Tag Archives: Jenny Isenman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Need I say more?

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

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

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

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

J From the B

The True Bane of Suburbia

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

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

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

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

“Mommmm.”

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

“Come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, that answered that question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

f@ckin’ thugs.

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

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

I Got My Own Show!

First promo is out (if you’re a YouTube subscriber, please like it)!!!

It seems like forever that I’ve been waiting for someone to give me my own show. Yes, it’s true… rounding the corner on 40 certainly wasn’t helping. I was making a running list of all the things I WILL NOT DO. You know, like a depressing version of a bucket list? Actually, that’s redundant, but you get the picture.

My looming midlife-ishness was making me realize all the things I haven’t been given that I feel I truly deserved, like: 10million from the Florida Lottery, a Ford Fusion from American Idol, or a Medical degree from Harvard. Granted, I’ve never played the lotto, been a contestant on American Idol, or attended Harvard, but still I feel slighted.

Which is how I’ve felt about the whole getting your own show thing. I mean let’s face it, everyone has a show now a days, EV-ERY-ONE. Really, it doesn’t take much. You don’t even need a full set of teeth (see Gator Boys and Honey Boo Boo) Sure

Honey’s 7 so those will grow back in, but I’d venture to say that she’ll be missing a few in adulthood as well. (Call it a premonition.)

I just want to state for the record that I do have all my teeth, which is usually a plus in the job market search, but now I am considering knocking one out or at least covering it in gold. What? Does Flava Flav not have a show?

I guess the truth is, with everyone having a show, I kinda just imagined that there was a line somewhere, like a make-shift DMV. You wait in it, all annoyed until someone with really long nails and two tone hair looks at you and tells you your gig. “Hmmm, annoying accent, high hair, tattooed, currently intoxicated… JERSEY SHORE, ANY MOB SHOW, CO-HOST ON THE TALK.” “Highly educated, dry, unattractive, interesting and cerebral… sorry, your options are limited NEW YORK TIMES TV Host (only to be watched during air travel), guest on REAL TIME WITH BILL MAHER.” “Looks good in a bikini – doesn’t prune in hot

tubs or pools – questionable morals… BACHELORETTE, BIG BROTHER.” “Funny, un-pc, likes to talk while standing, attractive enough… LATE NIGHT TV.”

You know, something like that.

So for years, I’ve sought out this “line,” and like unicorns and tooth-fairies – it exists but, only to those who believe… which is why I found it. Or rather, it found me. Yep, my show, THE JENNY ISENMAN SHOW, will be airing on Cafe Mom starting October 16th!

Here’s the first promo!!!

I like to believe my DMV bio went like this: Funny – anxiety stricken – obsessed with cellulite/wrinkles/sagging – annoyed with all the hype about beauty products, juice fasts, scheduled sex – may or may not have showered today – needs answers to cut through all the bullshit and look and feel at least a decade or two younger so that she doesn’t end up in a padded room – attractive enough…. TALK SHOW FOR MOMS, REAL HOUSEWIFE OF SOMEWHERE, GUEST ON DR. PHIL, HOARDERS.

We just finished filming the season last week and it was total insanity… (By the way, it’s a talk show for moms, in case you weren’t sure.) I was sick as a dog! My voice went from Demi Moore sexy, in early episodes to Harvey Fierstein drag queen, towards the end, I kid you not. I had an amazing set, amazing guests, amazing producers, a 15 person crew: filming, trying to keep me healthy, fed, and hydrated… checking hair and makeup. Sounds a bit Christian Grey-esque right? I mean, these are things a girl can get used to!!!

Most importantly, I got a CHEAT SHEET for all the mommas to live by – all while keeping a cynical eye and a sense of humor. Yes, I regaled some embarrassing 80’s moments, as I love to do. And I think with the power of editing, it will end up a Chelsea Handler, meets, Erma Bombeck, meets, Richard Lewis, meets Oprah. Am I aiming too high? Those editors better be freakin’ good, if not, I’m hoping at the very least it’ll be a Wendy Williams, meets the Tiger Mom, meets Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew, meets Dog, the Bounty Hunter.

I promise to give behind the scenes play by play! If you like my writing, share this with friends so they can follow the blog and keep up with the show because I guarantee it’ll be as exiting as watching the guys who fish with their hands… and that’s saying a lot, I know.

Oh and thanks, as always for your support! This is a big deal for someone who’s small potatoes.

XOXO,

Jenny From the Blog

I May Have Been a Preteen Stalker

Didn’t we all have adolescent obsessions that bordered on stalking or was that just me? This story will make your embarrassing moments seem way less embarrassing! It’s that bad, I’ve never spoken of it.

As you may have noticed from some of my posts, I have a flair for the dramatic. I recall an experience of such exaggerated intensity with my first crush. For the sake of the blog and the fact that some of my readers will know him, I’ll call him Eric, Eric Axel. This pseudonym is not exactly cryptic, it‘s about 2 letters off from his actual name. Look, I pursued him like an obsessed stalker, I’m sure it’s no surprise to him.

This was old school stalking I’m referring to. Anyone and everyone stalks now a days — moderen technology: cell phones, FB, twitter, my space, youtube, linkedin — it’s not even impressive. No, I’m talking about the kind of stalking that took time and effort and premeditation, something to tell your grandchildren about.

So, I’m gonna rip off the Band-Aid, that is this repressed memory, and let the healing begin. I was in the 7^th grade … Continue reading →

Pardon me Miss Your Nipple is Showing | Oh This Happened

Wow, if I had a nickel for every time I said that… I’d have a nickel.

But today, like, Rihanna on her Hawaiian vacay, Tara Reid um – everywhere, Janet Jackson at halftime, Elaine Bennis on her X-mas cards (Please tell me you got that reference?), and tons of oopsies on the Red Carpet…

this woman’s nip-slip was someone else’s eye candy.

Well, in this case I wouldn’t call it eye candy, though I must admit, I stared at her nipple for quite some time, in a train wreck kinda way, while I debated my moral obligation as a fellow female.

At first, I thought I should say nothing. She clearly spent serious man hours getting those boobs to bust out of her shirt and reveal that stunning tatt of a phoenix emblazoned across them. Continue reading →

8 Reasons Not to Friend Your In Laws or Let them Read Your Blog

Here are the Top Reasons Not to ‘Friend’ Your In-Laws/Parents on FB or Let Them Read Your Blog (both of which I’m totally guilty of):

You may regrettably hear this:

1. “We tried that new position you mentioned and I have just one question…”

2. “Is everything ok with money? Your post about coupons/discount codes/the economy/stealing shampoos from hotel carts/insert penny pinching tip here… has left us concerned.”

3. “Have you ever thought about couples therapy? We found some of your post titles rather worrisome, like: I Cheated on my Husband with Christian Grey/ Sex or Oven Cleaning/ Husband For Sale: Motivated Seller, Why is My Hubby Such a Wuss When He’s Sick? …”

(Don’t judge fellow bloggers, I’m sure you have some doozies of your own.) Continue reading →

Is it Just Me or Does Google Have ESP?

Sometimes I feel like Google has ESP, not for this search. No, my nipples don't itch, in case you were wondering.

I always marvel at how Google seems to know exactly what I’m thinking, no matter how unusual. I’ll start a question with a single word like, “Is…” and it will finish my thought to completion.

A couple months back, I saw an update on Facebook that read: “Put the words ‘I’M SCARED OF’ in a Google search box and see what comes up. I figured they’ve read my mind in the past so, why not? I mean, the answer is sure to be “snakes that come out of the toilet,” right?

So, I wrote “I’m Scared of” in the little box – and Google finished my sentence with this: “Chinese People.” Yep, “I’m scared of Chinese people,” was the top search starting with those words.

Just to clarify, that was not the phrase I was looking for — If Google said “I’m scared of Chinese people holding snakes in my bathroom,” maybe, but I am not scared of Chinese people.

I hope that’s not offensive to Chinese axe murderers, Chinese Mafioso AKA Triad (found it in a Google search), Chinese gang members, Continue reading →

Come One Come All

Like the great city of New York, I’m giving away vibrators, seriously. What am I talking about? How did this happen? How could you win?

If you’ve cracked open a paper or macbook recently, including the NY Post, whose headline read: Buzz Kill – city stops sex-toy giveaway, you would know that the lines to get a free Trojan sex toy in NYC yesterday stretched for blocks, clogging streets and blocking store fronts — 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.

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!

The More My Butt Sags the Shorter the Shorts

I’ve found that this is a foolproof way to firm those dimply lumps of fat and lift that butt. Wait, did I say foolproof, I may mean fool-worthy, ahem, the jury’s out. But either way, I’ll tell you my theory, and I’m sure you’ll thank me later. Well, that or send me hate mail, but definitely one or the other.

Lately, I’ve been delving into how totally insane and irrational I am. I know, it’s fun for you too. So, I’m taking a look at one of my “tricks” that makes sense in my effed up mind. My rationale is that the more sagging and cellulite I have the shorter the shorts I must wear. Like, as a punishment. Oh, you think I’m kidding, but I kid you not. Continue reading →

Why is Sending Kids to Sleepaway Camp So Freakin Stressful

Sending the kids to camp is supposed to be this delightfully awesome time of freedom and reprieve, but it’s not for me.

So, as you can tell from the last post, (Confessions of an Irrational Mom), I’ve been totally anxiety stricken lately. I wasn’t able to put my finger on why, until I looked at my finger and saw that I’d done this to my beautifully manicured gel nails.

Since this pic, I've ripped the overlay completely off with my teeth and bitten them to the quick. Annie, I'll see you in a month.

Then it dawned on me, it’s camp. Sending my son to camp makes me mildly certifiable. Knowing I have NO control over whether my baby puts on sunblock or brushes his teeth, or eats Fruity Pebbles everyday for breakfast, lunch and dinner, or runs with flip-flops on rocky terrain, or doesn’t make the intercamp team, or gets taken advantage of.

Look, I get it — Continue reading →