Filed under: Mom issues
find the article at http://www.suburbanjungle.net/nose-picking
Filed under: Mom issues
Read the article at http://www.suburbanjungle.net
Filed under: Daily grind, Husbands, Marriage issue, Mom issues, Neurotic Mommy, city life, comedy, cookie magazine, humor, mommy blog, parent issues, parenting, parody | Tags: blogger, Cardiologist, funny, good housekeeping magazine, humor blog, mommy blog, parenting, parody, thirty something, writer
In the ongoing saga of low blood pressure I found myself at the cardiologist 4 times last week.
Day One: Upon arriving it does not take a carni age guesser to know that I am at least a hundred years younger than the rest of the crowd. I am also in the minority, that is not connected to an iv or oxygen tank.
The truth is I happen to be in a rush and would selfishly love to be the first in, but selflessly, I don’t want to go in before any one of these people who could clearly use a once over and someone to check for a pulse. As I am unsettled by this thought, a woman drags herself in the door and up to the window, “I am having chest pains unlike anything I have ever felt. I don’t have an appointment, but can I see my Doctor?” As it turns out she takes my appointment and thankfully so, as poor Estelle is sitting across from me clutching her heart and breathing erratically. I proactively position myself directly parallel so that I can catch her if necessary.
Nurse: “Morty”
As they come out calling for other people, I’m thinking please call in Estelle before she codes.
Nurse 2: “Estelle”
Nurse 1: “Phil”
Nurse 2: “Bea”
Nurse 1: “Saul”
The receptionist who is joking with all the patients as if it might be there last day, pokes her head out, “Mr. Dale are you gonna give me any more trouble today young man? Oh, and Mrs. Isenman, he’s getting to you.“
“I’ve been here over an hour is that normal?“
“Nope, he’s usually right on time, but there was a problem with the patient before you and we’ve already had an ambulance here once this morning and it‘s only 10 0‘clock“
Nurse 3: “Joan”
Mark calls to see how the appointment went.
“I’m still waiting.“
“Oh, you are? You filling out all the medical forms or are you just waiting to be called?“
“No Mark, they’re ready for me, I’m just so thrown by these forms. So many tough questions, like my name and my age. Then there are some real zingers like my SSN. It’s like taking the SAT’s all over again. They’re begging me to finish up and I’m trying to convince them that I’m eligible for the untimed version.
Nurse 2: “Sandy”
Look I know he’s trying. I know he was hoping I would be out so he could check it off his ‘things to remember list’ and I know he asked that ridiculous question because he wants to seem caring, but I can’t help myself sometimes.
Nurse 1: “Jenny”
By now the hypoglycemia that they found last week during my 5 hr. glucose test is acting up and the nurse goes to get me an apple juice, that they have for “such occasions.” “Thanks, but really there’s no need to make such a fuss.” Did I really say that? See what an hour and a half out there did to me? “By the way how is Estelle?”
Nurse: “Who?”
The cardiologist Dr. Seth was, thank goodness not what I was expecting. He was a referral from my, ‘roll your own’ Jamaican Dr. and I was thinking Seth might just be his first name, and that he may or may not have a surf board and that he may or may not have a medical license. Luckily, he was Arcaad Seth, an Indian gentleman. Look, I saw “Slumdog,” so I had a birds eye view into his upbringing. As it turned out my knowledge of him being part of a panhandling ring of blind singers did little for our deeper connection, as he robotically set me up for a series of tests to rule out the possibilities and sternly warned me not to drive much saying, “You could hit a school bus filled with children.“
“Thank you for that. Just telling me would not have been enough. Did the past 30 minutes with me not give you any indication that I have some excessive worrying issues?”
Wow, and that was just day one.
Filed under: Daily grind, Husbands, Marriage issue, Mom issues, Neurotic Mommy, Weekly Column, Wit, comedy, cookie magazine, humor, mommy blog, parent issues, parenting, parody, women's humor | Tags: children, comedy, cookie, funny, good housekeeping, humor, low blood pressure, magazine, mommy blog, motherhood, parent, parenting, parody
Yesterday’s post was short and sweet, well that may not be the right word, let’s call it upsetting. Apparently, some people were concerned about the spousal abuse I am inflicting on my husband. Let me clarify, I do not throw objects at Mark very often, ever really, except apparently the occasional dull mini cracker; which by the way, he is perfectly capable of defending himself against.
The actual argument was over a little thing I like to call, my new rug. Don’t take that the wrong way, this is not about a Brazilian wax job. Anyone who knows me is aware of my mentally unstable cutting phase. Yes, I used to cut. I cut my beautiful shag carpet from its original 16×24 down to a 2×3 welcome mat. My last dog and one of my true loves, Buddy, got very old and equally incontinent. Look, as someone who pees a little each time I laugh, thanks to childbirth, a fallen cervix, and episiotomies, I have sympathy for the “incontinent,” but not so much when they pee on my rug. Buddy peed many too many times on that rug and so I got me a razor knife and went to town cutting out each pee. The odd angles made it look like a jigsaw puzzle and my family and friends, fearing for my sanity, held an intervention. So, I pulled up my welcome mat and retired my razor.
We then had this cold hard ceramic tile floor in our family room. My kids played on it, bumped their heads on it, road their bikes on it, skinned their knees on it, and at night we all cuddled on it to watch American Idol. Then we peeled our sweaty legs off it to get in bed.
I finally gave in and bought a beautiful, currently discontinued, area rug with a link pattern from William Sonoma. The rug I describe is the very one that was being eaten by my new puppy on my husband’s first day alone with him. A day in which I reminded him repetitively, to his dismay, “to be with the puppy at all times or have him in the crate.” A day in which I forgot my pocketbook and returned a mere 20 minutes later to find my husband asleep in the bedroom and my puppy having a pricey wool link pattern sandwich. A day in which even after the incident he swore it was, “no big deal” and that I’d, “probably do the same thing.” I can’t get mad at the dog, he’s just a puppy and puppies chew. Does the same rule apply to Mark because he’s just a husband and husbands are frustrating asses? Nah, I still have faith in men.
So, please don’t worry about Mark. I say he got off easy under the circumstances… next time I find something harder than puffed crackers, like Swedish fish or something sharper like pita chips!
Filed under: Daily grind, Helpful Tip, Mom issues, Wit, celeb moms, cookie magazine, slice of life | Tags: childrens birthday humor, family meals, latex balloons, money tips, motherhood, parenting, saving money, starbucks discount, the man
Before the NASDAQ bubble of 1999 popped, I used to be the Man. Now in light of current economic conditions, I am getting joy out of sticking it to him. This money consciousness is not new to me. As an ex-personal shopper for the very wealthy, I know the importance of finding a bargain; because shockingly no one dislikes parting with money more than those who have it.
It probably seems obvious that in these rough financial waters I should stop buying coffee at Starbucks and make it home for 1/100th the cost, but I say “nay.” And I rarely say “nay,” unless I’m singing Old MacDonald. Like you, I am addicted to Starbucks, and fear what vice I might take up in it’s absence. Cocaine? Gambling? Cat juggling? Who’s to say? Therefore, I will continue to give Starbucks my hard earned dough and vow to bankrupt them with my ever popular “Ghetto Latte.” It requires two, I mean dopio, shots of espresso and a grande cup of ice. I add milk and voila, iced grande latte for half the price.
Unfortunately, the staff at Starbucks is trained to look for such wily money saving tactics, so if you plan on ordering this drink the barista may warn you and then the manager may ban you a week later, hypothetically speaking of course. I mean, I wouldn’t know this for sure. I am just guessing at how they might crack down on “ghetto lattes” or filling your baby’s bottle from the fixin’s bar, when you just happen to be in the neighborhood, every 3 hours.
Last week I had my daughters 4th birthday. I spent hundreds maybe thousands of dollars on balloons from Oriental Trading. I had a ton of latex pinks, purples and lavenders, plus, mylar balloons in the shapes of cell phones, life sized Bratz dolls, purses, lipsticks, and diaphragms (you know, “girlie” stuff.)
The supermarket charges a dollar per latex and two per mylar, to blow them up. “It seems a bit much for air. Last year they didn’t charge me at all,” I said hoping to strike up a deal. “You’re right, but the price is the price.” “I do have quite a lot of balloons here,” I nudged on, still trying to negotiate. “Maim, this price hike came down from corporate. I can’t change it for you.”
I knew he wouldn’t budge, by the tone of his voice. It was like a chipmunk. Apparently, he found it amusing to take a drag from the tank before putting his foot down. This is an example of the “Man” high on power. That’s right I called the guy who works the helium tank the “Man.”
So do you know what I did? I bought that air and then the next day when I went to throw away the latex balloons that last all of 97 minutes. I cut the ribbon off each one and put it with my gift-wrapping stuff. That’s right, I showed him. The next time I have to wrap a present, no larger than a 6 inch square, for a little girl or effeminate boy, he’ll be sorry. Of course, the disposal of my non-Earth friendly latex balloons will sit in some landfill for 200 years decomposing, and most likely end up choking a baby seagull. But, I will think of the birthday girl’s smile, and lay guiltlessly on my seagull down pillows.
Now your thinking this girl is so brilliant it’s scary, or maybe you’re just plain scared. However, my most genius strike at the “Man” happened today. I was making eggs for my daughter this morning and one was yucky inside. One brown organic, cage free, extra omega egg that probably cost about fifteen bucks. That’s a ballpark figure, but I think I’m close. I would never feed such an egg to my daughter, and my husband wasn’t around, so I did the next smartest thing. I went in my yard and planted it. That’s right, and soon I will grow a chicken tree. Before, you know it I’ll be out there, on a crisp 95degree Florida autumn morning, picking chickens. Then I’ll have all the eggs in the WORLD!!! Who will have the last cluck then “Man”? Who?
Filed under: Daily grind, Mom issues, Neurotic Mommy, Wit | Tags: Add new tag, desperate housewife, housewife, mommy blog, moving, new post, parents
I’m outta here. I’ve moved to the new SUBURBAN JUNGLE http://www.suburbanjungle.net . It’s new and improved with 33% more content, FREE. Reading it will make you softer and shinier or your money back. Thank you for checking in or for whatever link sent you to this (my old crappy site). Please take the extra step to go to the new site and when you get there don’t forget to bookmark it or follow the feed or subscribe for email notifications or whatever other ingenious technique the internet world has thought of to make me sound like more of an ass.
For all you chic parents who want to be in the know, now is the time. Soon the new site will be so big your window for being able to say, “I knew her when’” will be closed. We all know you’ll be kicking yourself then. Also, be aware that if you do not make the switch I will be talking about you at parties, playdates, and the multitude of important celebrity functions I am invited to on a regular basis.
Thanks and see you at http://suburbanjungle.net soon!
Jenny
Filed under: It's Hard In the Jungle, Jake The Snake, Life in the Jungle, Mom issues, Neurotic Mommy, Ryan The Lion, Weekly Column, Why I'm Insane | Tags: cleaning, cleaning the house, comedy bit, desperate housewives, hire a cleaning lady, Hogan bags, house hold tips, housekeeping, humor column, Love Quotes scarves, mommy blog, nanny, should I hire a nanny
Well, I’ve gotten a lot of emails asking me why I haven’t posted lately.
Why?
Because I’ve spent the last week cleaning my house.
Why?
Because my everyday tidier/laundry doer/Mother’s helper, Danay got a job in a physical therapist’s office.
Why?
Because she went to college and got a real degree before coming to this country and finding out that her only job options were maid, nanny, or grocery bagger.
Why?
Because in America if you don’t speak perfect English you must be unintelligent, even though most of us don’t speak nearly as much of a foreign language as any foreigner does of our’s.
Why?
Because we’re lazy, which is the same reason I hate to clean.
I remember the days before I found this woman… I cleaned a lot! In fact, I could not do anything else around my house until I felt it was clean. I would clean in the morning, watch my kids immediately undo my work, and then clean the same stuff all over again. Each time I was amazed at how long it took to clean and how quickly it became undone.
I had to make up fascinating “cleaning games” to justify not spending time playing Nerf dart tag, or doing spin art like the “good Mommies” did. Our play was much more educational… I honed Jake’s eye for detail and fine motor skills: “Jake, let’s see if you can match the socks and roll them neatly into pairs.” I knew Jake was a true genius the day he found matches for the 23 mateless socks. I taught Ryan about the nuances of tone and hue. “Ryan, which colors are dark and which are light? Ryan, that shirt may be white, but the stripes are red, that’s a major oversight on your part. I hope you weren’t hungry cause that just cost you dinner.”
I considered asking Mark for help, but the truth was to watch him try and clean could send us straight to divorce court. He would say, “Just do it once a day, why waste your time?” Which, by the way, is the same argument he has for oral hygiene, so who could listen to him? If you want the job done right i.e. your way… you have to do it yourself.
I couldn’t delegate because I was always too disappointed in the way someone would load my dishwasher. Loading a dishwasher takes serious problem solving skills and visual prowess; done correctly, it is an algorithm of perfectly fitting pieces with not a single one to spare. Okay, I’m beginning to sound pathetic, but some of you actually get what I’m saying. You know who you are, you’re the ones thinking “Please, my dish loading could kick your ass…Bitch! Well you know what I say? “Bring it!”
I was so vehemently against having help because I was sure it would reflect on some inability to be a good Mother/Housewife (a title I never thought I would covet the way that I do). I also convinced myself that having help would weaken my right to be a martyr. However, my need to have “a life” and to resent my husband less won out, and I hired someone.
After a single day I felt like screaming “FREEDOM” while swooshing down a mountain with a cool breeze on my face, or into a deep echoing canyon while blowing my Ricola horn, but alas Florida is flat. So I traipsed into the swamp, I mean lake, in our back yard and screamed at the top of my lungs. Unfortunately, it was “Alligator!” and not “Freedom!” but I feel my point was made. As soon as I zigzagged back into my house, I considered all of my options: Grocery shop, get Starbucks with a friend, shop for my kids, get a mani/pedi, shop for myself, go to the gym, shop for my husband, get Starbucks again, or return things from the last time I shopped. My days were filled with endless monotony and it was exciting. My afternoons were completely open. I could do all kinds of things while my daughter napped- shop, return things, get Starbucks… When my son got home we played Nerf dart tag and did spin art.
Each day I returned to a neat and straightened house, with clean clothes and an organized pantry. I began saying things like, “You know, I don’t care if you rearrange my drawers, whatever is easier for you.” I had to make phone calls to find out where my Love Quotes scarves and my new yellow Hogan bag were, and I reveled in it. I finally got bored with the exciting monotony and decided I would have to do something to distract me from shopping. I tried chewing gum. No luck. I tried the patch, but spent hours trying to find the perfect designer patch on the best sale. I read books by Dr. Oz, and Dr. Drew, and Dr. Phil. I even read a lovely memoir by Dr. J. to no avail.
So I decided to write again. Three weeks after, I felt reborn and my Amex felt dejected, jumping out of my bag anytime we so much as drove past a retail store. It would even put extra groceries in my cart when I walked over to the meat counter. My Amex wasn’t the only one let down. A week later Danay told me a friend called to offer her a job at a physical therapist’s office. I said, “Are you kidding me? Who do you expect to do my laundry, clean the kitty litter, the dog pee, the garage… me? I had that job once, it sucked!” Luckily, when I talk fast she doesn’t understand a word and I slowly said “You have to take it, congratulations!” and gave her a huge hug. She still comes like 5hrs a week because in her own words “I’ll keep helping you out, you need me.” Apparently, she’s never seen me load a dishwasher, but If you don’t tell I won’t. So the short answer to the question “Why haven’t you posted in a week: 5hrs just don’t cut it.”
P.S. If anyone knows anyone… I’m looking.
Filed under: Buddy the wonderdog, Daily grind, It's Hard In the Jungle, Jake The Snake, Mom issues, My Insanity, Neurotic Mommy, Weekly Column, city life, dog lovers, everyday rituals, parenting, slice of life, suburban jungle | Tags: bar mitzvah, cookie magazine, dog lovers, dogs, dogs life, family pet, humane society, kids and pets, mommy blog, parenting, parenting advice, putting dog to sleep, redbook, yellow lab
Buddy, my dog, my first born, is 15. I got him my sophomore year and as my dad says getting him was the best purchase this shopahollic ever made. He put up with the craziness of college, people coming and going at all hours often blowing odd substances in his face.
He endured the lean years when I boycotted toys because he ate and pooped them all out. Unfazed, he adorably brought me pieces of slobbery lint and coughed them up in front of me wagging his tail so that I would try to throw one. Then he would retrieve it (though wet lint doesn’t travel far) as if it was the best ball in the world and enthusiastically continue the cycle.
He survived eating an entire bag of blowpops which came out the other end like taffy that had to be pulled and pulled, by hand to get out. A job I handed off to my then roommate as I was late for work. I should say SHE survived that one. (Seeing as she is currently my closest friend, she barely holds a grudge. Though she hasn’t been able to look at a piece of gum since.)
He out-lived his long time love; a very attractive and preppy bean bag pillow who he constantly abused after sex, by biting her and swinging her vigorously from side to side. Then he would ignore her till there next rendezvous. Hmm… sounds like one of my exes. One fateful day he bit too hard and when he swung her, she profusely bled itty-bitty styrofoam balls. For weeks he somberly attempted to meet for trysts but she was a shell of the booty call she once was, and eventually we buried her… in the trash. He tried to date other pillows but I think for him, they could never compare.
He withstood living with my dad who for a month forced him to wear a girly Israeli flag bandana that read SHALOM. My dad would take him to dog-runs hoping to attract the right king of bitch. Unfortunately, Buddy technically male, but snipped at birth, had some tendencies and enjoyed other dogs balls a little too much. But, my dad never wavered in his love, saying only, “As long as he’s Jewish.”
He won over my husband who raised with cats, swore Buddy would never move in with us, only to find himself as in love as anyone else whose path Buddy ever crossed. And when he moved to NYC he adapted to the concept of grassless pooping and even got used to the salt lined streets that sent him into a crying limp until I could find a patch of snow to pack up under his paw for relief.
He tolerated my son Jake who quickly stole the limelight making our once Golden Child feel like a dog for the very first time. He took it in such stride that he became body guard to this little human that was pulling his tail and trying to ride him like a pony. In 2006 he had a proper Bark Mitzvah with brunch, candle-lighting and thirty in attendance. (Picture included). He barked through his haftorah so beautifully that had Randy Jackson been there he would have said “Yo, Dog, dat was the bomb.”
Now he is 106 and pees and poops so much that I spent a month cutting a gorgeous 20×16 shag rug. Everyday razoring out another chunk till it was a sorry 2×3 backdoor mat. He pants like a sex caller throughout the night, and requires being let out what feels like every 27 minutes. He trips out the door without fail and then spryly bounces back in like this perfect beautiful puppy. In moments of spunkiness he laps my pool table like a greyhound over and over and over and over. He is deaf and mostly blind though he can still read lips. He walks on a tilt because of a herniated hip and often completely loses footing as his legs uncontrollably spread eagle beneath him. And if you are carrying food he’ll take your arm off to get it. Unless you say “easy,” then his jaw quivers so gently, he could remove a tic tac without touching skin.
Every morning when I wake the first thing I do is look at him asleep so sweet, like horse that has fallen sideways. Then I look at his stomach for rise and fall. I am morbidly hoping that he has gone peacefully in his sleep so that I will never be confronted with the other option. My father asked where I will have him buried when he goes. A pet cemetery is too creepy. The truth is I’m one of those crazy people who think, maybe I could just have him stuffed. Not like eyes open greeting you at the front door kind of stuffed. You know asleep in a ball chin on paws kind of thing. But then I imagine my cleaning lady having to dust him and like Rosie from the Jetsons raising him over her head to vacuum underneath and I think maybe just an urn will do.
Filed under: Marriage issue, Mom issues, Neurotic Mommy, comedy, everyday rituals, mommy blog, parent issues, slice of life | Tags: Add new tag, comedy bit, humor column, Jon stewart, mommy blog, mommy blogger, Rod Stewart, sara silverman, sex in the city
Yesterday 253 people visited my blog, which is a personal triumph for me considering my stats the day before were 3. So I thought now would be a good time to introduce you to the blog. Blog…People, People…Blog. Now that the formalities are out of the way I’ll tell you a bit about what to expect from Blog.
I am a neurotic mother of two amazing, wonderful, brilliant, perfect children which is saying a lot ‘cause I am a really tough critic. They have to sing for their supper kinda stuff… well at least ask… well at least grunt. Actually, they just sit and I make multiple meals until one is worthy of their sophisticated taste buds and doesn’t exacerbate their fear of burnt spots, crust, pizza bubbles, or food that touches other food. I live in a sheltered little suburb which I like to compare to the Truman Show. The bikers travel in perfectly dressed packs and the runners never sweat; they’re all just on a loop.
Most likely you’ll find that you and I are a lot alike. I have a husband who’s often little more than a roommate (a great roommate that pays the rent and supports my shopping habit). However, to earn such moola he commutes an hour to North Boca leaving at 5:30AM and arriving home between 7 and 8 in the evening. We get less than an hour a day to talk, most of which I spend nagging or just plain in awe of his ineptitude and suckiness. “I love you Monkey!” But seriously wait till you read some of the stuff he does.
Like you I have crazy neighbors who do lovely things like leave anonymous letters in my mailbox and ask that my child’s carpool not beep in the morning as their older children like to sleep in. Like you I have crazy friends who are teetering on divorce, having affairs, start pourin’ the Mommy juice at noon, or act like they’re still in the 7th grade. Like you I have cellulite begging me to stop wearing short shorts, laugh lines screaming for restylane, crows feet crying for botox, and spend far too much money trying to look dewy. You and I have a Cinderella complex, penis envy, and buyers remorse. G-d we have a lot of problems don’t we? Let’s just take a quick break to call our therapists.
This blog is about all of the above plus daily observations about all those mundane little things that given a little attention seem odd and humorous; like repeating a simple word when you’re high until it loses all meaning. Please, if you haven’t taken the time to read the other posts do so and leave your email on my subscribe link to get notification of new posts. Welcome to the JUNGLE!
Love,
Jenny
P.S. If you like what you read please pass a link to every person you have ever emailed in your life. Also, I am offering a sizable reward for great contacts towards my goal of getting a column or freelance work. If I already owe you money, “The check’s in the mail.”
Filed under: Daily grind, Mom issues, Wit, comedy, everyday rituals, parody, women's humor | Tags: Add new tag, dental floss, healthy teeth, humor, oral hygeine, to do lists
In case I have not made it clear I am a serious hypochondriac, but can’t seem to find the time to worry. That may be a good thing. Unfortunately, I also don’t often find the time to shower, eat, or have an intellectual conversation with my husband (that might not be a time thing). And now this comes up and kicks me right in the teeth. If we as a nation don’t start to floss, the outlook is pretty grim.
In the past two weeks alone I think I have read like 15 articles about flossing, and an entire chapter in my required Dr. Oz reading. It seems that flossing can not only cause the ever dreaded gingivitis which I am already up countless nights worrying about but, it can harm your teeth, your heart, your arteries, your lungs and one article may have claimed it could harm your cat. (Unless I misunderstood it, which I doubt.)
We’re really being inundated with the flossing thing? It shows up in every one of those keep healthy/young/skinny/sane/better than everyone else, kind of lists. Its like:
1. Don’t smoke 2. Don’t drink excessively 3. Floss Daily 4. Don’t commit murder 5. Don’t covet thy neighbor’s wife. Not always in that order, but you get my drift.
The whole to-do has made me increasingly fearful of not flossing. Each night as I drag my tired ass into the bathroom to wash up, I look down and there it is right next to my sonicare, ominously staring up at me. The box practically opening and shutting puppet-like begging me “Don’t forget me…I’ll be the end of you…I’m mint flavored/waxed…think about your heart, your gums, your cat!” It’s the same every night. “Tomorrow,” I say “I promise tomorrow.” Why something so simple seems so hard, so time consuming, so dorky… I do not know. All I’m saying is that I am going to floss everyday from now on, starting tomorrow.
Filed under: Daily grind, Mom issues, Neurotic Mommy, Weekly Column, Wit, city life, women's humor | Tags: Add new tag, comedy bit, humor, humor column, korean nails, manicure, Mom issues, mommy blog, mommy blogger, New York city life, pedicure, relaxation, satuday night live, sketch comedy, slice of life, spas, spoof, women humor
So I am finally getting a long overdue pedicure. This current span has been about 2 months or 68 days, but who’s counting? I like to let the nails grow unattractively long in the true spirit of martyrdom. Then I wear sandals and constantly draw attention to how badly I need a pedicure, by saying things like “How badly do I need a pedicure?”
The trick is to go as infrequently as possible and only surrender when your nails split and a jagged edge pulls threads in your sheets, thereby making a 3 AM roll over feel like chewing on metal. Most importantly do not, under any circumstance, remove the polish. This way you have undeniable proof of your hectic schedule. It implies that your “me time” is so sparse that you don’t even have enough to simply wet a cotton ball.
Today I arrived with the red so far at the tip it looked as if I was starting a new trend in French pedicure. Sarabeth, whose real name is Choi Jae Hua, or Yi Hae-Won or something else I can’t pronounce, looks at my feet with a “Tsk.” “I know it’s been a long time,” I say with the joy of squeezing in one last sympathizer. Then she looks up at me and asks if I am aware there is a Pokemon sticker on the bottom of my foot. “Oh, my son was looking for that, if only it were so easy to find my keys.” She then asks if it’s okay to remove it. “Well if you can’t work around it.” I’m not sure if she can hear me; my chair is set on high-multifunction-10. Its “Human Hand” technology is loudly knocking me out of my seat while it heats my tush, vibrates my thighs, froths milk for my cappuccino, and sorts my mail.
I lie, well shimmy, back trying to enjoy my favorite part, the massage. I can’t seem to relax. I am so keenly aware of every left over scrub granule that is kneaded into my legs. Worse, I can sense her daydreaming of the family she has left behind and I’m sure she’s totally resenting me for not shaving, detesting America for making her touch feet, and cursing her boss for making today “$20 Tuesday.” I finally start to relax as she coincidentally realizes she has massaged long enough. She halts to do the required Korean calf knocking, which she follows with the “Ten Toe Pop” event. She’s seems let down when she can’t get a good snap out of the last two toes (not unlike that annoying handshake of the mid-nineties).
“Okay, pick you color” she says pointing to the wall. I can’t decide between “After Sex” or a hue one shade darker, “3 Bottles of Whine.” I don’t understand why all the colors are sexual innuendos. In the end I go with “Popped Cherry,” which is a medium shade of…well, you get the picture. I spend most of the polish application staring at the tranquil paintings of nude women relaxing on furniture. The woman in the painting across from me appears to be giving herself a breast exam on a plush sofa.
I decided to heighten my relaxation by purchasing a 10 minute massage. I swiftly wriggle myself into the pretzel seat after viewing a short video demonstration by Cirque De Soleil. Then she literally beats the tension out of me. “Excuse me Sarabeth, that knot you’re trying to knead out, I think that’s bone.” She ignores me as she does not recognize the sound of her own name. No matter, she manages to pummel it smooth regardless. Then she grabs my wrists, pulls my arms back and relentlessly yanks trying to crack my shoulder blades. She ends with vigorous karate chopping to the back of my neck. Sarabeth then signals someone, and an EMT rushes in with the Jaws of Life to free me from the chair. I walk away totally relaxed, one arm carelessly dangling from the socket. No worries. I’m sure it’s nothing an good orthopedist can’t fix. Why do my attempts at tension release always seem to stress me out?
Filed under: Ryan The Lion, Weekly Column, cartoon characters, comedy, humor, mommy blog, parody, spoof | Tags: angelina Joli, blue's clues, cartoon characters, celebrity gossip, childrens television, comedy, dora the explorer, gossip magazines, mommy blogger, mommy nlog, nickalodean, parenting issues, payhouse disney, scooby do, spoof, us weekly, Wit
I was watching the Oscars the other night which as everyone knows is the Super Bowl for women and gay men across the globe. Unlike real sports, the best part of Oscar night is the pregame. I had them all Tivoed: E!’s red carpet with Ryan Seacrest, Network with a cameo by Ryan Seacrest, and TV Guide’s Joan and family where Ryan Seacrest is actually a cousin (by marriage). I had shamefully missed the original airing and was trying to watch the next morning, hoping that I wouldn’t be disturbed. What could be worse than accidentally catching a glimpse of my NY Post which would surely have the night’s biggest upset under a very clever play on words? My daughter, who is obsessed with anything princess, is running around the house in my shoes and begging to play.
I envision the start of what could potentially be my favorite yearly ritual and sat her on my lap. “Look Ryan, look at all those princesses.” She was unimpressed and within minutes was bored to tears, literally. Well she is 3.
“Mommy put on the Backyardigans,” she chants bouncing up and down on my ottoman. So off went the pre-show and on came those imaginative little animals who I think are supposed to live in low income housing, or at the very least something government subsidized. Like them, I begin to create a whole different world. A world where they are going to an awards show, a show for the celebs of the under 5 set, a gala of epic proportions.
“Hello I’m Leo here with June of the Little Einstein’s, and welcome to the Red Carpet of the annual Toony Awards. Unfortunately, my sister Annie is with Rocket and Cooper Anderson in the Gobi Desert. I’m told they’re singing baba waba Osama to Beethoven’s 9th, in a bunker that strangely resembles Salvador Dali’s “The Persistence of Memory” picture of melting clocks. Quincy is not here because he is attending a rally for “Out” magazine. Not that an effeminate black male who plays multiple instruments including the flute, piccolo, and triangle has to be gay, he’s just exploring his options.
But we are on a very important mission right here in Orlando Florida, cartoon capital of the world. Let’s check in on June who is with the cast of Blue’s Clues.”
“Hi Joe, I want to ask what is on everyone’s mind… What are you wearing?”
“I have on an green on green striped tuxedo by Ralph Lauren purple label.
Side Table drawer is wearing a runner from Isaac Mizrachi for Target and a vintage Tiffany lamp.”
“Well she is truly glowing. Let me ask you, is your acceptance speech written in your handy dandy notebook?”
“It actually is, and the notebook was encrusted by Judith Leiber to look like a handbag.”
“Fabulous may I see it?… I see a crying boy in a monochromatic shirt, a can of gasoline, and a pack of matches. Hmm these clues can be so hard to decipher. Leo back to you”
“Well it looks like another banner year for the Latinos. Regretfully, Handy Manny will not be able to make it due to a citizenship issue however, he did build the stage. Dora is up for best actress in a series over-using the word “aaabre”. She appears to be solomente. This is a smart call after last year’s awkward celebratory french kiss with her cousin Diego, and that highly disturbing make-out session with her pet monkey, Boots. June do you have any celebs over there?”
“I am watching the Mystery Mobile drive up, and what an entrance. Shaggy, Scooby and what looks like the Harlem Globetrotters have appeared like magic out of a huge puff of smoke. They seem to be heading this way however, it may take some time as there legs are spinning, but they are actually not moving…Ah welcome fellas today must be very exciting.”
“Reah, reah, rexciting.”
“Hey, like do you have any snacks, we’ve like got the munchies.”
“Reah, runchies.”
“I actually do not, try the E! booth they don’t pay that vampire Seacrest the big bucks for nothin’. Hey Leo, getta load of that clown walking down the carpet.”
“Yes June there’s JoJo and right behind her are the Disney princesses, who as you probably heard spearheaded a recent movement forcing cartoonists to draw underwear on all characters. This of course is in response to circulating internet pictures of a fully plucked Daisy Duck exiting a Limo on her way to Minnie Mouse’s 2 weeks Jack free celebration… Monterey Jack, that is.
Let’s ponder that while I send it back to June and the cast of Rugrats.”
“Hi, Tommy and Angelina Pickles, your show is up for their holiday special “Santa Woks” is that a cooking show?”
“No, I have a wittle twouble tawking… I’m 1.”
“I see, well as you probably know you are one of the only Jewish cartoon families ever drawn aside from the short lived series “Moisha and the Shiksa.” And here you are nominated for a Christmas special. Angelica, don’t you feel it’s your responsibility to be role models to young Jewish children and to break stereotypes?”
“We took our image very seriously as we calculated the estimated earnings of “Santa Woks” vs. our original script “2000 years of Bondage.” Which by the way we are producing, but in another film genre. We just signed Ron Jeremy on to play Moses’s staph”
“Well I’m sure Quincy will want to check that out. Leo back to you.”
“Everyone is still waiting to see if Barney will walk the red carpet. He has been rather elusive after rare footage was released on UTube of him purveying fire whiskey to minors and singing “I love you, you love me” to Callou, Little Bear, and Oswald during a raucous sleepover. This ended in the wee hours of the morning after they allegedly took turns riding Thomas the Train.”
“Well thats our time…Leo OUT!”
