Tag Archives: parenting

When Date Night Turns into a Seinfeld Episode

Certain names have been misspelled to avoid search engines.  I have faith you’ll know who I mean.

Ever have one of those nights that’s more like a Seinfeld Episode… Be warned: This is what can happen when facial hair goes terribly terribly wrong!

Now, I may be generalizing, but Atlanta seems to be a hotbed for outdated facial hair.  While on a recent trip to the ATL, my hubby and I found ourselves in a lovely upscale restaurant called Aria.  We were struck by our waiter’s very pronounced handlebar mustache (Please pronounce Moose-tashe for the proper feel) and pointed chin puff, basically the beard of the devil.

Not our ACTUAL waiter

Oh, the irony!

While ogling that for some time, he approached us, “Would you care  for a roll?”  “Oh, G-d did he say can I have your eternal soul?”  I asked my husband before answering.
After a few references to the “Joker’s Wild,” my husband noticed that seated at a ledge across from us was a man with a toothbrush mustache.

You may think you are unfamiliar with the toothbrush variation,   but it was seen on Charlie Chaplin, Hardy of Laurel and Hardy,

 

 

 

 

oh yeah and this guy:

I’d venture to say that the only mustache rarer and more disconcerting than the devil is what’s also known as the H1tler. In fact, I’d wager a bet that few people have rocked the H1tler since Adolph himself performed mass genocide on 14 million individuals.  Distressingly, this person not only donned the H1tler; he bore an uncanny resemblance to him, which made me that much more uncomfortable.  As a Jew in the South, no less, this guy actually sent a shiver down my spine.  Not unlike seeing a swast1ka on your neighbor’s replica WWII German war plane (which happened: see article here for that doozy).

No matter how handsome you look in a H1tler, I would think that after the war, it’s pretty much considered a fashion faux pas for anyone wanting to avoid public stoning.  I wondered if this gentleman was at our restaurant to visit his old friend, our waiter… AKA Beelzebub.

The man with the H1tler and his wife were out with another couple.  All I could think was, what if the couples hadn’t seen each other in a while or maybe he was the husband coworker?  How would one react if they found themselves at dinner with a man who looked like he’d be hired to make balloon swast1kas for a white supremist’s birthday party?

I looked at Mark as he was discretely pretending to text while taking a picture with my iPhone.  “Honey, this is an episode of Seinfeld.  In this scene George would be going on a double date with his new girlfriend’s sister and brother-in-law.”

Girlfriend:  George this is my brother-in-law Jan, Jan this is George Costanza, the guy I was telling you about.

George:  (After taking in the view and shuddering.)  Why would you be telling him about me?

Girlfriend:  Jan is into name genealogy, I thought he would want to look up Costanza I also gave him Seinfeld.

George:  Oh, so you’re into names and you found Costanza and Seinfeld interesting?

Jan:  mmm yes, interesting names, what Russian and Polish, no?

George:  Ah, you know I’m not really sure.  We never kept in touch with our ancestors… their boat sank.  Umm, Jan is also an interesting name?

Jan: Yes, it’s origin is Deutschland.

George:  Of course, If you excuse me, I’m just gonna make a trip, I gotta…

Jan:  Wait, I gotta hit the head myself.

Jan would then get up and goose step his way over to the bathroom.  George would look back at the girlfriend and return her cheerful smile with a forced one of his own and then run off.

Cut to:

Girlfriend: (to Sister) I see  Jan‘s gout is acting up again.

Sister:  Oh, He’s having a terrible flare up.  Between the gout and the arthritis he’s locked at the elbows and the knees.  You should have seen him trying to shave this evening.  I didn’t have the heart to say anything.

Girlfriend:  Poor guy.   I know how he hates the scar from his cleft pallet.

Cut to:

George:  (at the pay phone calling Jerry) Jerry, I’m at dinner with H1tler, H1TLER I TELL YA.

Jerry:  What are you talking about?

George:  Ingrid’s brother-in-law is a reincarnation of the man… he just did the deathmarch back to the table.  I’m telling you he’s looking up the origin of our names.  I think this is a set up, they’re in cahoots, they wanna exterminate me and if they get me you’re next, SEINFELD.

Jerry:  You gotta get outta their.

Of course it would go on from there, the usual… the brother-in-law would make a few off color remarks and motions alluding to his doppelganger, finally ending by heiling the waiter for the check. (Arthritis, remember?) In a side story, an orthodox Rabbi friend of Kramer’s who accused George and Jerry of being bad Jews would be seated across the restaurant taking the whole thing in to include in his next sermon.

Some couples have a romantic night at a nice restaurant.  We simply make fun of the staff and patrons.

PS By day I’m a lifestyle expert, by night I’m a do manscaping- just kidding – I do this blog.  It’s gaining steam, so if you like it please take a sec to share it and check out the right side for RSS, bookmark, email, and newsletter sign-ups.  Sooo appreciated, if I can grow this thing I can stop shaving mens’ private parts, I mean, oh forget it.  JUST SIGN UP!

xo

-Jenny From the Blog

The Day My Son’s Ladybug Ran Away | Best of Jenny From the Blog

ladybug–Dealing with a lost pet can be extremely daunting… even if it’s a ladybug.

I can still hear the faint murmurs of my son Jake’s 40-minute meltdown when his pet ladybug, “Lady,” flew away. We kidnapped this 4 year old (or 4 day old bug – whatever the spot things mean), at the top of Mount Aspen. Jake loved her, cared for her, nurtured her, taught her to ride a bike, and started a 529 plan in her name. About a quarter of the way down the mountain, Lady flew to the ceiling of our gondola and made a mad dash for freedom.

Jake jumped out of his seat and bounced towards the door. This caused the gondola to start swinging. According to the warning sign that pictured a man falling out of the gondola to his unexpected demise, wild swinging was strictly forbidden. “Jake, you can’t jump around. Do you see what happened to the unfortunate man on the sign?”

This is seriously the picture!! What???

Jake continued searching, intensely focused on the whereabouts of Lady. “Hey, do you guys hear her? I can hear her. Do you hear her?” he said desperately, like someone who could put a straight jacket to good use. Continue reading →

Why Can’t Moms Let Boys be Boys | Jenny From the Blog for Momtourage

What if he doesn’t catch that kid!???

I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time with the rough-housing and horseplay that comes along with having a son. Okay, those are totally 50’s terms, yet I can’t think of a better way to say it.

Girls definitely give us moms a huge mental workout. Mine came into this world with an attitude; my closest friend swears she gave her the evil eye on day one. Those little lasses are often cranky and snippy. They can get catty, jealous and yes, they even fight over boys before they’re out of Pull-Ups.

Oh, she will get her way!

 

But boys are a different breed. Sometimes they can be so mushy and sensitive, like little Prince Charmings, and other times they’re more like Neanderthals. While my little girl is busily primping in her room, trying on outfit number seven, and attempting to apply eye shadow, my son is out front flying across the yard with reckless abandon, as he tackles a neighbor’s son in a “friendly” game of “touch” football.

My neighbor, who has two sons and a brother, looks on half-heartedly as she files a chipped nail. I, on the other hand, am on the edge of my seat, well, my patch of grass, ready to hurl myself onto the makeshift field at the first sign of injury. Was that a wince? Was that a double- blink? A groan? A sigh? I’m on it, like a ski patrolman on a toboggan.

How can “neighbor mom” be so calm? Does she not realize that this is bound to end when somebody gets hurt? Could an eye not be poked out here? Continue reading →

Why is it So Hard Sending Kids off to Camp

The other day I got my first letter from my son. It was signed thus: “Mom, I love you sooooo much. Let’s keep in touch.”

Really? Let’s keep in touch? Shall we, shall we do that? Hmmm?

I don’t know where he learned that particular sign-off or if someone told him to write KIT (Keep in touch) at the end of each letter and he decided to formalize it, but the “Let’s” is really the kicker, huh?

You see, “Keep in Touch” as a phrase is simple.  It implies that the other person should write often. “Let’s keep in touch” implies that he’s decided to move out or that we’ve just run into each other at the mall after years apart and one of us needs to run off because a cute outfit in the just caught our eye.

Brunette says, Let's Keep in Touch. Blond says, Not if you buy that sweater vest!


Let’s Keep in Touch says:

“You know, it’s so easy to lose touch these days, let’s not let that happen to us.”

“Hearing from you was so nice, why don’t we make a real effort to keep each other up to date and not let too long of a span go by.”

“I’ve always enjoyed you, I don’t want to let our distance tear us apart, if we can help it.”

Well, gosh darn’it, I will keep in touch. I know, easier said than done, but I mean it. I know you will too, because the rent on your new apartment won’t come cheap and I don’t think they accept stars.

Summer Trend Report : How to be a Chic Mom

In my latest assignment, I sat down with Andrew Taylor the director of a major company that just totally revamped to find out what’s hip for summer.  Wanna know?  You gotta watch:

http://youtu.be/NvgS39SkWhA

What’s your favorite trend for summer?

No One is Immune to Peek-a-Boo | Jenny From the Blog

Jenny From the Blog goes beyond any beauty pageant hopeful in the question/answer portion and not only strives for World Peace she finds a means to achieve it.  Please, hold your Pulitzers until you’ve read the piece.

Today, I was in a crappy mood.  I walked into Starbucks, as is my routine, with a sluggish gait knowing it would take my half-caf grande, no fat, no foam latte to remotely tackle my morning.  When I entered I realized 22 other people had the same thought and my crappy mood got exponentially worse.  An acquaintance two people ahead of me foolishly tried to make chit chat, which I quickly put a stop to with my terse responses.  Don’t try to talk to me right now lady, I’m pissy and I haven’t had my coffee.

 

Frankly, there should be a rule that no one talk to you in the morning coffee line, because we’re all in the same boat (barely awake and coffee-less.)  Unfortunately, the person in front of me did not get that memo or maybe she did, but she couldn’t read it because she was approximately 1 year old.

She was also being carried by her mother and therefore facing me directly.  The one thing about lines that you can usually count on is that people face front in anticipation of their turn, which means less talk.  Kind of like the way people stare at the doors of the elevator until it’s their floor.

It would be odd to have someone facing you in an elevator… and this was my current situation.

 

 

 

Sure, she was cute.  She had fiery red curls and sweet blue eyes.  But she wouldn’t break me, uh uh.  I was not smiling for anyone and some baby was not about to change that, even if she flashed me her own 4 tiny, little toothed smile.  Then out of nowhere she started laughing this adorable little giggle.  Clearly, she sensed my disdain and was taunting me.

Puhlease Baby, you think you’re soooo cute don’t you?  But not to me, uh uh.  I’m in a bad mood and your precious, I mean dumb little laugh does nothing for me… NOTHING. But this baby was not giving up; she was relentless in her torture.  She cooed and ooed and ahhed, but I would not crack.  It was my will against hers and I would win.  Finally, in defeat she buried her head in her mom’s shoulder.

Ha, Ha Baby, I’m the winner, yes I am… Wait, what’s that?  What’s she doing now? She popped her head back up and put her hands over her eyes, she wasn’t cowering as I had hoped; she was playing peek-a-boo. Nooooo, not peek-a-boo.

She opened her hands to show me her eyes and I clenched my fist ready to weather the storm.  “Peek-a-boo,” escaped from my mouth before I could reel the words back in.  She giggled and next thing you know I had my hands over my own eyes.  Then she giggled, then I giggled, then I smiled like a big pile of mush.  She was working me like a marionette.  Oh, she was smug one… cooeing and flashing her 4 tiny teeth.

My mood had picked up, even before gulping down my latte.  I wasn’t all daggers and evil thoughts, I was rainbows and unicorns.  Don’t judge me for crumbling.
No one and I mean NO ONE is immune to peek-a-boo.

In fact, I think we deal with the unrest in Libya and Egypt by sending cute little babies to the front lines.  What would enemy militia do if a Hummer pulled up and a bunch of babies trained in the art of peek-a-boo waddled out?  Hmmm?  Sure, you’ve probably been asked that before, but have ever given it any real thought?  What if we air dropped babies over enemy lines with their tiny little baby parachutes?  The campaign would be called “Drop Babies, Not Bombs.” Brillaint, right?  Sheesh, why do I have to come up with all the ideas? Gaddafi and Mubarak you better watch your step, chubby legged cooing babies with parachutes will be dropping in when you least expect it.

Okay, I’ll take my Pulitzer now.

For Other Articles I’ve Done on Hybrid Mom or to comment directly at their site: HYBRID MOM

COMMENT QUESTION:  Do You Got Any Better Ideas? and if not could I borrow your baby?

I’m Freakin’ June Cleaver Gosh Darn’it | Jenny From the Blog

Every once in a while you have a conversation that is that is so stereotypically female, it makes you wonder if things have truly changed that much. It also feels like you’ve unwittingly set women back a half century.

I had one of these conversations last night at a baseball practice, and the sad part?  It was so natural, I didn’t notice the irony until today.

It started with someone discussing her phobia of germy sponges.

spongebob sick

Other Mother: You don’t have to be afraid of them, when they get dirty you can just nuke ’em?

Me: I run mine in the dishwasher.

Spongephobe Mom: I’d NEVER use a sponge.

Spongephobe Mom (to us moms, who sat with our mouths agape at the idea of not using a sponge):  I don’t need a sponge. I just let my dishes soak in some hot water with JOY.
The above sentence, which really occured is the very reason the rest of my tête-à-tête with the team moms will include 1950s translation.

Other Mother (visibly shaken): What do you use… a paper towel?

50s translation: Don’t tell me you use paper towels?  They can rip and tear! Why, they’d never hold up to vigorous dish-washing.

 

Spongephobe Mom: Nope.

50s translation: I’m confident in the cleaning power of Joy.

 

Me to the Other Mother (accusingly — like an evangelist being told about evolution): I bet she’s scraping that crud off with your nails.

50s translation: That explains why her nails look so unkempt. (For that phrase to have the truest 50s effect, one would have to utter it in a loud whisper to other disapproving woman during a game of mahjong.)

 

Spongephobe Mom: Nope.

50s translation: Stop staring at my nails, gossip maven.

 

Me: But what if you sauté?

50s translation: How does it hold up to grease from deep frying?

 

Spongephobe Mom: No problem.

50s translation: It cuts right through the oily residue that frying can leave behind.

 

Me and Other Mother (in unison):  NO?!!!

50s translation:  Gasp?!!!

 

I nonchalantly inspected her hands for cracking and chaffing.

50s translation: “I bet your manicurist isn’t pleased with the way you do your dishes.” (Snicker snicker, then I would look to other girls for nods and implied high fives.)

 

Spongephobe Mom:  I only soak the dishes, not my hands, dumbass. (okay, in the actual conversation the dumbass was merely implied.)

50s translation:  Joy leaves my hands supple and soft, and it’s emollients condition as it cleans. Then she would look at my hands sitting in a bowl of what I thought was simply water and say, “You’re soaking in it.”

 

So that happened. I can’t take it back, in fact I wish I could just not have realized how trite the whole thing sounded a day after it happened. Let’s be honest, you’ve read my blog … I so rarely have cliche conversations, I’m due one every so often, no?

 

Isabella Rossellini is Doing Duck P*O*R*N — and I Like it

I’m witnessing a DuckRape.

Those were the words said to me this morning by my closest friend.

Her next words: “You have to come see this. It’s horrifying.”

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: Moving on, 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 schtup? Like they say, “there’s never a reason to miss ducks getting laid.” Wait, is that what they say?

howard the duck

I thought it would look something like this.


ducks mating

But it looked more like this.

 

Half hour later: HOLY CRAP!  First, let me explain that she wasn’t kidding or even exaggerating.  If you’ve ever seen Mallards or their cousins, the Muscovy ducks, mate – and frankly, who hasn’t – you’d know of what I speak. The drakes are like boys at a frat party gone wrong—very very wrong.  I swear one of them quacked, “No means Yes.”  Well, it was “Quack, Quack, Quack,” but he said it with the same intonation (He then shot-gunned a beer and smashed the can on his beak).

As I watched with disturbing fascination, these guys just pecked at the female, attacked each other, and took turns attacking the female until she relented.  It’s like my husband any Saturday night he doesn’t eat himself into a food coma. (So, like, once every couple of months.)

I walked up to the female, let’s call her Daisy, and said, “Look, I can get video of the whole thing.  This will definitely hold up in court, and we’re gonna see Donald behind bars in no time.  We’re talking heavy, metal, cage bars.  I’ll represent you if I have to.  I don’t think a duck trial would be too complex.  I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing like a kangaroo court.”

I took her lack of response to mean she didn’t trust my legal abilities. “Yeah, well, good luck getting a better lawyer.  Most of them are busy with Lindsey Lohan.  How about this – just let me call Florida Animal Control, and I’ll have him removed from the premises.”

This time, I took her lack of response to mean that I should give it a try.  She was also pinned to the ground, so I thought a bit of creative interpretation was called for.

Operator: Animal Control.  How can I help you?

Me:  Yes, I’ve witnessed a heinous crime in the animal kingdom, and I need you to come and remove the offender.

Oper:  Ma’am what are you talking about, do you have a gator?

Me:  No.  I have a rapist duck.

Oper:  What kind of duck is it?

Me:  Why does that matter?  Do you discriminate against certain types of ducks?

Oper:  Is this a serious call?

Me:  Yes. It’s a Muscovy duck.

Oper:  I’m sorry ma’am.  We don’t deal with animals that aren’t indigenous to Florida, and Muscovy is actually a breed from Mexico.

Me:  And you have a thing about Mexican Ducks?  What, do you think they’re taking all the jobs from American ducks or something?  How horrible, this poor duck crosses the boarder for a little clean agua, and next thing you know she’s flying with a fast crowd, a gang attacks her, and she has no recourse.  It’s just like West Side Story, but with less dancing.

west side story


Oper: Ma’am, I’m hanging up now.

Me: Wait, is there a Mexican Animal Embassy I could call?

Oper: Lady, that’s how ducks do it.

I especially love the operator’s last line because she was so serious throughout the conversation – calling me ma’am and such – even though it was said in an accent straight out of Deliverance. But she ended with “do it,” not “mate” or even “have sex.” I wanted to be like, heh… heh-heh, you said, “do it,” but she hung up too fast.

Beavis

So, I got directly into my car. I couldn’t even look Daisy in the eye, mainly because I promised to put her old man on Dragon Pearl’s menu, but also because she’s really ugly. Seriously, have you ever seen those Muscovy ducks? If there was a lesson to be learned from the “The Ugly Duckling,” it’s that people really do hate ugly ducks.

So, I got home and googled “DuckRape.” It didn’t say “Did you mean duct-tape?” No, it actually gave me pages of studies on duckrape and the forced copulation habits of ducks. But, this was my favorite find. This is what Isabella Rossellini is doing now: Yes, she actually says the line, “Ouch ouch, one of them is raping me… I don’t care.”  THIS VIDEO WILL LEAVE YOUR JAW ON THE GROUND… SERIOUSLY.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/player/bcpid1745093298?bckey=AQ~~,AAAAAGLt-No~,6QdLGNH5aG59AJPlSJdu6OKXtcxLbX9d&bctid=77813783001

 

Oh, that happened. You should know, you watched it. You sick perv, you.  Gives new meaning to “Fuck a Duck” right?

Who would have thought you’d be learning so much about duck sex today? Probably not you. And yet here you are, looking at a video of Isabella Rossellini’s duck vagina.

So what’s the message here? Don’t move to Florida if you’re an animal who’s not a native species. Maybe try California – they’re pretty liberal. We’ve also learned that ducks frequently get raped, but there’s no such thing as consent in the animal kingdom… so technically it isn’t rape.

PS thank goodness for the “no consent” thing. If animals could withhold consent I’d feel pretty guilty about eating them.

Oh, and lastly, the beautiful Isabella Rossellina is now doing animal porn.

If You Liked This Story, Pass it on.  Oh, and Check out:  I May Have Run Over an Elderly Gentleman While Driving Carpool… oops.

Is it Hard to Say NO to Your Kids? |Jenny’s Topics and Tips

This week in Jenny’s Momtourage Column, Jenny from the Blog asks: Why do I find it so hard to say “no” to my children when they clearly have no problem saying it to me? She also gives 5 tips to help any parent stand their ground. Good Luck! READ MORE


Are You a What Iffer? | Jenny from the Blog

Written By: Jenny From the Blog for HybridMom.com


Mark Twain once said, “I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” This week, Jenny from the Blog asks, “How many incidents do we fear as mothers?” “How much stress do we expend fearing them” and “Why is it so easy to be a What-iffer?”

Excerpt “…But, my mind was quick to figure out the real danger.  Nope, this was not a police issue and frankly those petty slap on the wrist repercussions didn’t concern me; this was an act of terrorists or at the very least the owners of the mall were going to blow up the parking lot in order to put up a Neiman Marcus.”

To read the full insanity of this piece and see if you know the feeling: CONTINUE READING

“Top 5” for NBC: Top 5 Energy Boosts for Parents

This weeks’ TOP 5 Segment. It’s not that moms are lazy, we’re just worn out… and rightfully so, we do it ALL! Here are the top 5 ways to put more spring in your step, more perk in your parenting, more wahoo in your work, and more hyperactivity in your homemaking! Okay the last one sucked, but you get the picture.

If it’s Not Meat in the Taco Bell Taco – What the Hell is it? | Seriously?

taco bell-bodyMaybe it makes me a bad parent, but a quick meal on the way to some after school activity or when we’re rushed is sometimes essential for my family.  I don’t have the time or the patience to force feed veggies that make my kids gag at every meal.  Nor do I have the skills to hide broccoli in brownies and cauliflower in cupcakes a la Missy Chase Lapine.  While all the moms at a playdate are talking about processed cheese stuffs and how they would never go to McDonald’s, I’m worrying there is evidence of a recent visit in my car and hoping no one needs a ride. Continue reading →