously through this girl’s foray into a world of love and incredibly romantic, thoughtful, and charmingly chivalrous monsters.
As I left to go food shopping last night, I confronted Mark with my current grievance, as I felt it need to be addressed immediately.
“Mark, why can’t you be more like a Edward Cullen.”
“You mean a vampire?”
“No, I just want you to be obsessed with me in a, ‘Can’t take your eyes off me. You would never let me get hurt, Can’t live without me,’ kinda way.’
“Oh that, obviously. Okay. I can do that. If there is a banana peal at Publix, I will swoop in and kick it out of the way so that someone other than you trips on it and you won’t even see me, but I will always be keeping you safe and never take my eyes off you.”
“Phew, that was easy.”
“Now, could you move a bit to the left. I can’t see the game.”
So he fell off the wagon. He’s rusty, it’s been a decade since he couldn’t take his eyes or his hands or his penis off me. Frankly, the last one was getting annoying, especially in public. But shock therapy cured that right quick. The truth is, once you say “I do,” your kinda old hat. Well, not long after.
How much more obsessing and wooing is necessary, I hate the saying but, “he bought the cow.” It’s so hard to be a challenge when your married, I used to say things like, “yeah, well maybe I’ll have your kids.” Now I say things like, “yeah, maybe I’ll get your laundry.” Just trying to keep him on his toes. One day I could say things like, “yeah, maybe I’ll tell you where I hid your teeth.”
Other tactics I use to threaten his security in our marriage include, picking fights over the dishes, pointing out the things he forgets and as is evidenced here, comparing him to fictional characters that are kind and sensitive, and confident, and funny, and don’t exist in real life and if they did they’d be gay anyway.
Today I had an uncomfortable experience at Starbucks and quickly texted him this: “Hey, I burnt my tongue! Where were you?!”
He texted thus: “You didn’t see me? I already treated that tongue wound. Bet it’s feeling better now isn’t it? You were hot last night…don’t forget Jake has practice today.”
Okay, he’s trying. But, there were some errors which I pointed out in my next text: “I like when you tell me I’m hot and remind me of a practice in the same sentence, talk about hot. PS I don’t know what you used, but my tongue hurts even more!”
To which he responded: “Salt… short term it may be a bit more painful, but long term it will heal faster.”
Got to give him credit on that one. I really had no idea he treated it, but it does seem to have healed nicely. I think it was worth the extra pain… it feels so good I could even have soup tonight.
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