Category Archives: comedy

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

Who Would NOT Wanna be a MILF?

Double sigh
I fear this story may mean I’ve earned cougar stripes (or should I say spots?).  I mean, there was no official “welcome to the club,” but I find myself wearing more animal print spandex, my gel nails are abnormally long, and I do let out a sigh when I see a meme of Ryan Gosling, so I think all the signs are there.

It was the summer of 2009, my daughter was about to turn 5 and though we were pretty sure she was destined to be a landlubber.  We had tried swim lessons since she was 6 months old — again and again.  We took classes.  We took private lessons.  We switched instructors, and offered rewards. I had made one last appointment, vowing that if this failed, I’d simply keep the baby fence around the pool until she left for college. Continue reading

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

inlawecardHere 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

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.

6.

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

We Swore We Would be Fun Parents | What Happened?

I am EXACTLY the parent I swore I would never be.  Are you?

I’ve journaled all my life and I very distinctly remember writing things that sounded somewhat like this: When you’re a mom always be fun. NEVER make your kids eat vegetables. Let them have soda whenever they want, stay up until Johnny Carson is over, and stay home from school to play Atari, Mr. Mouth, and Parcheesi, at least once a week.

As I hit high school… 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!

Magic Mike Makes me Realize I’m Hard Up and My Hubby is Shameless

Umm, just tell me you saw it too. Oh, and that you had similar eye-opening epiphanies…

On my way to see the Magic Mike with my besties, all I could think was,  Are we the only ones rushing out to see this peep show… and how hard up does this make us?

Hard up enough to go on opening night and see it with a theater full of gawking teenagers.  Wait, did I say teenagers?  Because I meant 30-50 year olds.  Continue reading

Why They Should Have Cat Boxing at Camp or What Happens When You Have to Send Letters About Your Boring Summer

Sometimes the best ideas are generated during periods of total and utter boredom. Also, in the shower but there’s never anything to write with so, I imagine lots of great stuff is lost. Like time machines, renewable toxic waste, alternatives to Obama Care… Well, this is one of those brilliant ideas that I dreamed up and had the good fortune to get on paper.
Shit, someone needs to invent a pad and pen that you can write with in the shower… Continue reading

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

Christian Grey Ecards Part II Fifty Shades in the Future

The Christian Grey | 50 Shades Ecards are back… by popular demand.  These are based on the article, What it Would REALLY be Like to be Married to Christian Grey, which takes a glimpse into what the Grey’s life might look like after years of marriage and children.  But let’s face it, everything looks better in an ecard. So, here you go — Fifty Shades in the Future (insert wavy lines to imply future montage here)…

 On Irony:

Share this ecard on FB

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On The Usual Toy Clutter: Continue reading

Confessions From an Irrational Control Freak Mom

Before having children, I had no idea how much of a control freak I actually was. Yes, I always had the anxiety part, but even that grew 10 fold. My hubby and I lived in an apartment in NYC, where he was able to mask his inability to do simple household things like, change lightbulbs, hang pictures… use a screw driver. We had people to do that. Yes, the maintenance men were my BFFs — a small tip and they were caulking or hammering away.

Then we had kids and moved to the ‘burbs, where I realized that not only was my hubby not the type to do stuff around the house. I was not the type to delegate. My anxieties and need for perfection made his work seem incomprehensibly inferior. (The cause of many an argument)

So, Continue reading