tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59844879973061303302024-03-16T02:09:13.503-05:00People I Want to Punch in the ThroatIf you are reading this, please visit my site as well to read my posts.
www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.comJen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.comBlogger645125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-14691333229740656542023-12-02T00:00:00.000-06:002023-12-02T09:42:26.543-06:00Overachieving Elf on the Shelf Mommies<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhQ0LECxMMxgl8OQi_lT-LPivT9IcoP4JDYhUy7riFgpoXoFeSHDe7TWWP1d95cRnMwByNU__se-4zJNjX9INpa8Tpve52tYHsz278azbdZ1sU9AHIAfzWuQr4xcxd8LzjuTE1_YWTy1p/s1600/elf+(2).jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhQ0LECxMMxgl8OQi_lT-LPivT9IcoP4JDYhUy7riFgpoXoFeSHDe7TWWP1d95cRnMwByNU__se-4zJNjX9INpa8Tpve52tYHsz278azbdZ1sU9AHIAfzWuQr4xcxd8LzjuTE1_YWTy1p/s320/elf+(2).jpg" width="179" /></a><br />
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By now we have all heard of the adorable little <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0976990709/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0976990709&linkCode=as2&tag=peoiwantopuni-20" target="_blank">Elf on the Shelf</a>. Almost everyone I know has one. Some people even have two! (Now I'm having guilt for not having two, because apparently I need two because when my kids are adults they'll each want one from their childhood. Ugh. Not looking forward to that conversation with the Hubs when I tell him why we need another Elf.)<br />
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The Elf is a handy little thing to have. The little bastard keeps my children in check this time of year. When there is even a HINT of rebellion all I have to do is say, "Elf" and they snap back in line.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>If he's so good, Jen, then why did you call him a bastard? you ask. I called him a bastard, because even though my children think he's magic, <i>I'm</i> the one doing all the "magic" and I totally suck at it. I forget to move him all the time and when I forget I have to spin even MORE lies than usual. ("No, Santa can't give you the $400 Lego Death Star. Even though he <i>says</i> he makes everything, he can't make Legos and he has to actually go and buy them and he can't spend that much money on you." or "Well, I don't know why he gave it to your friend last year for Christmas. I'm sure his mommy and daddy paid Santa to do that and we don't pay Santa." Thanks a lot, asshole parents who gave their kid the Death Star from Santa! As parents, let's all make a pact that any gift over $200 comes from grandma and grandpa rather than Santa, OK? It would make my life a lot easier.)<br />
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But back to our Elf. Our Elf has been a lazy SOB this year. He usually makes his first appearance Thanksgiving night (I get him out when I'm on my way out at 3 AM for Black Friday). This year we left town and I forgot. He waited until we came back and then he was ready to join our family. Since then he's only gone away 4 maybe 5 times. We are always forgetting to move him. And it should not be difficult. I am literally moving him from the top shelf in my kitchen to the bottom shelf and back again. I'm such a loser that I can't even do that right.<br />
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I heard some over achieving moms talking one day about how they like to make their Elf do "naughty" things. What exactly does that mean? I asked. "Oh, you know, he bakes cookies in the night and leaves a huge mess for me to clean up in the morning." WTF??? "Yes, or one time last year, he took all the ornaments off our tree! Teeheeehee."<br />
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Teeheehee?!! Why in the world would I make my Elf do something like that? <i>I'm</i> the one who has to clean up his mess and redecorate my tree! All so my kid could ooh and ahh over the magic of the Elf for about 3 minutes until the next shiny object caught their eye? I decided these women were insane.<br />
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But then I started listening closer and realized they are not alone. There are entire blogs out there right now dedicated to naughty/fun Elf behavior. People like Danielle over at <a href="http://blossombunkhouse.com/2011/11/08/101-elf-on-the-shelf-ideas-2/" target="_blank">Blossom Bunkhouse</a>. I read her blog and I got really pissed off. I should have known she'd irritate me when I read her perky-mom-who-loves-to-make-amazing-homemade-memories-with-her-kids-when-she's-not-secretly-downing-Valium-and-Vodka-so-she-can-be-so-damn-perky-and-fun title for her blog. (In case you haven't guessed, I'm proudly un-medicated and I have the mood swings to prove it.)<br />
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Blossom has 101 Fun Ideas to do with your Elf. ONE HUNDRED AND ONE. As a friend pointed out, there are only 25 days until Christmas - why 101?!!<br />
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I wanted to punch her as soon as I read her top 2:<br />
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1. Have a marshmallow fight (marshmallows everywhere).<br />
2. Have a pillow fight (feathers everywhere).<br />
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OK, seriously? Does she have a clue how much a feather pillow costs? The hell I'm going to destroy it just so I can sweep it up again in the morning!<br />
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Or like I have time, desire or resources to make <a href="http://blossombunkhouse.com/2011/11/21/elf-on-the-shelf-series-red-carpet-grand-entrance/" target="_blank">this</a> red carpet entrance for a doll. I can barely get him out of the box and prop him up on the shelf. We haven't even read the book yet this year and she wants me to literally roll out a red carpet for him. When does she do laundry? When does she work? And most importantly, when does she sleep?<br />
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20. Make faces on school pictures with a marker.<br />
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I lecture my children constantly on appropriate materials to write on with markers. A photograph is not one of those things. It would take years to undo that damage if I did that. I'd have mustaches on every photograph in my home. "The Elf did it!"<br />
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24. Read a book.<br />
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Yeah, I tried that one on my own the other day (didn't even need Blossom's help to come up with that one). The Hubs didn't see him on the couch reading and he sat on him. Kids couldn't find him because he wasn't on his usual shelf. So much for trying to think outside the box...shelf.<br />
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32. Switch clothes from one closet to another.<br />
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And I do this when? 4 AM when everyone is asleep and I'm hauling dresses and jeans from one room to another? And we're assuming my children would even NOTICE I did this.<br />
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42. Take picture of child sleeping.<br />
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This is one I would do just to scare the snot out of them. I'd like to perch the Elf right on their sleeping heads and take a picture of that. I could probably whip that picture out in the summer when they're being bad and it would scare them enough to knock it off. I'll bookmark that one.<br />
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44. Knit a scarf or hat.<br />
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When I'm not trashing my house with feathers, flour or drawing on the walls I'll whip up a handmade hat, Psycho.<br />
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64. Learn multiplication facts.<br />
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Huh? Just set him on the table with flashcards? I guess I could do that, but it sounds as boring as my shelf.<br />
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80. Elf packs school lunches but mixes up everyone's lunches. (Each child receives sibling's lunch - great conversation piece at dinner.)<span class="Apple-style-span" face=""tahoma" , "arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"></span><br />
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Or source of meltdown at school - you pick.<br />
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93. Sit on toilet OUTSIDE on front lawn - if you happen to have an extra toilet being stored.<br />
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WTF? Who has an "extra" toilet they can put in the yard? Either she's grasping at straws to get to 101 or she's white trash.<br />
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He's called The Elf on the Shelf, not the Elf who Skydives, Takes Bubble Baths and Shaves the Dog! Leave him on the shelf so the rest of us slackers don't look so bad. I think I'm just going to lay my Elf on his shelf, tape wires and hoses to him and tell my kids he's in a coma and hopefully he'll recover before Christmas. That should give me some flexibility.<br />
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<b>This is an excerpt from my book <i>Spending the Holidays with People I Want to Punch in the Throat</i>. <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">Get the entire book here!</a></b><br />
<br /><b>Thanks for reading this post. <a href="https://jenmann.substack.com/" target="_blank">I've moved over to Substack where I write good stuff all year round.</a> </b>Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com832tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-56185345043904496452022-08-18T10:34:00.003-05:002022-08-18T10:34:40.249-05:00I'm Moving!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY078MqtqQHydxkvHGgJQ_2h77QYlGNHG_G6-k2bhDoU5SRwnZw51Td1CMcNBoqgW-8W8TitAj7P5QBZHsThYY4C9AK7s7JyowbpR5FuiPlXzJLZ0sUSPWbJKXT3EO0bBDVG_kNU2nELVtZzsu1LvHKBqNsgEIHn0GlJ82PAaDxvqHAJeShum3up53NA/s940/i%20am%20joining.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY078MqtqQHydxkvHGgJQ_2h77QYlGNHG_G6-k2bhDoU5SRwnZw51Td1CMcNBoqgW-8W8TitAj7P5QBZHsThYY4C9AK7s7JyowbpR5FuiPlXzJLZ0sUSPWbJKXT3EO0bBDVG_kNU2nELVtZzsu1LvHKBqNsgEIHn0GlJ82PAaDxvqHAJeShum3up53NA/s320/i%20am%20joining.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />Welp, after 11 years on Blogger, I think it's time to make a change. I'm moving to Substack. Blogger has been a great fit for me over the last decade, but it's time for me to move on and try something new.<p></p><p>Social media platforms are changing all the time. When I started this blog my only other option was WordPress. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jen.mann.568/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and Twitter existed and Pinterest was in its infancy. Now I'm on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/jenmannauthor/?hl=en" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, SnapChat (barely), and <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@jenmannauthor?lang=en" target="_blank">TikTok</a> as well as those original three. And there are countless platforms for blogging now.</p><p>The changes have been fun and frustrating. Lately, it's been more frustrating than fun. The algorithms change weekly and the censorship is getting out of hand. I'm getting in trouble on Facebook for sarcastic jokes I made in 2014. Sarcasm is hard for idiots and AI to understand. </p><p>Blogger was good once too, but a few years ago Google started cracking down on my language (f-bombs and vagina talk are frowned upon, I guess). Who knew Silicon Valley was so prudish??</p><p>I have been feeling the need to go back to blogging but I wanted more control over my content. When a friend told me about Substack, I realized that's where I should be.</p><p>So, starting August 29th I'm going to be blogging <a href="https://jenmann.substack.com/p/coming-soon?showWelcome=true" target="_blank">over on Substack</a>. This blog will still exist, of course. All of the archives will be here and you can always come back and read your favorites (I'm looking at you, <a href="https://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2011/12/over-achieving-elf-on-shelf-mommies.html" target="_blank">Elf on the Shelf</a>), but anything new will now be on Substack.</p><p><a href="https://jenmann.substack.com/p/coming-soon?showWelcome=true" target="_blank"></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JOdKHn50j2s5OEJpIQOQP70hCRKpxpRTU7jyPRPXQ2TH8kDXrSJCeMVJkVwp0ji07YHTLmlkDLQw6EBE9RSru9nWH1j44rd2x1PxBkIi3Uqex3io4yizcSftz2mOHPL2brVRqeMJ0ubIZAhvk9VCoiZIPH7BikCGh8K2PVOeEPuJ65crCAIEbV11zQ/s940/i%20am%20joining%202.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_JOdKHn50j2s5OEJpIQOQP70hCRKpxpRTU7jyPRPXQ2TH8kDXrSJCeMVJkVwp0ji07YHTLmlkDLQw6EBE9RSru9nWH1j44rd2x1PxBkIi3Uqex3io4yizcSftz2mOHPL2brVRqeMJ0ubIZAhvk9VCoiZIPH7BikCGh8K2PVOeEPuJ65crCAIEbV11zQ/w400-h335/i%20am%20joining%202.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><a href="https://jenmann.substack.com/p/coming-soon?showWelcome=true" target="_blank">But the only way to get my new blog posts is to subscribe to my Substack.</a></p><p>My free content over there will be like the old days over here: observations on stupid shit, rants, funny stories, and general nonsense. There will also be more ways to interact with one another and create a community over there. </p><p>There will be a paid option as well and it will be $5 a month. You'll get more and different content for that investment, including access to the creation of a new PEOPLE I WANT TO PUNCH IN THE THROAT book. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://madmimi.com/signups/57f74a4bdd4147f1beff0f7ad8b23587/join" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="100" data-original-width="320" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGz_rxAL_ngYolPVHJdsY4LoCKok8Xv5ZvcDmLAoR1JkoAPlJvsvUrEKFgWSC150-yjmxh0lk6sJe-tUwBZfjcBXgn7UnOCcjN_wgJvwwi2jDaUWonsaaqGohl0bEQMzzlb_AEBtgTrJEhWvvSqImOCYJN1JfrGxc5dMdAB0fhqEXGCh2Aj4Uj5mpd9A/s1600/1%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-23375385177412796132022-07-15T11:18:00.006-05:002022-07-15T11:18:43.505-05:00Man, I Don't Miss This Sh*t<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBynsnjTC_dJtV-Xy1ndk6QyB6aTSay_VTrfNksLz_Ptkfv6p3R9fuGZX57v4b2BaEuSrAPsvyozSo8F6OyY3_vjqX0qRDkHZZXWMEtgHpTtvr0ANKuWWnGam-UYEky34btwI3hguM9iFaIUDW3dwBbrNTcm5Nmg2tNaYqvg8bTctT89oj6EaRPKvf_Q/s3861/baseball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2574" data-original-width="3861" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBynsnjTC_dJtV-Xy1ndk6QyB6aTSay_VTrfNksLz_Ptkfv6p3R9fuGZX57v4b2BaEuSrAPsvyozSo8F6OyY3_vjqX0qRDkHZZXWMEtgHpTtvr0ANKuWWnGam-UYEky34btwI3hguM9iFaIUDW3dwBbrNTcm5Nmg2tNaYqvg8bTctT89oj6EaRPKvf_Q/w400-h266/baseball.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>It's been a long time since I've been embroiled in the everyday drama that goes with having kids in organized sports but yesterday I saw an article that brought me right back.</p><p>In case you didn't hear, <a href="https://www.yourtango.com/news/texas-little-league-coach-loses-job-allegedly-hurting-kids-opposing-team" target="_blank">there was a Texas Little League game where a volunteer coach</a> (who is also a real-life police officer by the way) allegedly shoved and hit kids on the opposing team after his team lost. For fucks sake, they're nine-year-old kids and this dude can't control his shit and show good sportsmanship for two whole minutes??</p><p>No, of course not. </p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>And why am I surprised?? I've spent way too many hours of my life on the sidelines at baseball games watching grown-ass men lose their shit on the children on the field. In fact, yesterday's story reminded me of a time a many years ago of a volunteer/dad coach on the opposing team.<p></p><p>Gomer loves baseball. Always has. But he's not a terrific player and we weren't willing to invest a lot of time or money into making him a terrific player. Instead, every summer I signed him up for rec ball. And because I didn't have any ins with the "good" teams, my son always ended up where ever they could find a spot for him. I never kept track, but I would bet money his various teams combined lost more games than they ever won. He always had nice volunteer dad coaches who emphasized having fun while learning a few skills. (I would not have allowed him to stay on a team any other way.) </p><p>One day Gomer's team found themselves playing against the number one team in the league. Remember, though, this was rec ball, so that only meant that the number one team still sucked pretty bad. They still missed ground balls that rolled between their legs, they still swung their bats like maniacs and struck out, they still got tagged out on first. They just made mistakes a little less than everyone else.</p><p>But that night the stars aligned and all the training Gomer's coaches had been trying to impress upon these young boys kicked in and suddenly they were the ones making fewer mistakes. Our boys were ecstatic to see the score creep up in their favor. Their coaches were thrilled that the boys were having fun (sometimes it's hard to keep morale high when you've lost 5 games in a row). And their parents could stop saying, "That's okay, Billy. You tried your best. You'll get it next time!" and finally had something to cheer about.</p><p>We were about three-quarters of the way through the game when the coach on the opposing team called a time-out. He'd been slowly losing his shit on the sidelines and the time-out came as no surprise to anyone. Our boys came into their dugout and huddled up, refueling on Gatorade and Goldfish. The other parents rushed to congratulate the boys and encourage them to keep going. </p><p>I didn't do that because:</p><p>1. Even at that tender age, Gomer was already horribly embarrassed by me and didn't like it when I reminded anyone we shared DNA </p><p>and </p><p>2. I'm a nosy bitch. </p><p>I could tell from the body language, the other coach was Hulking out and I wanted to be a witness. He had all his boys on the pitcher's mound and he began to berate them individually. </p><p>"Carson, are you sleeping on first? Two of the slowest runners I've ever seen got by you!"</p><p>"Bennet, where's your head? Because it's not in this game!"</p><p>"Angus, why are you afraid of the ball? You're supposed to catch it, man!"</p><p>And then, he began yelling. "What is going on out here?" he screamed. "They're the worst team in the league and you're losing to <i>them</i>?! What are you doing??" His voice cracked with emotion and I could see his face turning red. "You're blowing it! You're the number one team in the league and you're losing to these..." his voice trailed off.</p><p>I grabbed the fence and leaned as close as I could to the field. "Say it," I whispered. "Say something mean about my kid and I will fucking end you."</p><p>The second (obviously, smarter) coach had arrived on the mound by then and stopped the stupid coach before he could say any more. "All right," the smart coach said. "Let's get it together. Everyone's upset. We never thought we'd be in this position, but here we are. You got this, boys. There's still a chance to win. You're losing because of easy mistakes. Just relax and the mistakes will stop."</p><p>The dumb coach couldn't contain himself anymore. He screamed at his team. "This is your game to lose! This team sucks! You should be ashamed of yourselves for losing to them!"</p><p>I looked over at the dugout and saw my son and his teammates had stopped gorging themselves on Goldfish. Their mouths hung open and their faces looked defeated. Even our coaches looked shocked. I could see the light go out in everyone's eyes in that dugout. That fucker had killed their spirit with his hateful words. </p><p>"That's it," I grumbled. I ran over to my son and his teammates. "Don't listen to that a--" (a smart mom put her hand on my shoulder) "Um, arrogant jerkwad! You <i>will</i> win this game tonight and when you do I will buy everyone ice cream. Two scoops each if you can make that coach cry!"</p><p>The boys cheered which was silly because even when they lost they got ice cream. But it was the principle. We all knew that ice cream would taste so much sweeter with a victory. </p><p>There were only a few more innings left to play and the boys played their best. I would like to tie this story up with a bow and say we won the game, but that didn't happen. The other team stopped making so many mistakes, came back, and beat us handily. All while I did my best to fuck with the arrogant jerkwad coach. </p><p>I followed him around all night and just kept up a steady stream of whispered insults hurled in his general direction. (I couldn't yell. There were children -- and cellphone cameras -- present.) I'd stand at the fence directly behind him and say stupid stuff like, "Your hair looks dumb" and "Nice fucking shoes" and "Everyone hates you" and "You practically cried over a Little League game, you fucking loser." </p><p>I wish I had said something louder to him, though. But the dude had an anger problem and was the size of a small house. I wasn't in the mood (nor do I have good enough insurance) to get decked in the nose. I should have been louder. I didn't because Gomer would have literally died on the spot. But I could have done a better job explaining to Gomer why someone needed to speak up. No one said a word to this man. No one stood up to him. Someone needed to tell this asshole to take several seats and think about how he was treating a group of young kids playing rec ball.</p><p>Instead, over ice cream that night we talked about how when Gomer's team lost they immediately lined up to shake hands with the winning team and how this coach gleefully refused to come onto the field to shake hands with anyone. I can't stand up to every dickhead dude in my son's life but I can hopefully teach him how to be a better man. </p><p>This experience did help me down the road, though, because a couple years later, Adolpha had a basketball coach that called me two days before the season started and kicked her off the team because she didn't smile at him. That's a whole other story and if you want to hear that one, let me know! </p><p><br /></p><p>****************************</p><p><a href="https://www.jenmannwrites.com/buy-the-books" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Get all my books!</span></a></p><p><a href="https://nopantsrequiredpod.podbean.com/" target="_blank"><br /></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.jenmannwrites.com/buy-the-books" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKI2J_uJ76DvOkc3t8RJM6xNskLQcbVNyeP7OywpIlPQMfc8rMKqh_GuE83VZ7aoWCCmkWFDyO5ohuIlVi4q0oj6ijQcjUI9wvVpCHfpjinWF4UXtw7uRZjYZft0GSScVpvPqqRJUEUm-yyN90MJIUuqwLtY4IowRIfUIg71S1pFe6QoB_AZdEgAZWLw/s320/MANN_MidlifeBites_TR_Ecards_30.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> </p><p> <a href="https://nopantsrequiredpod.podbean.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #800180;">Listen to new the newest episode of my podcast NO PANTS REQUIRED WITH JEN MANN!</span></a></p><p><span style="color: #800180;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://nopantsrequiredpod.podbean.com/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2500" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiunUoaeKbyKEla2bdRMWNZrA9Qic4NddAXyAXURcuNR_6Q8zMaGwUwqg_OH9jrcRggbrhSbK3hyU9fXMmAa6lQFpruntIC3Cwxwv-hQrcbVqoxhvVk-9sg1JkgGIm8331-ZwLaJAakaTd7WzXLy_ip8C8xUSj2jZvvOHkEORtBGZkTh5k4hNwD0h3Epg/s320/titlepage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-36214605522541534442022-05-23T21:21:00.000-05:002022-05-23T21:21:09.605-05:00Are You a Willful Wife?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Readers like to send me links to blogs or articles they think I might feel strongly about. This week I received a link to a blog called Biblical Gender Roles. I didn't even have to click the link before I felt "strongly."<br />
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But I took a deep breath and decided not to judge the blog by its title. <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2015/01/i-hate-hypocrites.html" target="_blank">After all, I'm always irritated when people scoff, "People I Want to Punch in the Throat? That sounds so violent!"</a> I didn't want to instantly assume that this blog was written by a homophobic dude with control issues and a God-given desire to dominate the inferior females in his home. That would be wrong of me. I needed to read his writings first before I decided what to think of him.</div>
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And then I saw the title of the blog post: <a href="http://biblicalgenderroles.com/2015/05/23/8-steps-to-confront-your-wifes-sexual-refusal/" target="_blank">8 Steps to Confront Your Wife's Sexual Refusal</a>.</div>
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Fuck that guy. I already hate him.<br />
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There were several words in that title that jumped out at me. Words like confront, wife, sexual, and refusal. Oh, and 8. What a half-assed number. Everyone knows lists should be made in multiples of five. He should have pushed himself and come up with two more ways to confront his wife's sexual refusal. </div>
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Look, I am a 40-something woman and everyone I know has refused sex with their husband on occasion. It's just what we do. </div>
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Most husbands want to get busy more than the wives. It's just the way it is. It doesn't take much to flip the switch on a guy. He thinks about <i>bewbs</i> and it's go time. Women can't flip that switch so easily. We are tired, <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">in the middle of a good book</a>, thinking about the never-ending to-do list, feeling a pudgier than usual, in desperate need of a shower, or all of the above. It's just not that easy for us.</div>
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There are many things a man can do to help us get in a romantic state of mind and luckily our husbands get that. They know that it's a good idea to say that our bristly legs that haven't been shaved in a week -- OK a month -- in no way diminish our sex appeal. (You need friction to light a fire, baby!) They understand that dimming the lights a little will help us instantly feel ten pounds lighter. They whisper sweet nothings in our ears like, "I fed the kids, bathed them, and put them to bed. I love how your butt looks in those flannel jammies and I barely noticed that you've worn them all day, sexy mama."</div>
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Even with these hot moves, there are times that we ladies just aren't feeling it. We have every right to refuse our man and say "Pass." I can say it and I don't need to give a "raincheck" with an expiration date. I can say, "Pass" three nights in a row if I so choose. (And so can the Hubs, BTW.) Just because we're married, doesn't mean I owe my husband a romp in the sack if I'm not in the mood and these eight steps aren't going to help me feel frisky! </div>
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Of course I feel this way. After all, I'm a "willful" wife, and after reading this dude's blog, I've decided I'm a <i>proud</i> willful wife.</div>
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The advice this guy offered is never going to work. </div>
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His ideas are downright medieval. I found a place in the comments where he stated he's looking for sex 2-3 times a week. Maybe for some of you, that's a doable number. Good for you. There might be others out there who think once a week (or -- gasp! -- less) is all they can muster. Those are the wives who should be SHAMED! </div>
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For instance, if she's refusing you and you've talked to her and then "rebuked" her (his word, not mine) privately, openly, and then in front of the church and she still doesn't budge those thighs, then it's time to step it up and stop being nice to her.</div>
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Yup. STOP being NICE to her, fellas. She doesn't deserve your niceties! Everyone knows the more you mistreat a woman, the more she likes you. Right??</div>
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He suggests you stop taking her on dates or trips. Screw trying to schedule a romantic getaway to get those love juices flowing again! She doesn't DESERVE to be treated like that! Those are "privileges," woman, and your Husband can remove them at any time he deems acceptable. You need to <i>earn</i> that shit. And you earn it by putting out. Repeat after me: Frigid bitches don't get to go to TGIFriday's or Branson.</div>
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Another weapon the Husband can wield is the ability to put the kibosh on any new household upgrade the little lady might have her eye on. Want a new vacuum cleaner? Maybe you should have thought about that before you told the Husband you had a headache last night, Toots. Washer and dryer on the fritz? Then give Daddy some sugar, Sugar. You want new carpet throughout the whole house? Well, then you better spread your legs and show your man your rug. New carpet is the equivalent of a Christmas bonus. You need to do things you've never done before!<br />
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You better put a satisfied smile on his face if you think you're getting any new doohickeys to clean his castle with or cook his vittles upon, Missy. </div>
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Stop helping her. You've been nice enough to help her with her duties like sweeping and dishes. Knock that shit off. That's woman's work and you were only being kind hoping she'd give you a handy. That's not working, so why are you still wiping counters? No more back rubs either. Back rubs are a clear gateway to sex and if she can't see that, then you're wasting your time and effort. Park your ass in front of the boob tube and demand a chicken pot pie. Women are none too bright, but by now she should be catching on that she's being DISCIPLINED for her (in)actions.<br />
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Now, let's say that you've talked to her, rebuked her in front of everyone, denied her an Awesome Blossom, made her wash your skidmarked undies in the bath tub because the washing machine finally conked out, bought her a backscratcher from the Dollar Store and she STILL won't have sex with you, what can you do? (Besides turn that critical eye inward and ask yourself, "Is it me? Have I done something?" Hahahahahahaha! I jest. That guy would NEVER think he could be part of the problem. Nope, nope, nope. It's wanton willfulness from little women who think they're the boss of you!!! Bend. Her. Will.) </div>
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And that brings us to the next step: cut off all financial support.</div>
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Now the author of this splendid advice, does let us all know that this devious step won't work if she's got her own job outside of the house. But clearly that's your own fault for letting that loose woman earn a paycheck! However, if she's completely financially dependent upon you and the allowances you allot her, then you can simply cut her off. Deactivate her ATM card, cancel her credit cards. Show her no mercy.<br />
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He writes, "The Bible only requires that you provide her with food, clothing and shelter. It does not say that food and clothing has to be the fancy kind that she gets."<br />
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NO MORE FANCY THINGS!!!</div>
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Whoa. I was kind of irritated by the previous steps, but this one really pissed me off. Where does this end? If she has a job he suggests that you stop paying any bills in her name and instead make her use her own money to pay those bills. Lights are out! Want me to turn them back on? Then get on your back, woman! Cable's out. Shit. What was I thinking letting you put that one in your name? All right, I'll pay that one, but your Target card is allll you, baby!<br />
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Why stop there? Why not stop making her car payment? That way her car gets repossessed and she can't go to her job and make her own money. That'll teach her! Go ahead and put a combination lock on the front door that only YOU know the code for. Tie her ankle to her fancy Dyson that she just had to have. Make her drag that thing around the house all day. That will teach her to think about what her role in this marriage is.<br />
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Money is a big thing to me. I don't care how happy you think your marriage is, everyone needs to have access to some money in case anything ever changed. Over the years I've seen too many friends and family members who have been blind-sided by the horrible acts of their "loving" husbands. Husband who start drinking and hitting their wives or wipe out their bank accounts just before they announce they're running off to Aruba with their pregnant secretary. I joked above, but limiting access to money really does make your wife a prisoner. She can't escape a physical or emotionally abusive relationship without funds. The minute someone tried to cut off my access to OUR MONEY, I would rage the freak out. Our money is OUR MONEY. It's not your money, my money, secret money, hidden money. And it's definitely NOT money I earn by having sex with you!<br />
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Want to know the 8th and final step this guy suggests?<br />
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Divorce.<br />
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Now he's talking. I can't reason with a guy who thinks his wife is his property and that he can do to her what he wants because of "Biblical Law." I can't help him understand that if he simply treated her as his equal maybe he wouldn't have so much trouble getting her into his bed. So, divorce it is. I only hope that his wife takes that advice and can get away from this misogynistic, sadistic control-freak who thinks his wife should "yield her body" to him because God told her to.<br />
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I don't care if he's your husband, NO means NO.<br />
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<b>Want to read more? <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">Check out my BOOKS!</a></b></div>
Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-4621943636738950082022-05-16T07:49:00.000-05:002022-05-16T07:49:06.121-05:00Douchey DadsI was attending an auction at a chic country club and I arrived early to help the organizers set up and I was surprised to find the bar full of young, well dressed (if you can call expensive plaid shorts well dressed), golf playing, thousands of dollars a year for dues paying men sitting around drinking and yukking it up. I wanted to say, "Hey...where do you guys work that you can spend half of a Tuesday golfing at this expensive club?" (I also wanted to hand all of them my real estate business card, because these guys look like the type who might need a good divorce attorney and Realtor in their Rolodex's at all times.) <br />
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I started setting up tables, but I just couldn't control my irritation at these guys. Everything about them rubbed me the wrong way. Their stupid plaid shorts, their expensive drinks and the yukking. God, the yukking. I've never heard laughter that was so phony and so forced. It sounded like a combination of sea lions and parrots barking at each other.<br />
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<i>Who are these guys?</i> I wondered. I've never seen anything like them. Most dads I know are either jocky or goofy. Most dads I know only take off work this early if it's a family emergency or their child is in a performance at school. And then I realized. I know who they are. <br />
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They're the husbands of the <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2012/02/overachievers-are-at-it-again.html" target="_blank">overachieving moms</a>. They're the Douchey Dads. Their time spent at the "cluuubbbb" (you gotta stretch it out when you read it) enables and/or forces the OAMs to create memories, because the Douchey Dad is missing everything, but his golf game is ah-May-zing! The OAM <i>needs</i> a scrapbook for each month so she can show Douchey Dad what she and the kids do all day while he's bringing home the bacon and frying it up on golf course.<br />
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Their status as Douchey Dads was confirmed to me a few minutes later when one DD stepped out of the bar to take a call. He didn't want to disrupt his cronies, so instead he stepped right into the middle of the room where <i>we</i> were working. <i>Yeah, don't mind us. Keep acting like you own the joint and we just work here, dick. </i><br />
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"Hello?" he answered with a deep, professional voice that said <i>I'm a businessman doing important work, not sitting in the bar at the cluuubbbb in the middle of the day</i>. Immediately his voice changed and went straight to an accent I've never had the pleasure of hearing before. I will call it the "ritzy suburban golf club voice." It's like the Dolce moms' voices only just slightly deeper, but with just as much affectation. This voice makes the Dolce moms' voices sound human. This voice made me want to scream at him: "No one actually sounds like that, you dumbass." <br />
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Instead of screaming, I went silent, though so I could listen to his whole conversation and share it with you now:<br />
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"Heyyyy, Champ! How <i>are</i> you, <i>Buddy</i>? Uh huh. Uh huh. Mmm hmm," he droned on and checked his fingernails (Truly! Like a bad movie!). "Wait," he looked up from his manicure. Something had caught his attention and now he was listening closely. I thought maybe Champ/Buddy was hurt and calling for help. "What did you just say? You did? You lost a <i>tooth</i>? At <i>school</i>? How did that happen? The nurse just <i>pulled it out</i>? Wow. With her fingers or something? That's unbelievable. Which one? A <i>bottom one</i>? Wow, <i>Champ</i>. You must feel <i>incredible!</i> Hey, <i>Buddy</i>? Let me talk to mom, OK?" <br />
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He was completely in my way at this point, so I asked him to move. He sidestepped six inches. Obviously Tooth-a-geddon was far more important than what I was trying to do. <i>Thanks, asshat. Now I don't feel so bad that I'm going to document your idiotic conversation for the ages. </i><br />
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"Hey, Baby. (Champ and Baby. I wonder what his name is? Stud?) First tooth, huh? How are you doing? <i>(I'm a wreck, Stud. You know I'm going to need Botox. Once your kids start losing teeth, that forehead wrinkle firms up and becomes permanent. Bitsy told me and I totally believe her.)</i> So the tooth fairy comes tonight, huh? Are you ready? <i>(Of course I'm ready, Stud. I'm a </i>good<i> mother.) </i> I mean, do you have everything for what you wanted to do? <i>(I don't leave anything to chance. I've been ready for this night since he turned 3.)</i> Right. Right. No, no, no. <i>Of course</i> you're ready. Do you have time? <i>(There's never enough time, Stud. I'll need at least 3 hours just to work on lighting so I can get great photos and set the mood. I'll need to make the tooth fairy punch and choose between his 6 tooth fairy pillows I've bought over the years. I'll need to change his sheets, because right now he has tacky ones on there and I want the ones that complements his bedspread. Of course, some things like the fairy dust will have to wait until he's asleep. It's going to be a long night and I could use a little help.)</i> Oh, OK. Well, I could come and get him and take him out for dinner while you get your tooth fairy business done. I could be done here in a couple hours. OK, I'll see you then. Oh wait, hey Baby....?"<br />
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He touched some of our auction items and pretended to look closely at a gift card for an all you can eat buffet that he's probably never set foot in. He was having some kind of internal struggle I could tell. He wanted to ask something, but now he was afraid. "How does it <i>look</i>? Honestly. We have that photo shoot with my family this weekend. Does he look <i>OK</i>?" <br />
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It struck me. No wonder this DD spends so much time at the cluuubbbb bar in the middle of the day. He was raised by an OAM and a Douchey Dad and now he's just repeating that vicious cycle. He's <i>afraid</i> to tell his OAM wife the fear he has of telling <i>his</i> own OAM that his kid might ruin her perfect family photo - actually, I think these types of people call them "portraits." It was (almost) unbearable to watch (and eavesdrop on), but I managed. "Right. Right. No, you're right. I'm sure it's adorable. But...I should probably call my mother...and, y'know...warn her." <br />
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Stop the cycle! There should be a telethon for these people!<br />
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Here is the response post from the Hubs. <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2012/04/douchey-dad-revisited.html" target="_blank">Douchey Dads revisited. </a><br />
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<i><b><a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">Check out my NEW BOOKS!</a></b></i>Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com245tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-11374076375551725512022-05-11T07:55:00.000-05:002022-05-11T07:55:40.843-05:00Designer Vaginas are a Thing Now<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't know about you ladies, but as I get older I'm finding that a lot of things are .... changing.<br />
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My laugh lines aren't disappearing when I'm done laughing, my middle is getting softer, I'm taking more and more trips to the hairdresser to keep the gray hairs under control, and my libido isn't what it used to be.<br />
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None of these bother me (and the Hubs) as much as my waning sex drive. I've been looking everywhere for a solution and I've yet to find one. Until today.<br />
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Today a little birdy told me that what I need is a vagina makeover. <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2014/07/42-year-old-women-are-hot-no-thats-not.html" target="_blank">I'm in my forties now and even though I'm at my sexiest age, my hooha is not.</a> It used to be that some good grooming and a rhinestone or two could make the little lady sparkle. Nowadays, fifty rhinestones wouldn't make a difference. My honeypot is tired. It's wrinkled and dehydrated. As if I didn't have anything else to worry about when I'm having sex (Are the lights low enough? Is this my good side? Did I just fart?), now I have to worry about my deflated vagina too.<br />
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Put those worries away, ladies, because now you too can get the <a href="http://www.express.co.uk/life-style/health/438523/Would-you-have-the-15-minute-designer-vagina-jab" target="_blank">Labia Puff Procedure</a>. This is just a small surgery where they can use fillers to put the spring back into the step of your lady lips. You can restore elasticity and tone again, because I don't know about you, but my chicken wing arms are NOTHING compared to the sad, saggy mess I have going on downstairs.<br />
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Maybe you need more. For instance, let's say you're feeling a little drafty during sex. Like your lady garden has become more of a lady cave, then there's a procedure for that too. Doctors can just go ahead and rebuild you and give you a vagina the Six Million Dollar Man would have received if he'd been a woman. "We can make her tighter, softer, deeper, better."<br />
<br />
Oh for fuck's sake. I just can't. I'm so done.<br />
<br />
Stop it.<br />
<br />
I can't put <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2011/11/anyone-who-has-ever-paid-for-eyelash.html" target="_blank">on lash extensions</a>, immobilize my forehead, chisel my cheekbones, plump up my lips, suck the fat from chin, enlarge my boobs, lift my ass, flatten my stomach, AND puff my beef curtains.<br />
<br />
I draw the line there.<br />
<br />
Besides,<a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2014/07/the-c-string.html" target="_blank"> I just ordered a c-string</a> and I can't take any chances that it won't fit my beefed up baby cannon. However, I'm a giver. When they suck the fat from my chin I would like to donate it to a woman with a wilted kitty.<br />
<br />
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<b>Follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook,</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/Throat_Punch" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/piwtpitt/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> or <a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=PeopleIWantToPunchInTheThroat" target="_blank">Subscribe via E-mail.</a></b>Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-7138854915995431832022-04-29T16:39:00.000-05:002022-04-29T16:39:47.440-05:00Nothing is NOT Acceptable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivHPhzrcbiASRpEraweAnoWFZNAYWw2JZKMxtmTKYD0LypEiWggX3JPr6nfeqVAfZlexYH3ZYVWFHbw7hH6WqUU74Rr8qi3VVnSD9qmb-pELwEHMDJTWbbKX31Uu5X4nBwv7a_7NRuxIu/s1600/Dollarphotoclub_41328834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivHPhzrcbiASRpEraweAnoWFZNAYWw2JZKMxtmTKYD0LypEiWggX3JPr6nfeqVAfZlexYH3ZYVWFHbw7hH6WqUU74Rr8qi3VVnSD9qmb-pELwEHMDJTWbbKX31Uu5X4nBwv7a_7NRuxIu/s1600/Dollarphotoclub_41328834.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Last week I was trying to think of a Mother's Day present for my mom. I'm 42 years old now and a macaroni necklace just doesn't have the same impact it used to 36 years ago. I felt like every gift I was thinking of was a crappy gift, so I asked my readers on Facebook to tell me the worst Mother's Day gift they ever received just to make sure those weren't the ones I was considering. I got the usual responses of Dustbusters, brooms, step stools, tools, and irons. However, as I scrolled through the hundreds of answers, I noticed the same gift popping up over and over again.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
It was: NOTHING.<br />
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Nothing?<br />
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<br />
At first I felt sad when I saw this. Sure, there have been years here and there where the Hubs and I have agreed not to get each other anything for the holidays so we can spend more on the kids or buy a washer and dryer or something like that. But even then I started thinking. If we didn't have money for a gift, the Hubs would ask the kids to draw a card or make me a booklet of coupons good for hugs and kisses. That was <i>something </i>at least<i>.</i><br />
<br />
This made me angry, then I felt pissed off, and then I got mad.<br />
<br />
Nothing is not acceptable. No, no, no, no!<br />
<br />
Why did these moms get nothing? Why didn't their children get them a card or buy them a terrible gift like a scale? I'll tell you why: because they never learned.<br />
<br />
I blame the dads on this one. Yup, save your breath, dads, but this is your fault. Sure there are a lot of grown up asshole children who don't buy their mother's gifts, but they're also your fault. See, you were supposed to teach them to honor their mother on her one damn day of the year. Your kids grew up to be jerks, because when they were little it was your job to take them to the store and help them pick out a card or a gift for Mommy. If you didn't have the money, it was your job to have them draw her a picture or make her a pipe cleaner bracelet or write her a heartfelt letter. Something! Anything! Not nothing!<br />
<br />
I can't believe how many women said their husbands used the super lame excuse: "I didn't buy you a gift <i>because you're not my mother</i>."<br />
<br />
Oh. My. Gah. Someone hold my purse, because shit just got real.<br />
<br />
You're not my mother? Oh that's some complete and total bullshit right there, gentlemen. You're not our father, but guess who takes the kids to the store and gives them money to buy you a new golf club every year?<br />
<br />
"You're not my mother." Ugh.<br />
<br />
If my husband ever said that to me, my response would be: "You're right, Hubs. I'm not your mother, but I am the mother of your children! I am the one who carried them for nine long months and then ruined my vagina squeezing them out. I am the one who gets up in the night when they're sick, while you pretend to sleep. I am the one who kisses boo boos, because blood makes you woozy. I am the one who reads out loud to them, because you claim to be illiterate. I am the one who plays endless rounds of Uno with them, because you make them cry when you hit them with Draw Four cards every round. These kids are your offspring too and you're responsible for teaching them about Mother's Day. Now go to the store and buy me a freaking Dustbuster, you son of a bitch!"<br />
<br />
What is wrong with the rest of you fellas? I bet you all buy flowers and cards for your mothers. Well, who taught you to do that? Duh. Get off your lazy asses and get out there and give you wife exactly what she wants and deserves for Mother's Day: time away from you.<br />
<br />
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<b>Buy your wife/mom <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00IIXK2BI/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00IIXK2BI&linkCode=as2&tag=peoiwantopuni-20" target="_blank">I Just Want to Be Alone</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00BMX8BE6/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00BMX8BE6&linkCode=as2&tag=peoiwantopuni-20%22" target="_blank">I Just Want to Pee Alone</a> for Mother's Day.</b>Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com74tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-32465337725612981432022-04-01T09:48:00.000-05:002022-04-01T09:48:24.975-05:00People Who Complain They're Busy, But They're Busy With Stupid Stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7L1z0DeccAbFgq9kU91k7sDT9Xf5nHs_oLaVXOrRZW3xFHpD7IqxEYXuIChQRHPsdV66xL-sb1Ru3NbpjA5KdkCCu4Jw7R9OyYkeznpFzFu-sYIbbDUA27B0MWox6-Z6SPRlvdbM_9hN9/s1600/Dollarphotoclub_72412941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7L1z0DeccAbFgq9kU91k7sDT9Xf5nHs_oLaVXOrRZW3xFHpD7IqxEYXuIChQRHPsdV66xL-sb1Ru3NbpjA5KdkCCu4Jw7R9OyYkeznpFzFu-sYIbbDUA27B0MWox6-Z6SPRlvdbM_9hN9/s400/Dollarphotoclub_72412941.jpg" width="280" /></a></div>
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Does that title make sense? I doubt it. Let's see if I can explain. <br />
<br />
OK, so you know those people who complain about how busy they are - but it's not with work or anything really "important"? It's more like, "Oh gawd, I'm sooooo busy, because Eustace and Duncan and Dorset have Tae Kwon Do on Mondays, baseball practice on Tuesdays, violin and cello on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, soccer all day on Saturdays, baseball for the OTHER team they play for Wednesdays, and Kumon on Fridays." My head wants to explode just reading that.<br />
<br />
<br />
A few years ago, before I had any kids, I was showing a house to my client and on the wall of the kitchen the home owners had a schedule with different colors for each kid. They had four kids and from what I could gather each child participated in 2-3 activities per week and didn't get home from their activities before 9 PM on most nights. These were elementary and middle school aged kids. When did they eat dinner? When did they do their homework? What time did they finally get to bed? When did they have time to play with their Ponies and Legos or ride their bikes?<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Right then and there I decided 2 kids max and only one activity per child at a time. Forget them, <i>I</i> couldn't take that kind of schedule!<br />
<br />
I get that you want to have a well-rounded kid. I do too. I want my kids to try a lot of things and figure out what really interests them. And, let's face it, there are SO MANY things they could try:<br />
<br />
Soccer<br />
Baseball (many kids we know play on multiple teams - why is that?)<br />
Basketball<br />
Football<br />
Golf<br />
Tennis<br />
Racquetball<br />
Swimming<br />
Cheerleading<br />
Ice Skating<br />
Dance (Ballet, Jazz and/or Tap, Interpretive, Water Ballet, Competitive Jazz Aerobics)<br />
Swimming<br />
Gymnastics<br />
Tae Kwon Do<br />
Karate<br />
Fencing<br />
Hockey<br />
Kindermusik<br />
Art Classes (Painting, sculpture, drawing, pottery, etc.)<br />
Computer Classes (Animation, robotics, programming, etc.)<br />
Instrument lessons (Violin and piano seem to be the dominant ones right now)<br />
Math Monkey<br />
Kumon<br />
Foreign Languages (Spanish, French, Chinese)<br />
Scouts<br />
Daisies<br />
<br />
Just to name a few. And I know I'm missing a bunch. <br />
<br />
As the parent, though, I feel I have to draw the line and make the kids choose just one - MAYBE two - things at a time. Eustace can't be a violin prodigy, a soccer star, a math whiz and an Eagle Scout - can he? Especially when he's got two other siblings who want to do that much too? When does it become a bunch of shit you're just running your kid around to just so you don't have to entertain them?<br />
<br />
I actually overhead a mother the other day complaining that <i>school</i> was taking away from her children's activities. Her direct quote was: "I don't know how the school expects Elmer to get all his homework done when he's playing on 3 baseball teams right now. It's ridiculous how much work they send home for him. What do they do at school all day if he has this much to bring home? We just don't have time for it all. We're far too busy!"<br />
<br />
Ummm....Isn't school kind of like a job? Shouldn't school be the first on the list and then if there's time they can do the rest? I asked her, "Why is he on 3 teams? Isn't it more important for Elmer to study so that he can go to college or get a job someday?"<br />
<br />
She looked at me like I was speaking Japanese. "Elmer needs to stick with baseball, because that will be his job someday. Elmer is well on his way to being a professional baseball player." <br />
<br />
I did not know this woman, she was a friend of a friend. Our mutual friend gave me the look that said, <i>"Jennn....don't start with this lady. I would like to keep her as my friend so keep your big opinionated mouth shut."</i><br />
<br />
I obediently clamped my mouth shut and excused myself from the conversation before I literally slapped this idiotic woman upside her head.<br />
<br />
This is not unusual. You go to a party in this town and you hear stupid shit like:<br />
<br />
<i>"We have Eloise in Girl Scouts, <a href="http://www.kumon.com/" target="_blank">Kumon</a>, advanced hairbraiding, piano and she has real potential to be a professional racquetball player. We can barely get her reading done every night. The teacher wants her to read 2 chapters a night on top of all the homework!" </i><br />
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<i>"Oh I know! Nellie's teacher told us that her math is suffering this year, but honestly, when is she going to need it? She really wants to focus her studies on synchronized swimming or Chinese Calligraphy and you don't need math for either of those. It's so hard when she's so involved in so many activities she loves. Besides the swimming, she is </i><i>taking ice skating lessons, basketball, and Italian cooking. Her Chinese Calligraphy teacher thinks she has a beautiful technique. We're thinking of bringing in a Chinese Calligraphy Master for her to study with over the summer if we can find some time between Equestrian Camp, Lego Masters Camp and her private pottery lessons."</i><br />
<br />
It's not just the kids' activities that everyone's complaining about. I also hear a lot about busy schedules that the moms are keeping these days. Friday night I was at a school event I had a hand in planning and this is what I heard from one of the moms:<br />
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"I just don't know when you found the time to do this, Jen! You work full time and you take care of the kids. How did you get this done?"<br />
<br />
"Eh. I had a lot of help. It was a big committee. I'm tired, no doubt, and I'm glad it's over. I need to start learning how to say 'No' more."<br />
<br />
"Oh I know! I'm always being hit up to help with this kind of stuff. They think because I'm home and I don't work I have time to put in on this kind of stuff, but I really don't! I do morning carpool, so we're out the door by 7:50. I pick everyone up and drop them off by 8:15. I head to the gym for my 8:30 Hot Yoga class, do that for an hour, cool off with a swim and then meet the girls in the cafe for an organic smoothie. We usually wrap up around 11 so I can hit Target and Whole Foods - can't get out of either of those places for under fifty bucks, am I right, Jen? I check my voicemail and email about this time and realize I have about 30 messages I need to return, so I pull over and do that. Once I'm done with messages, I grab Seamus' dry cleaning and head to Michael's to get all the supplies I'll need for whatever class project Eugene seems to have due every week - don't we just live at Michael's, Jen? Then it's about time for me to run to the courts for my 1:30 tennis lesson with Alejandro - who, by the way, is ah-may-zing. After an hour of staring at Alejandro's butt, teeheehee, I mean learning new technique from Alejandro, I head home to shower and get some dinner ready for the kids. After all, we've only got about 35 minutes to eat as soon as they walk in the door before the first activity of the evening starts. Most nights Seamus and I are running in different directions with kids. Weekends are even worse with each kid having 2 or 3 games every day."<br />
<br />
I stood there with my fake smile plastered on my face thinking to myself: <i>What is Alejandro so amazing at and when do you update your Pinterest account? Because making time for Pinterest is way more important than shopping, I haven't been to the grocery store in a week, but my Pinterest account is ah-may-zing. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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Listening to her I realized, I spend <i>my</i> time being busy with far more <i>important</i> things. I work several hours a day on my real job and then several more hours on my writing, but it's all from home so I tend to wander off my work and onto Facebook and Pinterest a lot. The Hubs and I haven't sent anything out to be dry cleaned in 5 years so I can take off my list. I try to do laundry every day, but it's a real chore and it never gets fully done. I do go to Target a lot. Mostly to return stuff I should not have bought when I was there yesterday. I barely cook. I volunteer a lot for many different things - it's a good outlet for my bossiness. I watch TV most every day. Our kids are currently doing soccer and gymnastics so I take them to those activities. Most nights I work with my kid on spelling words, reading (he reads to me and I read to both of them), math homework, and whatever the project of the week is. I don't work out. I should. But I don't have time (teeheehee). Maybe I could cram more stupid stuff in like she does if I knew her secret.<br />
<br />
So I finally had to interrupt her and ask, "What kind of drugs are you on?"<br />
<br />
"Excuse me?"<br />
<br />
"Drugs. Are you one of those moms who pops the kids' Ritalin to keep going? Are you guzzling Red Bull, 5 Hour Energy drinks or is it just straight up cocaine?"<br />
<br />
"Oh my God, Jen. You are hysterical!" she laughed and walked off. <br />
<br />
I don't think those bitches will ever let me in on the secret.<br />
<br />
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<br />
What is the deal with people who work in professions designed to cater to children and then they can't stand children and/or they have no patience with children?!<br />
<br />
We take our kids to a pediatric dentist. He costs us far more than a "normal" dentist because he is a specialist, but I wanted to take my kids to a dentist who supposedly wouldn't scare the shit out of them and who I assume is trained to work with the under 12 crowd.<br />
<br />
This guy has an office that looks like a carnival. He has kids movies on the big screen, aquariums full of beautiful, bright fish, video games, stuffed animals, goody bags, balloons and, of course, ice cream (he's gotta make sure we still keep getting cavities - he knows where his bread is buttered). His staff dresses in matching outfits that are different colors every day and they all have perky, glow in the dark smiles. That's where the fun ends. <br />
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It is like a crap shoot when you walk into his office, because you never know which dental assistant you're going to get. It seems as if only half of them have been told that their job is to interact with children and poke-y, noisy, scary tools all day long and that the combination of these things can make kids react poorly.<br />
<br />
We took Gomer in about a month ago and they said he needed x-rays. OK, let's get some pics. Open wide, Gomer. Wider. Wider. Wider, damn it!! The assistant could not get the film in his mouth. She snapped at him and told him to open even wider. When that didn't work, she practically mounted him and shoved his head back so she could "try another angle." She gagged him with the film and then she finally gave up in a huff and said we wouldn't get x-rays because Gomer was "uncooperative." <br />
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Gomer is 7. He has a terrible gag reflex and she's shoving a 4 inch piece of plastic down his gullet without any warning or compassion. She's lucky she still has all her fingers. Needless to say, we're looking for another dentist.<br />
<br />
There a salon down the street that brags that they specialize in children's haircuts - especially baby's first haircut. Again, it's another joint that's decked out like Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory with an over priced toy store attached (think crap from the dollar bins at Target marked up to $12). This salon is run by people who I think barely graduated from beauty school. I made the mistake of taking Gomer there for his first haircut. They have this whole package deal where you get before and after pics, a locket of his precious baby hair and for an additional upgrade you can have the whole thing video taped. We stopped short of the video tape option. (Don't punch me, I was naive and this was my first child, I had no idea what a fucking racket this was. We never took Adolpha - that should get me some of my cred back.)<br />
<br />
Gomer was terrified of the stylist and cried and screamed the whole time while this woman bobbed and weaved with extremely sharp and pointy scissors. I tried to keep Gomer's attention and calm him down while the Hubs snapped about 100 pictures of this momentous occasion. It quickly became apparent this woman had never cut a baby's hair before. She was completely out of her comfort zone and had no idea what to do. At one point, she actually grabbed his face in her hands and told my 10 month old baby to "settle down." I told her to get her hands off him and focus on her damn job. In the end, Gomer screamed himself hoarse and he ended up with an incredibly uneven hair cut. The Hubs got a fantastic picture of him giving the stylist the evil eye though that still makes us laugh. <br />
<br />
And then there was the preschool teacher who hated preschoolers. She was a total bitch. She worked in Gomer's classroom a few days a week and Gomer told us he hated her because she was mean to him. We thought he was exaggerating until a few months into the school year and I finally met Miss Diane. It was Gomer's 4th birthday and Adolpha and I arrived at school with treats. Another teacher wished him a happy birthday and Gomer reminded her that it was also Adolpha's 2nd birthday that day. Miss Diane sneered, "Are you still telling that lie, Gomer?" WTF, lady? <br />
<br />
"Gomer isn't lying. He and Adolpha were born on the same day, two years apart. I should know. I was there," I said.<br />
<br />
"You mean it's true?" she sputttered.<br />
<br />
"Of course it's true. Gomer doesn't lie!" (I wish I could still say he never lies.) "And besides, why would you think he lied about something like that in front of his mother?"<br />
<br />
"Well, I don't know. It just seemed far-fetched to me. That's got to be pretty rare to have two kids, two years apart."<br />
<br />
"I don't know how rare it is. I can tell you how special it is. Gomer is thrilled to have such a unique birthday and he loves to share his day with Adolpha." <i>Bitch.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
These are just a few examples, I know there are more. Let's hear it.<br />
<br />
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If you like what you read, <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">check out my BOOKS!</a></h3>
Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com193tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-90720137165414213522022-02-09T11:37:00.000-06:002022-02-09T11:37:37.393-06:00Top 10 Reasons to "Love Me" or "Get With Me"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtf7kAHupikQ6sNwjn2Zts276EsjNBtt6VmbKqCRl_4P63Z4wgtfm100deLvQ4o5HUfEGiJbMUqmq3aPF2_O6pfwOFXGZ6RruI0IWAlHBW1WXqLCGzU2Xr1T9onZhxFGTrixunfPJg7js-/s1600/Dollarphotoclub_100536303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtf7kAHupikQ6sNwjn2Zts276EsjNBtt6VmbKqCRl_4P63Z4wgtfm100deLvQ4o5HUfEGiJbMUqmq3aPF2_O6pfwOFXGZ6RruI0IWAlHBW1WXqLCGzU2Xr1T9onZhxFGTrixunfPJg7js-/s400/Dollarphotoclub_100536303.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
<br />
In honor of Valentine's Day this week, the Hubs has submitted a guest post for today. He has no filter (this is the man who called our neighbor's 2 year old a liar) so this should be interesting. I've given him absolute freedom to write whatever's on his mind without any edits from me. So here you go:<br />
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My Dearest Jen,<br />
<br />
Congratulations on your blog. I am so happy that you are getting so many people to read it. <br />
<br />
I know how everyone loves your lists, so I came up with one myself.<br />
<br />
I have 10 very compelling reasons why you really should "spend more time with me."<br />
<br />
1. I cook for you and the kids. Don't
deny it. You and the kids love my cooking and you'd all starve if I wasn't here. If they wanted everything
burnt, they would ask for you.<br />
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<br /></div>
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2. I load and unload the dishwasher. I figure, if I'm
doing all the cooking, I might as well do the clean up while I'm
there.<br />
<br /></div>
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3. I get up every morning and feed the kids and let you sleep in for an extra 30 minutes of sleep. I'm sure many women would gladly give anything for that.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS3JWmpgEoTz8b2qMHoOafNz1cq7Yz-j9YEV-aZENHgly0EDCzf6vHG-WXhBdOIG-UaTI-0Rfwk5x0VbzzPWmU8z_uan1X6fq1dAFtRxU9w_lMQNASW250NNZtx3Lhr84RVg37O3BGKDlH/s1600/loveher.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS3JWmpgEoTz8b2qMHoOafNz1cq7Yz-j9YEV-aZENHgly0EDCzf6vHG-WXhBdOIG-UaTI-0Rfwk5x0VbzzPWmU8z_uan1X6fq1dAFtRxU9w_lMQNASW250NNZtx3Lhr84RVg37O3BGKDlH/s320/loveher.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
4. "I love you” and you are the “best and ONLY mother of my children.”</div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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5. It is a healthy way to stay in
shape. Everyone needs some cardio, so I am just helping you out with
your workout and looking out for your best interest. I am always looking out for you first.</div>
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<br /></div>
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6. Even though it is a “jungle”
down there, I am still willing to brave that “jungle.” NOTE: I heard that the Brazilians have cutting edge technologies to deal with the jungle. You might want to look into it. </div>
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7. I'm SURE it was part of our wedding vows or something. Maybe it was in my head, but that should count.</div>
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8. If you “Love” me. "Show" me. Repeat as often as possible.<br />
<br />
9. It's only 5
minutes out of your day. Not that I keep track or anything.</div>
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10. I have a GREAT sense of humor. That's why I know you want to "get with me."<br />
<br />
Marriage is a give and take. I just give and give and give. I think it's time you did a little giving. I'm sure everyone reading this will agree with me. I deserve a little more "Special Time" with my wonderfully super talented wife.<br />
<br />
PS. Consider this your Valentine's gift. Don't ask for a card or a gift this year. Having me as your HUBS should be gift enough.<br />
<br />
<i><b><a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2012/02/valentines-day-response.html" target="_blank">Wow, OK, Hubs. It's on. Here's my response to you.</a></b></i></div>
Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com146tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-82636046812920211902022-02-07T08:30:00.000-06:002022-02-07T08:30:36.917-06:008 Ways to Say "F*ck You"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqORp3qozHStVtzx-Ln0wcgYiem9c9ouW5oVDxjZ3AulU4TDF7N-2UGVwsInDlVaQ73NeKRsMiM-HBisen1EwfGUm2LLrYU4RzcuuiJMKBd2o9c4n5w4xw_vXjCCZee3wH6I_37RXqGLxF/s1600/Dollarphotoclub_74649926.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqORp3qozHStVtzx-Ln0wcgYiem9c9ouW5oVDxjZ3AulU4TDF7N-2UGVwsInDlVaQ73NeKRsMiM-HBisen1EwfGUm2LLrYU4RzcuuiJMKBd2o9c4n5w4xw_vXjCCZee3wH6I_37RXqGLxF/s400/Dollarphotoclub_74649926.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
8 Ways to Say "Fuck You"<br />
<br />
I've noticed a real trend on the internet lately. The passive aggressive "fuck you". We've all been a victim of it and I'm betting we've all dropped one or two of our own on a douchebag here or there.<br />
<br />
I've rounded up some of my favorites, but I know I missed a bunch, so leave yours in the comments!<br />
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<a name='more'></a>1. <b>Namaste -</b> I'm seeing this one crop up more and more. It's like the hemp crowd wants their own fuck you. They will cut you for not eating your placenta or using reusable toilet paper and then at the end, they sign off with "Namaste."<br />
<br />
2. <b>Just Sayin' -</b> This is the most abused fuck you phrase out there. By adding these two words to the end of any sentence, it's suddenly turned into a "joke." It's meant to take any phrase, no matter how horrible, and turn it benign. But you can't say "Your kids are disgusting and ugly, just sayin'" or "You're an idiot, just sayin'" and think that's OK. My standard response to this one will forever be, "You shouldn't be allowed to leave your house, just sayin.'"<br />
<br />
3. <b>Bless Your Heart</b> - Only people with a southern accent can get away with this one. When the rest of us say it, it sounds like "Your mom's a whore."<br />
<br />
4. <b>Smiley and/or Winky Face -</b> I have been known to use the winky face to express sarcasm. To me that is the only way to show tone of voice until a sarcasm font is invented. I only use the sarcasm winky face on people who I knew well and who understand my sense of humor. I would never say to a perfect stranger "You're a terrible mother. ;)" And yet it happens. Every single day.<br />
<br />
5. <b>Don't Take This Personally, But</b> - As opposed to <i>not</i> taking it personally? When you say, "Jen, don't take this personally, but let's just say I would <i>never</i> do it the way you did." You just told me I suck on so many different levels you don't even have the time to educate me.<br />
<br />
6. <b>It's Just My Opinion</b> - This one and It's just my HUMBLE opinion are two really good ones. There is nothing humble about your opinion. If you were humble you would keep your asshole opinion to yourself.<br />
<br />
7. <b>Whatever -</b> This is the fuck you from the 13-year-old crowd that has slowly worked its way into adult vocabulary too. It's always used when the speaker has run out of anything intelligent to say or realizes he is going to lose his argument. It used to be "Agree to disagree," but apparently that was too many words and it has since been shortened to the charming "Whatevs."<br />
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<br /></div>
8. <b>I'm Not Trying to Offend You, But -</b> Then just stop right there, because I'm already offended, Namaste.<br />
<br />
You know what else is filled with the F-bombs? <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">My BOOKS!</a><br />
<br />
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Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com124tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-90901509875858578922022-01-29T06:49:00.000-06:002022-01-29T06:49:01.191-06:00Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
My friend Kim at Let Me Start By Saying wrote <a href="http://pubx.ch/1yEdnbz" target="_blank">an essay that was featured on the <i>Huffington Post</i></a>. It was about reading her five-year-old daughter's diary. Kim knew her daughter had been writing in her diary and Kim wondered what was going on in her daughter's head. She took the key and opened the book. She was apprehensive. She was worried she might find out that her daughter was sad or angry or hiding something. Instead, she found that her daughter was happy and loved her life. Kim wrote a sweet and endearing post about this experience and her relief to find her daughter happy and healthy.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Now, it's known that the <i>Huffington Post</i> has some of the meanest, angriest, trolliest commenters around. I always imagine many of them living in vans down by the river or licking Cheetos residue from their fingers while typing their raging opus in their mother's dark basements. Well, Kim struck a nerve with her post and got those vans and basements rattling with anger.<br />
<br />
So many people came out screaming at Kim for "violating her daughter's privacy," for "betraying her trust," and flat out calling Kim a terrible mother.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhakZ7X6n2T4ZzQ6eTml8PztIGZQzH0u70STrmi37K68wSbGo1Sz1sXmwN5e1nQVesVx11tnFf82J0j0D_di2om0cZkH840kzlSPij7daaq1_4h23ELEILQLkeXmDo533FO0ryDwgeaxKDM/s1600/Big-Mother-is-Watching.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhakZ7X6n2T4ZzQ6eTml8PztIGZQzH0u70STrmi37K68wSbGo1Sz1sXmwN5e1nQVesVx11tnFf82J0j0D_di2om0cZkH840kzlSPij7daaq1_4h23ELEILQLkeXmDo533FO0ryDwgeaxKDM/s320/Big-Mother-is-Watching.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
All of the comments got me thinking.<br />
<br />
If they thought Kim was a terrible mother, then I must be a HORRIBLE mother. I saw nothing wrong with what Kim did. A few people made the distinction that her daughter is only five, but if she were 15 <i>then</i> it would a be a violation, blah, blah. But I disagree.<br />
<br />
<br />
I have been very clear in making sure my children have never even gotten the <i>idea</i> that they have a right to privacy in my home. Sure, my kids can bathe in private or close the doors to their bedrooms, but they cannot keep diaries locked away or drawers in their dressers off limits from me and the Hubs.<br />
<br />
Why do we think that children deserve privacy? Why do we think that some how we're betraying our precious snowflake's trust by reading her text messages or his emails? I'm not betraying their trust, I'm parenting. They don't get to keep secrets from me. They don't get to leave this house without telling me where they're going, who they're going with, and when they will be back.<br />
<br />
They can have an opinion and they can tell me my rules suck, but I really don't care. I have a job to do. My job is to raise them and to keep them safe and to make sure they're not entitled assholes.<br />
<br />
Only entitled assholes demand a right to privacy. They're kids. They're not adults. Not even adults have complete freedom. I know I've had to pee in many a cup to get a job and I know that my emails were read and my phone conversations were monitored. That's just life.<br />
<br />
My children will never have privacy. I am their mother. This is my house. I am determined to know everything that goes on under this roof. I'm not stupid enough to think that I will always know what's happening, there will be secrets they'll manage to keep, but I'm also not stupid enough to think my kids will just <i>tell</i> me everything that's going on in their lives. I have to be an active parent. I can't be lazy or complacent and just think my kids are good kids because they have decent grades and their friends seem OK.<br />
<br />
You know why not? Because kids lie. All the time.<br />
<br />
When my kids are teenagers, they will know that at any moment I can ask them to hand over their cell phones, laptops, whatever equipment they'll be carrying by then, so that I can see who they're talking to and what they're talking about. Can you imagine if those boys in Steubenville had parents who enforced this rule? Can you imagine getting your son's phone and seeing pictures of a girl being violated by him and his friends? Do you think those boys would have taken those pictures if they suspected their parents might see them? Do you think they would have uploaded videos to Youtube laughing at the victim and calling her names if they thought for a second their parents would access their Youtube accounts? I don't think they would. But I'm not surprised the Steubenville boys didn't have rules like these. Those kids were dicks and they had parents who enabled them and let them be dicks. My guess is, those kids had privacy. Those kids had parents who didn't want to betray their trust or invade their personal space. That's bullshit.<br />
<br />
(Of course I'm not saying that every kid who is allowed privacy is going to be a rapist or an asshole, but your chances are pretty high. Good for you if you've raised a good kid who was also afforded privacy!)<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago I had lunch with a friend who has a teenage daughter. My friend was upset because her freshman daughter had been caught sending inappropriate photos to a senior boy. The mother of the boy was doing her usual random search through her son's phone and came across the photos of a scantily clad young girl. She demanded to know who the girl was and her son told her. She tracked down my friend and told her about the photos of her daughter. The mothers agreed to delete the photos and punish the kids.<br />
<br />
Can you imagine if the boy's mom didn't find that photo? Can you imagine if the boy decided for some reason to share the picture with the rest of their school? Girls are killing themselves because of photos like these.<br />
<br />
Kids make dumb choices. They are not equipped to think about consequences. That's why we need to parent them. We need to be there guiding them and helping them and supervising them. And to me, that means no privacy.<br />
<br />
What about their diaries? I will read their diaries and their journals and anything else they write. Too many kids struggle with depression, addiction, low self esteem, and more and a good place to find out about it is through their writings. I would rather violate their trust and read my child's journal and get them help than stand by with my head in the clouds hoping they'll tell me what's bothering them while they're contemplating their suicide.<br />
<br />
Too many kids are hurting themselves and others because they're in pain and they need help. I can't stand by and just hope my kids will tell me what's bothering them.<br />
<br />
So, their journals and texts and emails will be ours to read. Their drawers will be ours to search.<br />
<br />
I do this, not because I'm running a police state or because I wrote the Patriot Act (as a brilliant HP commenter accused me of), but because I am responsible for them and I love them and I want guide them and help them.<br />
<br />
I am all for kids learning through their mistakes, but I want those mistakes to be flunking a math test or getting a detention for too many tardies. I don't want the mistake to be sending a text message while driving and accidentally killing a child walking home from school. I don't want the mistake to be emailing naked photos to the captain of the football team and hoping he keeps those to himself. I don't want the mistake to be a child who is so depressed he hurts himself and/or his classmates. I love my children fiercely and I don't want to be that parent who says, "We had no idea she felt this way."<br />
<br />
Maybe you think I am a terrible mother, but I really don't care.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">If you like what you read, please follow </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat?ref=hl" target="_blank">me on Facebook</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">, </span><a href="https://twitter.com/Throat_Punch" target="_blank">Twitter,</a> <a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=PeopleIWantToPunchInTheThroat" target="_blank">Subscribe via e-mail.</a></b><br />
<br />
<b>Hey you guys, I have a NEW book out! <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">GET IT OUT HERE!</a></b><br />
<br />Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com351tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-90027802164852889742022-01-19T16:47:00.000-06:002022-01-19T16:47:04.307-06:00Stan the Mann Got His DNA Results Back!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-kuA3WiBOsrwmmfRw1941ZB5L3sfST22jqUDzBcQotbsBTX7ROE6LNSPFfDSsCamSrMbVLG4dhj1lGCT-03FQlLZ-UjQ3hvi7ruwPJBEt6la69xBIkxMkdiq25zj62E71jcVt0jo6TnR3JntqEJMfUChu-z01UW3zEUD9bd0XwK5bzwc1oh1biE7vwA=s1525" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1525" data-original-width="1098" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-kuA3WiBOsrwmmfRw1941ZB5L3sfST22jqUDzBcQotbsBTX7ROE6LNSPFfDSsCamSrMbVLG4dhj1lGCT-03FQlLZ-UjQ3hvi7ruwPJBEt6la69xBIkxMkdiq25zj62E71jcVt0jo6TnR3JntqEJMfUChu-z01UW3zEUD9bd0XwK5bzwc1oh1biE7vwA=s320" width="230" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />If you've been keeping up, then you know a year ago I changed my mind about dogs and we adopted <a href="https://www.instagram.com/stan_the_mann_doggo/" target="_blank">Stan the Mann Doggo</a>. When he got him we were told he was a "Retriever Mix." We were handed a wriggly little puppy with lots of loose skin, giant paws, and huge brown eyes. As he's grown over the last year and a half, he hasn't lost the loose skin or the giant paws or the huge brown eyes, but he also has never resembled a Retriever of any kind. In fact, we weren't sure what kind of dog he was.<p></p><p>From certain angles, he definitely looked like he had some Beagle in him or some Boxer, but we just didn't know.</p><p>So, over Christmas, the Hubs bought a dog DNA test from <a href="https://www.wisdompanel.com/en-us?gclid=Cj0KCQiAip-PBhDVARIsAPP2xc3rRSSk_isKnkHjtuzgXEs6AtUUQB3A_tAl7kZ94gx-LXiV3VrbvcMaAsLSEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds" target="_blank">Wisdom Panel</a> as a surprise for our family. We'd finally find out Stan's genetic makeup.</p><p>He sat down and let me swab his mouth and then we sent off the sample. In the meantime, we all wrote down what we thought the results would be.</p><p>My list was:</p><p>1. Retriever.</p><p>2. Beagle.</p><p>3. Boxer.</p><p>4. Chihuahua (just to be an ass).</p><p>Over the weekend, Stan's results landed in our inbox, and shocked is an understatement. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/QjrrSbYaqgi1q/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="285" height="285" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/QjrrSbYaqgi1q/giphy.gif" width="285" /></a></div><br /><p>We knew Stan was a mixed breed, but we didn't expect him to have 15 different breeds. But the most shocking part was that NOT ONE BIT of him is Beagle or Boxer.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/zLXBAnyOqmTHa/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="298" data-original-width="478" height="298" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/zLXBAnyOqmTHa/giphy.gif" width="478" /></a></div><br /><p>He's a little bit of a lot of breeds, but he's 28% of one particular breed that came as a huge surprise. It was such a surprise that <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jen.mann.568/" target="_blank">I asked my readers</a> if they could guess. I ran a contest and anyone who guessed correctly would be entered to win a signed copy of one of my books (thanks for entering - the winner has been notified). </p><p>I saw a lot of Boxer and Beagle guesses (we weren't the only ones who could see that, I guess). Several Labs and Pit Bull guesses. A TON of Bernese Mountain dog and St. Bernard. And one lady who guessed Chow Chow because every rescue she knows in Kansas City has a little Chow Chow in it. Her theory is there's a Chow Chow on the loose around town living his best life. I kind of agree with her theory since Stan is 6% Chow Chow.</p><p>But so many of these guesses were wrong. And I'm not surprised, because Stan the Mann is 28% Akita!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/QjPK9NMfj9EqRq0ZBQ/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="290" height="476" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/QjPK9NMfj9EqRq0ZBQ/giphy.gif" width="290" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>I don't see it. It's hidden in there.</p><p>For those of you who guessed Pit Bull, you were close. That's second on the list at 14%. He's also 1% St. Bernard which apparently really shows through when he's wearing his tie. And that wrinkly skin of his? I'm assuming it's from his 2% Chinese Shar-Pei.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgff_jcpf2fMjrw--Z182F6swk0STCYrN_UtsiAEbB2mOR2Ix3_l4TsLCTJuufKDY385KrMr6GcIwzfDvIguNz2Q3wHjfJBg8m4ixIfUgiFr9ZabTHcpAvDazcAlftvKfVzDrvlZzHjnBhYMn9Q-bztUcZHPmHZ6LjVae9IyI_N6dr565I5ZOVVHAoVrw=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgff_jcpf2fMjrw--Z182F6swk0STCYrN_UtsiAEbB2mOR2Ix3_l4TsLCTJuufKDY385KrMr6GcIwzfDvIguNz2Q3wHjfJBg8m4ixIfUgiFr9ZabTHcpAvDazcAlftvKfVzDrvlZzHjnBhYMn9Q-bztUcZHPmHZ6LjVae9IyI_N6dr565I5ZOVVHAoVrw=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Here's the whole shebang:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIH9fEkV5QeKSkIrMEs8rIrfsHrUtA7xOut4SGPghd1cSPZ5UNsKwljy1mWoUWlXli3KHBRMnFh8JNfNoNTcjUN-8gsOpQF5RKcFovaZAJN6waMETtockCbylD4ZpGdNRiEfWkpNK55hxOOJSrZPzlO2fqsCv_bSgJVzwd8JqRIsB2ClhXO4isVkesQQ=s2000" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1074" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIH9fEkV5QeKSkIrMEs8rIrfsHrUtA7xOut4SGPghd1cSPZ5UNsKwljy1mWoUWlXli3KHBRMnFh8JNfNoNTcjUN-8gsOpQF5RKcFovaZAJN6waMETtockCbylD4ZpGdNRiEfWkpNK55hxOOJSrZPzlO2fqsCv_bSgJVzwd8JqRIsB2ClhXO4isVkesQQ=s320" width="172" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyg08DcTf2bDSMHjf3k_5tlPQTEyslWPBdn8UvqrXIq9AAKZxDpB8sTXO40vi1_iU97M6e4aa3toNiXPrfyhTHxvK779CUATPfH__OJeImGhG-FHZFP-ZU_KGkj5IvfMKI77KN9EVpTik4p6_nxPNjzh92-ZAZu_1NdXfz6AU7RZ1i82LcK5W0mOnuLg=s1083" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyg08DcTf2bDSMHjf3k_5tlPQTEyslWPBdn8UvqrXIq9AAKZxDpB8sTXO40vi1_iU97M6e4aa3toNiXPrfyhTHxvK779CUATPfH__OJeImGhG-FHZFP-ZU_KGkj5IvfMKI77KN9EVpTik4p6_nxPNjzh92-ZAZu_1NdXfz6AU7RZ1i82LcK5W0mOnuLg=s1083" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhJDp5zMSRaEy3_uUMmF4QCtJoRvlCyhjap0kMqAB2zeARaZGpIT4VKVUy-ySvX8d2qgApyNHfz-tDhiiOb7fcWWwqz6r-RdIpBduPMvp-u0NZ-fh0HXuzsv6N8CbCgNpIRwtGDLZ82i1NNop39dyuMKdXdbx2ihQfKLZ6wOMZoQHUgPCbK-SAT4Kpng=s1905" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1905" data-original-width="1073" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhJDp5zMSRaEy3_uUMmF4QCtJoRvlCyhjap0kMqAB2zeARaZGpIT4VKVUy-ySvX8d2qgApyNHfz-tDhiiOb7fcWWwqz6r-RdIpBduPMvp-u0NZ-fh0HXuzsv6N8CbCgNpIRwtGDLZ82i1NNop39dyuMKdXdbx2ihQfKLZ6wOMZoQHUgPCbK-SAT4Kpng=s320" width="180" /></a></div><img border="0" data-original-height="1083" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyg08DcTf2bDSMHjf3k_5tlPQTEyslWPBdn8UvqrXIq9AAKZxDpB8sTXO40vi1_iU97M6e4aa3toNiXPrfyhTHxvK779CUATPfH__OJeImGhG-FHZFP-ZU_KGkj5IvfMKI77KN9EVpTik4p6_nxPNjzh92-ZAZu_1NdXfz6AU7RZ1i82LcK5W0mOnuLg=s320" width="319" /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I guess the dog shelter wasn't wrong when they called him a "Retriever Mix." He's a whole lotta dog, but as many people said in the comments, he's 100% a good boy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Stan also wanted me to remind you that <a href="https://amzn.to/32fISAD" target="_blank">MIDLIFE BITES: ANYONE ELSE FALLING APART, OR IS IT JUST ME?</a> is now available everywhere books are sold.</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqwjYSptmKaz6CPiZlAyQL46D6F2mUW3-yL1yb8LUKkKDMKEhHvjQ_by49Sijx8z_xbiGknKNF5BOMzzDj_j7GhtEk2eJ5TrzhIQcy5tGxsC-n8ICSsBXBQDnXASANyAXRpEf6U7KyuCqfxjLaPaOx44FK2ZHuaN4FnFrT-5WnhqxRVmXAu-ARSHWzCw=s2790" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1687" data-original-width="2790" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqwjYSptmKaz6CPiZlAyQL46D6F2mUW3-yL1yb8LUKkKDMKEhHvjQ_by49Sijx8z_xbiGknKNF5BOMzzDj_j7GhtEk2eJ5TrzhIQcy5tGxsC-n8ICSsBXBQDnXASANyAXRpEf6U7KyuCqfxjLaPaOx44FK2ZHuaN4FnFrT-5WnhqxRVmXAu-ARSHWzCw=w400-h241" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-39230994894186272522022-01-04T06:14:00.001-06:002022-01-04T09:49:59.135-06:00Anyone Else Falling Apart Or Is It Just Me?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlo8-amhgmik71aiACRsZgtOaEh0DNX2oS0I59pK00A43hPiDw4y7jGiDCYmwpoe3eIHU7rTwtP1qLUNSFxnhc42iZEPmF-z0jd8sP-zKoYRaQMdbz9257e71s5IgHi6ZeawuXlx06TIT0/s1600/Hand.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlo8-amhgmik71aiACRsZgtOaEh0DNX2oS0I59pK00A43hPiDw4y7jGiDCYmwpoe3eIHU7rTwtP1qLUNSFxnhc42iZEPmF-z0jd8sP-zKoYRaQMdbz9257e71s5IgHi6ZeawuXlx06TIT0/s320/Hand.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So I'm pretty sure I'm going through a midlife crisis. I feel like I'm falling apart. I feel like the more I try to keep from falling apart, the faster I fall apart. I feel like I'm drowning and I can't breathe. And, on top of all that, I also feel numb. I'm not positive that's a midlife crisis, because when I Google midlife crisis or signs of a midlife crisis, so much of the information points to how men feel or how men can cope. There's not a lot of information out there for women.<br />
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I thought, Maybe it doesn't happen to us? No, I think it's more like we don't talk about this stuff. </div>
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I was reminded of a story about my overwhelmed great-grandmother asking her doctor for some help and he told her, "Nice women don't discuss such things."<br />
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<i>Nice women don't discuss such things.</i></div>
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I guess it's a good thing I'm not a nice woman? Because I'm ready to discuss this uncomfortable topic.</div>
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I'm miserable. I've been feeling this way for about a year now and I was afraid to say anything even to my closest friends and family. It's a really shitty thing to say out loud, because I know it hurts the people close to me, plus it just sounds like typical suburban angst. If I was a refugee somewhere, I wouldn't get the luxury to say, "I'm just not happy." I'm not running for my life, I'm not watching people around me get murdered, I don't have any real strife in my life, so what the fuck? Buck up! Right? </div>
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I don't know, though. Don't I deserve to be happy? Don't I owe it to myself? Isn't that what I'm always preaching? Or am I supposed to keep this all to myself and just muddle through and not make waves?</div>
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Yes, I'm really unhappy and dissatisfied with my life. I've passed forty-five and I feel like it's all downhill now. I find myself asking on a daily basis, "Is this it? Is this all there is?" </div>
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Which, again, is a really shitty thing to ask, because I know my life is not horrible. And then that makes me feel even worse. Like I'm not grateful for all that I have or all that I've accomplished.</div>
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I am grateful, I just ... want more. I expected more. It's just that by my mid-forties I expected to be further along in my career. I expected more security. I expected a different relationship. And I'm not a perfectionist or a high-achiever by any stretch of the imagination, but I guess I set some lofty goals for myself and when I didn't reach them it sort of sent me into a spiral. I feel like I'm constantly scrabbling to hang onto what I have and I can barely advance. It feels like every time I get it figured out, someone moves the finish line on me. I feel like I wasted my twenties doing stupid shit when I should have been working harder, smarter, faster, whatever. Maybe if I'd done that, I'd be in a better position now? I don't know. I keep reliving past decisions and fretting over the choices I made. And that's not helping. I used to be able to take those regrets and that fear and turn it into something productive, but now I just let it drag me down.</div>
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My husband founded a start up a few years ago and he's been working really hard at that, but it's not taking off as fast as either of us would like. It's very demanding on his time and he's not able to help me as much as he used to. He's also not able to work at his "real" job as much, so the pressure has been on me to produce even more and support the family. I've been dealing with health problems for the last year and a half and it's been financially and emotionally and physically taxing. After twenty-plus years together, I feel like the passion is gone from my marriage. Don't get me wrong, the Hubs and I were never tearing each other's clothes off in public, but lately, my marriage feels like a business arrangement. We're great partners but we don't talk about anything other than our work. That's not how it used to be. Maybe we've run out of conversation? My kids are getting older and I worry if I've done a good job raising them. I never had doubts about my parenting before and they're not doing anything to make me question their upbringing and yet, I can't shake that somehow I've fucked them up and they won't be contributing members of society. When my kids were small, I felt like I lost my identity because I was suddenly "Mom" and no longer "Jen." I wasn't young or interesting anymore. Now that my kids are older, I'm losing my "Mom" identity. What will I be in a few short years when they go off to college? Do I go back to being "Jen"? An even older and less interesting person? </div>
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I don't sleep well anymore, I cry and I'm irritable. I haven't felt funny in months. The last time I felt this way was years ago. And that's why I started this blog. I was feeling a ton of pressure and incredibly overwhelmed by my life and I started writing here. I found my sanity, I found my people, and I found a career for myself. </div>
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Writing is my way to deal with stress and pain in my life, but this time I've kept it all bottled up inside of me. I haven't hardly blogged in a year and when I do, it's always about frivolous bullshit rather than what I'm really feeling. I've always said I didn't care what people thought about me and what I write, but this year I cared. I've always said I'm an open book and I tell it like it is, but this year, I kept a lot to myself. Because for the first time I was ashamed of how I felt. I was worried about hurting the people I care about most with my honesty. I was worried about what strangers will think of me. I was worried about looking like a failure, or worse, a complainer. </div>
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Well, I'm done doing that. I'm sitting here, spitting it all out on the page through tears. I am releasing everything here and letting it all go because I think I will explode if I keep this inside any longer. </div>
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Last week I told my friends how I was feeling. It was with trepidation that I asked if anyone else was feeling like they were losing their shit. I was terrified they'd tell me I was crazy. That I have a great life and I need to suck it up and stop feeling sorry for myself, or whatever. Instead, they opened up and shared their own feelings and I realized I was not alone.</div>
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I can't tell you the relief this brought me. </div>
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I look around and I see men my age buying sports cars, getting hair plugs, and dating twenty-something women. What do women do when they're going through this? From what I can tell, we suffer in silence. </div>
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We are the ones who plaster on fake smiles, or at least neutral faces, and go about the business of getting shit done, even though we're screaming inside. We're the ones who take care of our parents, our children, and our husbands. We're the ones who make sure everyone has what they need. We're the ones who care for everyone else, except ourselves. We're the ones who don't talk about our feelings of loneliness, fear, inadequacy, bankruptcy, or whatever, because we're afraid we'll sound selfish or we're afraid of being judged. And, frankly, we don't have time to wallow. </div>
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I finally broke down and told my husband how I was feeling. It wasn't some big revelation. He's not stupid. He'd noticed the change in me. He'd felt me pull away from him, from our life. I was disengaged and going through the motions and he could tell, he just didn't know what to do to help me. The advice he gave me was, "You need to write about this." His advice was solid.</div>
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Even now, as I come to the end of this post, I'm feeling better. It feels good to be open and honest and to be truthful about my feelings of sadness. I'm not cured by any stretch of the imagination, but I do feel better. Putting my thoughts and feelings onto paper has always been my form of therapy. It has always been how I process hard things. I'd gotten away from that this year and I want to get back to it. I won't worry about how many page views I get or the SEO I need to bring traffic to this post, because that shit doesn't matter. What matters is that the people who need to see this and hear this find this post.</div>
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If you recognize yourself in what I've written here, then just know you are not alone. You don't have to be miserable in silence. You are not broken or selfish. You are normal. I understand you and I see you. I know it hurts and I know that you worry about hurting those around you, but you have to make yourself the priority right now. It's time for us to put on our oxygen masks first. You're not helping anyone by keeping it all inside. And you're not fooling anyone. We have to speak up and we have to let the people in our lives know how they can help us. </div>
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I'd like to wrap this up in a bow and give you all a happy ending and some great advice, but I'm not there yet. Right now I don't know what to do to help me. I know self-care is key. Figuring out what will recharge me and help me cope. Like I said, just writing this was an immense relief and that tells me that I need to keep doing that. Just getting back to writing whatever is on my mind is a comfort.</div>
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I also need to find my funny again. I used to be able to find the humor in everything hard, but right now I'm not finding any humor. I wrack my brain every day trying to come up with something funny to write about. I'm shocked when I actually laugh out loud and it's such an overwhelming sense of relief and a high, but it's fleeting. It's just tough to be funny or find funny right now, but I'm determined to do it again. I've always said, "You're going to laugh or cry, so you might as well laugh." Well, I've cried enough and I'm ready to laugh again.</div>
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In my searching I did <a href="http://www.oprah.com/sp/new-midlife-crisis.html" target="_blank">manage to find one helpful article</a> and science assures me that this too shall pass. That soon I'll be fifty and women who are fifty are happy again. Let's hope they're right because right now fifty sounds depressing as hell.<br />
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If you know someone who needs to read this today, please it share with them.<br />
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If you're feeling this way and you need a community that gets you, join <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/371348610249103/" target="_blank">Midlife Bites</a> on Facebook.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/625083/midlife-bites-by-jen-mann/" target="_blank">MIDLIFE BITES: ANYONE ELSE FALLING APART, OR IS IT JUST ME? is now available everywhere books are sold.</a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/625083/midlife-bites-by-jen-mann/" target="_blank"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZ7-nc0hUY6x5q9KTD1j-w03XEYT6Trc0XqdqHNpHqnVmety2V0kZI3qttSgeI_FnaKdwHIQvGHmcosrhClp_BtAJcF-D9Wt2tRijPZ_OdgfFKkokibZtrcMDx77KLYBWmTSpuAAm1oCNzVG35u8Lwt-iiYOk4d-nPKbAmaubDGiprtxMFJm6TPy2GMQ=s1080" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZ7-nc0hUY6x5q9KTD1j-w03XEYT6Trc0XqdqHNpHqnVmety2V0kZI3qttSgeI_FnaKdwHIQvGHmcosrhClp_BtAJcF-D9Wt2tRijPZ_OdgfFKkokibZtrcMDx77KLYBWmTSpuAAm1oCNzVG35u8Lwt-iiYOk4d-nPKbAmaubDGiprtxMFJm6TPy2GMQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /></b></div>
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Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com75tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-25044330580677149862020-10-28T09:00:00.000-05:002020-10-28T09:00:01.418-05:00I'm Always Right<p><span style="background-color: white;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgrPdw4Woqchx92ZBaDePZtnQbS5RCgi4Y5koHxc1uLXKinyhRIPsrpOD4ticfSd9LOP-eSX-HS6eVGfqyQNjXTpkehf_uV5lbc9T_Pjdep3l7H1uSiSQcmS3NSIEuzYgB49m-d9mKMxp/s2543/100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1236" data-original-width="2543" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgrPdw4Woqchx92ZBaDePZtnQbS5RCgi4Y5koHxc1uLXKinyhRIPsrpOD4ticfSd9LOP-eSX-HS6eVGfqyQNjXTpkehf_uV5lbc9T_Pjdep3l7H1uSiSQcmS3NSIEuzYgB49m-d9mKMxp/s320/100.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />It is a ridiculously hot real estate market and the Hubs has been working overtime. When we first started working together way back in 2006 we divided up the responsibilities: he'd work with buyers and I'd work with sellers. Over the last couple years, I've pulled away from real estate and left a lot of it up to him. He's been working like crazy these last few months and I couldn't help him because I've been finishing up <i>Midlife Bites</i>.<p></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">But as luck would have it, I'd just turned in my book to my editor at the same time he sold a listing, so I could help him. And it was a good thing I was around!</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">Because he specializes in buyers, he sometimes forgets the rules and laws for working with sellers. Last week he sold a listing (yay) but I felt he was misinterpreting the contract. No. It was more than a feeling. I KNEW he was misinterpreting the contract, but I could not get him to understand that what he wanted to do was not correct. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">"No, no, no," I said. "You'll be in trouble if you do that."</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">"I do it all the time," the Hubs replied.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">"Yeah, because when you do it you're representing the BUYER. It's okay when it's the buyer, but the seller cannot do that!" I was practically screaming because he wouldn't listen to me. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">"What do you know?" he said. "You haven't sold a house in a year." </span></p><p>McScuze me??? I might be a bit rusty, but I still know my contract law. "I know my shit," I argued. "I've sold a lot more listings than you have. Trust me. I'm right."</p><p>"I'll bet you I'm right," the Hubs said.</p><p>I don't normally like to bet unless I know I can win. When I go to Las Vegas, I go to the spa and shopping because I'd rather "lose" money that way. But I knew I was right, so I bet him. "If you call the real estate commission and ask them who is right, I'll bet you a hundred dollars," I said. That's how confident I was.</p><p>"Fine," the Hubs said. "I'll call them now."</p><p>"Fine," I said.</p><p>The problem was, it was a Saturday and the commission was closed for the weekend.</p><p>Yesterday was our anniversary. We didn't exchange gifts this year because after 18 years of marriage, what could a person still want? </p><p>I was working in my office when the Hubs poked his head in. "You got a minute?" he asked.</p><p>"Yup."</p><p>He walked in and dropped a hundred dollar bill on my desk. "The Hubs always pays his debts," he said. "Happy Anniversary, you were right. You're always right."</p><p>And that right there was all the gift I've ever wanted.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>What's the best anniversary present you've ever received?</b></p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">Check out my signed books! </a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/jenmannauthor/" target="_blank">Follow me on Instagram!</a></b></p><p><br /></p><br /><p><br /></p>Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-53917707805756652492020-10-27T11:21:00.000-05:002020-10-27T11:21:05.287-05:00Meet Stan the Mann!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-CXBKL2wfoeUv8iopLr_HmK86Sod-JIPulKtxutiokSivuZwY5hlbSSbTPd8qJfxA9V1M15ZCTiZpzIuHzt5lel-jDuo0vz4JJpnWUZJr6pPn04hIBoXbCJU_F-ELhrlrQYRuQEWUhF3c/s2304/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="1056" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-CXBKL2wfoeUv8iopLr_HmK86Sod-JIPulKtxutiokSivuZwY5hlbSSbTPd8qJfxA9V1M15ZCTiZpzIuHzt5lel-jDuo0vz4JJpnWUZJr6pPn04hIBoXbCJU_F-ELhrlrQYRuQEWUhF3c/s320/7.jpg" /></a></div><br />If you follow <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jen.mann.568/">my personal Facebook account</a>, then you'll know, we got ourselves a Pandemic Puppy in August. <p></p><p>That's right, I finally broke down and adopted a dog. I know Adolpha's first word was "Dada" but I'm pretty sure her second word was "puppy." For over ten years Adolpha has asked us every day if we could get a dog. </p><p>I didn't want a dog because I had enough to take care of and I knew that no matter what anyone said or promised, I'd be the one responsible for the dog. </p><p>But once we were in the throes of the pandemic with no end (still) in sight, I decided that maybe we all needed a little furry friend to make us feel better. Every day we'd send links to one another advertising different dogs that were available for adoption. We argued over the pros and cons of big dogs vs. little dogs. Puppies vs. older dogs. We made lists of potential names for our non-existent dog. </p><p>Finally, after several weeks of planning, we found the perfect dog and name: Stanley.</p><p>We're all big fans of The Office and Stanley is our favorite character so it made sense to name him Stanley. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweV5GldugW-WbU_pCLWzlqJEHMUXXEqEgE5nPW_2_DefVcWiXpzac1wm29SI4EdrATNXMRh421Tsm5XmyO4nwgJ7wEm6IRDxYa2jmpF_UoPamYe5us0E4TcVNuc33JIRNvrLMQFpR42hW/s2048/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweV5GldugW-WbU_pCLWzlqJEHMUXXEqEgE5nPW_2_DefVcWiXpzac1wm29SI4EdrATNXMRh421Tsm5XmyO4nwgJ7wEm6IRDxYa2jmpF_UoPamYe5us0E4TcVNuc33JIRNvrLMQFpR42hW/s320/4.jpg" /></a></div><br />When Stan's adoption day rolled around, we wore masks and sat in our minivan while we waited for him to return from his surgery (snip, snip). Finally, after two hours of waiting, a masked volunteer dropped a sleepy puppy in Gomer's lap and we were told, "Good luck!" <p></p><p>I didn't know what to do with a dog. Neither the Hubs nor I had a dog growing up and we didn't have any sort of "dog-ternal instinct" that would kick in. So, I ordered a bunch of books and started reading. I've read more about raising dogs than I have about raising kids! Luckily, Stan is super smart and he's made it quite easy for me.</p><p>We've had Stan for several months now and he's officially part of the family. So, must a part of the family, he got <a href="https://www.instagram.com/stan_the_mann_doggo/">his own Instagram account</a>. If you're not working on social media, you can't be in this family!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipqJ9y1BWBPy5xIg5ACk655thzEkJEQBhrKf0QhJP01TM_aWl0Y8uHTDMzii_GYd8UO2F2dPsFssmpG4z58T_CxnDv6oFDnnQbkmQ9B2OW4NvwjMeXlZyq61sXpA5CwIxiO-HoOR1UmG4x/s2304/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="2304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipqJ9y1BWBPy5xIg5ACk655thzEkJEQBhrKf0QhJP01TM_aWl0Y8uHTDMzii_GYd8UO2F2dPsFssmpG4z58T_CxnDv6oFDnnQbkmQ9B2OW4NvwjMeXlZyq61sXpA5CwIxiO-HoOR1UmG4x/s320/5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />When we got Stan the kids were out of school and everyone could help take a turn watching him, playing with him, feeding him, walking him, pooping him, all of it. But within a few weeks school started and the state was like, "Ma'am, your kids need to be learning shit, not taking care of the dog so you can fart around on Facebook." <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeAh-V6LEuRqBmSNRK7DnGNncN7ELLhGOlbQahyphenhyphenJVyd5di-yv1cuuNzHSIhZgoL3wCM9_2AikX6o-QVfUNgs_2fHqy5lLJfP2VJXAVPg4QA7kGih0HAlbXEJM4nBubQyrrSaDCfeoByxL/s2543/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2543" data-original-width="1236" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeAh-V6LEuRqBmSNRK7DnGNncN7ELLhGOlbQahyphenhyphenJVyd5di-yv1cuuNzHSIhZgoL3wCM9_2AikX6o-QVfUNgs_2fHqy5lLJfP2VJXAVPg4QA7kGih0HAlbXEJM4nBubQyrrSaDCfeoByxL/s320/2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />So, guess who is Stan's BFF? <p></p><p>It's not terrible, though. He gives warm hugs and is always happy to see me, which is more than I can say for the rest of my family. I finally get why people like dogs so much!</p><p>OH! I forgot, here's the FAQ everyone always wants to know about Stan. </p><p><b>What kind of dog is he? </b>We don't know. Because he's a rescue, we weren't given a lot of info except he's a "Retriever mix." There are days he looks like he's got some beagle in there or some boxer. </p><p><b>Those paws are big! How much does he weigh?</b> He's finally growing into his big paws. Last month at the vet he weighed just over 30 pounds. The vet has guesstimated he'll be 70 pounds. </p><p><br /></p><p><b>As I said, I don't have a lot of instinct when it comes to raising dogs, so give me your best bit of advice please! Follow Stan so you can take in all of his cuteness! </b></p><p><a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html"><b>And if you order a signed copy of any of my books, you can be assured that Stan helped me stuff the envelope. Act now and receive a slightly-chewed bookmark for FREE!!</b></a></p><p><b> </b></p>Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-58308888388584573282020-07-03T12:14:00.000-05:002020-07-28T20:01:33.676-05:00The C-String<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today when I was getting dressed, I was complaining about how hot I was. It's 90 degrees today and I just can't cool off. It doesn't matter what I wear, I just can't stay cool.<br />
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I was walking through a parking lot with the hot sun beating down on me and all I could think was, <i>Man, I'm sooooo hot. I wish there was something I could do to make me cooler.</i> I was wearing a skirt and I gave it a little flip so I could get a breeze up in there and then I realized what was making me so hot.<br />
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It was my stupid underwear!<br />
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<a name='more'></a>I'm so stupid. All summer long I wear these ridiculous full coverage undies and I sweat my butt off (literally) when really <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0093I7RWY/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B0093I7RWY&linkCode=as2&tag=peoiwantopuni-20&linkId=4344Z3F4QSBVLMJA" target="_blank">I should be wearing a c-string! </a> The c-string would fix all of my troubles!<br />
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Wait. You don't know what a c-string is? It's this amazing, wonderful, magical product. I don't know that it's actually magic, I'm just assuming it is, because otherwise I don't understand how it stays put.<br />
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It's not just for the granny panty set like myself. It's also for the thong thong thong girls. I mean, who wants all of that material on the sides of your thong when you can just pop this sucker over your hooha and up your butt? I imagine it's like a lacy feminine napkin that clings to your nether regions by a flexible wire and a prayer.<br />
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I can't imagine how anything could go wrong with this little number! I can't imagine you'd ever stop clenching your ass cheeks long enough that it would accidentally fall out from under your skirt as you walk across the stage at graduation. I can't imagine that you'd ever sit down quickly and not have everything in the exact place it needs to be and the wire in the back goes exploring your back door. I'm sure that these things NEVER happen with this revolutionary piece of underwear technology.<br />
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Even if things might get dicey with a c-string, I was so hot, I was willing to take a chance. I'll try anything to cool down! I was just about to order seven of these (and get them embroidered on the front with the days of the week) when a review caught my eye. It was titled "This is awesome except for the vagina sweat puddle."<br />
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Well, shit. I was only buying this contraption to <i>prevent</i> a vagina sweat puddle!<br />
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You know what? I'll still order one and try it out. If I get a sweaty vagina, I can always use it as a super cute headband.<br />
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<b>Find me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook,</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/Throat_Punch" target="_blank">Twitter</a> or <a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=PeopleIWantToPunchInTheThroat" target="_blank">Subscribe via E-mail.</a></b><br />
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Want to read more? <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">Check out my BOOKS!</a><br />
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Pssst .... I got a c-string and it looks fabulous and fits like a glove! <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2014/07/i-got-c-string-and-it-looks-good.html" target="_blank">Check it out here.</a> (Don't worry, the pic is COMPLETELY safe for work. Pervs.)Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-41261293852686178082020-06-05T13:30:00.000-05:002020-06-05T12:39:53.870-05:00Covid-19 is Serious, But I Won't Stop Being Funny <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpg1ZgZ9s4cA5m9AocKO_qFUJDoQgYtYvZ0_rY5CarT324aRofMVqHbp8ZOkS-XQElQpBgOIvBD7w0kmnSvU8EQxIHQueVcyPFoZ3iB09zhweUA040UBls9GjLhFpZifNjZRyomFNElqOI/s1600/smile+emoji.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpg1ZgZ9s4cA5m9AocKO_qFUJDoQgYtYvZ0_rY5CarT324aRofMVqHbp8ZOkS-XQElQpBgOIvBD7w0kmnSvU8EQxIHQueVcyPFoZ3iB09zhweUA040UBls9GjLhFpZifNjZRyomFNElqOI/s320/smile+emoji.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hey! How's it going? Everybody hanging in there? It's weird being home all the time, right? As a full-time writer, pants-loather, and curmudgeon, I was positive the stay-a-home order wouldn't be a problem for me. But after a week or so, I'm itching to get out again. Apparently, I like people. Who knew? But no matter how much I want to put on a bra and pants and leave my house, I know I can't. So, I'm staying home and helping to flatten the curve.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm not taking the COVID-19 lightly. In fact, I've been following the progression across the world on Twitter since December. I bought toilet paper and hand sanitizer back in January when the shelves were full.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm sincerely concerned about the outbreak and what it means for all of us, but I won't stop making jokes. I've been a professional humor writer for several years now. I got my start as a blogger and eventually became a <i>New York Times</i> bestselling author. I have over one million fans on social media and I still spend a lot of time (way too much time) on the internet interacting with them all day, every day. They know they can come to me and I will give them a daily dose of sass, snark, satire, (and swearwords).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When the virus finally arrived in the United States, I had to decide how I was going to handle my social media presence and my brand going forward. I never want to stick my foot in it with a poorly-timed joke. When there was a tragedy in the past, I usually offered condolences, went dark for the day, and within a day or so, I could be back to the funny business.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That all changed when COVID-19 hit. I couldn't just offer condolences and check out for a day or two. This virus isn't going anywhere anytime soon. It's all we talk about, think about, and prepare for. My job is to make people laugh and I treat that job incredibly seriously, especially in the midst of a pandemic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Laughing releases endorphins and endorphins promote an over-all sense of well-being. Studies have found endorphins may reduce anxiety and depression as well as give your immune system a boost. I can tell you, anecdotally, laughing makes you feel better. I have hundreds of emails from people to prove it. Laughter helps them cope when they're going through tough times in their lives. They turn to my writing to feel better. Whether they are enduring chemotherapy treatments, or dealing with depression or loss, or just had a rough week, they all need a smile. That's why I refuse to stop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm someone who uses humor to diffuse tough situations or make heavy moments feel lighter. Humor is subjective, though, and as a humorist I need to be careful. A lot of thought goes into the balance I try to strike every day. A little dark COVID-19 humor here, a lot of common quarantine gripes there, and a crap-ton of <i>Tiger King</i> memes spread generously throughout, because that show is a freaking gift!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We all need to laugh, now more than ever. I might not be your cup of tea (and that's okay), but I encourage you to venture out (virtually) and find people who <i>are</i> your cup of tea. Funny folks have nothing but time on their hands and a captive audience, so they're creating so much content for you and there is something for everyone out there. I hope you find someone who makes you laugh because in these uncertain times nothing feels better than a belly laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>This essay originally appeared on IN Kansas City.</i></span></div>
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Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-72867778140631971812020-04-22T14:31:00.001-05:002020-04-23T12:12:56.425-05:00These Days I'm Seeing More Nudity on Zoom than HBO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
This whole working from home thing is new for a lot of you and it can be hard for you to understand the pros and cons of your new work environment.<br />
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I get it. It can be a bit of an adjustment. But I'm here to help.<br />
<br />
As someone who has worked from home for many, many years now at this point, I am here to help you newbies navigate this brave new world.<br />
<br />
One of the best (and worst) things about working remotely is that we can all do video calls now. But video calls are a disaster for the rubes.<br />
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I'm seeing a lot of faux pas out there.<br />
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Like not muting your microphone when you're on a Zoom call and your dog is barking or your kids are screaming for food. Just mute yourself and you can still hear your supervisor drone on and on about first-quarter estimates but she can't hear you call your kid an asshole.<br />
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However, there are times you need to UNmute, too.<br />
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Go easy on the filters. Those fun filters are a blast until you can't figure out how to turn it off and now you need to present your Big Idea to the Big Boss <a href="https://twentytwowords.com/boss-accidentally-turns-herself-into-a-potato-during-video-chat-meeting/" target="_blank">and you're a potato</a>.<br />
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I know <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1666060720314641/" target="_blank">I joke a lot about being pants-less</a>, but it's a JOKE people. I always have pants on. I mean, they might be pajama pants, but they're pants! (Pro tip: having a pair of Zoom Pants thrown over the back of your chair can be a lifesaver.) I am not sitting here in my knickers and neither should you! Over the last month I've seen more nudity on Zoom than I have on <i>Game of Thrones</i>.<br />
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<a href="https://www.iheart.com/content/2020-03-23-woman-forgets-shes-on-video-conference-uses-bathroom-as-co-workers-watch/" target="_blank">There was Jennifer who took her entire team to the bathroom with her.</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/987TheBull/videos/209562830377839/" target="_blank">There was Tony who forgot to exit the meeting properly and gave his co-workers a view they can't unsee.</a> And then there was Melinda.<br />
<br />
Melinda is a newscaster for KCRA in California and she was doing a segment about cutting your own bangs and I have SO MANY QUESTIONS.<br />
<br />
OK, so let me set the scene. Melinda is doing a live segment from what appears to be her master bathroom. Cool, fine, whatever. She's going to show us how to cut our own bangs. Got it. I'm ready to learn.<br />
<br />
The first thing I notice is that Melinda is close to the camera so we can see her trimming her bangs. But then I start to look at the background. Because that's what everyone is doing these days. Most times people are coming to you live from in front of their very intelligent-looking bookcases. So much so that it's become a joke now and people are trying to figure out what books you have in the background and what your collection says about you. (Spoiler alert: my background are all my own books. Those are the only books I keep on my shelves. <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">Always be selling.</a>)<br />
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Melinda's not in front of bookshelves, though. Remember, she's in her bathroom. So you see the usual clutter of lotions and potions on the countertop, but then you see several big and small mirrors take up a lot of the space behind her. What I noticed first was that I could see the back of her reflected in one of the mirrors. She's wearing a red shirt and it was very noticable, but then my eye traveled to the right and...<br />
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OH MA GAH!<br />
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Take a look and tell me what you see.<br />
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Yeah, that's some man candy right there reflected in that mirror. But where is he?? It appears based on his body positioning that he's in the shower. But the shower looks empty and his naked reflection is in some kind of door-mounted mirror. What is even happening here? Are my eyes playing tricks on me?<br />
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After this video was shared into one of my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/midlifebites/" target="_blank">private groups with 15,000 eagle-eyed women</a>, we've deduced that he is indeed in the shower and out of Melinda's shot. BUT thanks to the magical power of mirrors his image is bouncing from one mirror to another and that's why we can see it on the "door mirror."<br />
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Why, Melinda?? Why? How did this happen?<br />
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Were you like, "Hey, babe, I need to do a live segment and cut my bangs in two minutes."<br />
<br />
And he was like, "Cool, I haven't had a shower since Friday. I'll just hop in now."<br />
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Once Melinda realized he was going to be in the shower, was there nowhere else she could go? Couldn't she cut her bangs in the powder room or even on the driveway??<br />
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Did the studio cut to Melinda early and she wasn't expecting it and thought he'd be done by then and she was caught off guard?<br />
<br />
Did Melinda do this on purpose? Was Melinda mad that the producers were doing yet another story about cutting your hair at home? Maybe she liked her bangs and she was mad they were making her cut them so she decided to at least have some fun with the segment? "You want to be famous, babe? Hop in the shower."<br />
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We may never know what Melinda was thinking, but we can all learn from her.<br />
<br />
Never, ever, ever film anything with a naked person in the same room. It's way too easy for reflections to pop up and it's kind of weird. I never even thought to think about this shit until now. I already spend way too much wondering if everyone on my Zoom call is wearing pants and now I need to add "Is there a naked person just off-camera?" to the list of questions I ask myself. I'll be taking a much closer look at your backgrounds now!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=2601041606817032&set=a.1410149172572954&type=3&theater" target="_blank">Check out this hilarious Zoom story on my Facebook page!</a>Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-43518744992463074222020-04-01T15:16:00.000-05:002020-04-01T15:16:19.475-05:00Ladies, Please Stop Nagging Your Husbands (and Other Terrible Advice for a Pandemic)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today I woke up in my third week of staying at home and I perused the news like I do every morning. As you can imagine, there wasn't much out there but gloom and doom. I used to read the news every morning so I could be inspired to write something. I haven't felt very inspired lately. But today, that all changed.<br />
<br />
Today I stumbled upon an article that stopped me in my tracks. It was like the old times! I could feel my heartbeat escalate and my breath quicken. I could feel the old familiar sense of hot rage bubbling up from deep down inside where I'd buried it under several layers of apathy, numbness, and what-the-fuckery. I suddenly felt alive again and ready to write. I had a mission! I had something to say again!<br />
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By now, you're probably wondering what was this magical article that awakened me.<br />
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Well, dear readers, I'll tell you. As you know, we're in the midst of a global pandemic. (I only remind you because in 20 years when we're reading these posts again we will have forgotten what a goddamned shit show we lived through.) So, we're dealing with the pandemic and the news is full of terrifying statistics and a garbled mess of word salad advice to help you stay alive that changes hourly. But in the middle of all this, there's always some quasi-helpful fluff piece about how to self-care or reduce anxiety during these troubled times. A lot of times it's shit like homemade face masks or the benefits of running in place since we can't leave our houses.<br />
<br />
Today's PSA was brought to us by the Malaysian government. <a href="https://www.yahoo.com/news/malaysia-government-coronavirus-lockdown-114911191.html" target="_blank">Apparently, the Malaysian government is spending money to create and share a very helpful guide for women who are trying to manage quarantine with their husbands.</a> Living with the same person every day with no break can be difficult. Close quarters with no end in sight, stress levels run high, tempers flare, rinse and repeat. We could all use a little advice about coping, right?<br />
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Don't worry, the Malaysian government has our backs, ladies. Here's a short list of their helpful tips <i>(with my interpretations)</i>:<br />
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1. Don't nag your husband.<br />
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<i>Quit your bitching, Carol. Bob knows the trash needs to go out. He'll get to it when he's good and ready. Is dinner ready yet?</i><br />
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2. Look pretty.<br />
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<i>Is that what you're wearing today? Didn't you wear that yesterday, Carol? Bob bought you some very nice dresses, put one on. No one should see you looking like that, but especially not Bob.</i><br />
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3. Fix your face.<br />
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<i>Damn, Carol. A barn looks better painted. Are you even trying?</i><br />
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4. Be funny.<br />
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<i>No. Funnier. Be like that robot cat thing your husband likes. Nevermind. Stop. Women aren't funny.</i><br />
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<b>Let me know what you think of this list. Tell me the real ways you're coping with being shut in with your whole family forever. Wash your hands, stay home, and thank an essential employee. </b><br />
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<a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank"><b>Get my books here!</b></a><br />
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<br />Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-6154659632045268162020-02-27T09:14:00.000-06:002020-02-27T09:14:39.110-06:00Ladies, Stop Steaming Your VaginasLast week, I had to hop a plane to DC for a couple of days. I had a nagging feeling that I was forgetting something. And then I realized it was only because I was traveling alone! For once, I only had to worry about myself instead of keeping track of my kids and all their crap. Or so I thought...<br />
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It wasn't until I got to my hotel and fired up my computer and saw the breaking international news that Gwyneth Paltrow is steaming her vagina (I assume with a side of broccoli - that girl is a vegan multi-tasker) that I realized what I had forgotten. The little blinking light in the corner of the screen told me that my battery was low and the end was near. My computer would shut down in 1 minute unless I plugged it in. I reached into my empty bag and discovered that I'd left my cord at home.<br />
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NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.<br />
<br />
How could the universe conspire against me like this? GWYNETH is STEAMING her VAGINA and I haven't got a computer that works!!<br />
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<a name='more'></a>So now I'm back home and my computer is ready to go. I might be a little late to the clam bake, but I can't let this event go without comment.<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I thought <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2014/07/designer-vaginas-are-thing-now.html" target="_blank">getting my vagina rejuvenated</a>
was enough, but I was wrong. Now I need to be steaming it too?<br />
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Oh come on!<br />
<br />
What the fuck, Hollywood? <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2012/04/open-letter-to-silly-celebrity-moms.html" target="_blank">Is there any weird thing you people won't try?</a> <br />
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In case you're curious about the supposed cleansing benefits of the V-Steam, here's a quick run down.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There are all different levels of steaming. There's Gwynnie who takes her posh penis pocket to a spa and sits on a "throne" and organic, magical herbs steam and cleans her uterus. I assume they're magical, because <a href="http://news.health.com/2015/01/28/5-things-you-definitely-should-not-be-doing-to-your-vagina/" target="_blank">medical professionals have confirmed it is impossible</a> (and mugwort is totally an ingredient in a vanishing tonic or something in <i>Harry Potter</i>). Your uterus can't be reached by the steam, nor should it. </div>
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Then there are the <a href="http://www.glamour.com/health-fitness/blogs/vitamin-g/2012/03/gals-meet-the-vagi-stool-yes-t" target="_blank">earth mother wombmyn who seat their bushes on home made reclaimed wood chairs with holes in the seat</a>. These custom stools are placed over a basin of steamy greens below the hole and you sit
there for 30 minutes while your innards get blanched -- I mean, gently steamed.<br />
<br />
What do you do
for those 30 minutes? It's been suggested that you mediate, you
contemplate, or you just <i>be</i> during that time. You could surf goop and <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2014/12/the-goop-gift-guide-is-here.html" target="_blank">buy some cool expensive shit</a>. Those all sound like a huge waste of time. I say
knock out two birds with one stone. Take that time <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2014/03/oil-pullers.html" target="_blank">to do your oil pulling</a>! Swish that shit in your mouth while your pussy gets
puckered.</div>
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When I first heard about the steaming vagina thing I thought it
was another stupid fad to improve the look of your tired meat flaps, but
then I read a bit closer and I got irritated. It's one thing to sit
on a pile of wilted weeds to clear the cobwebs out of your love
canal, but it's another thing to think that this act could do anything more than make your vagina sweat. This cannot clean your uterus (it's a impossible and your vagina is a self cleaning oven), balance your hormones, or help you conceive. This is absolute bullshit. This is a bunch of rich women who are being conned into thinking they need to do one more thing to look better and feel better. And it's not just the women. The LA spa where Gwyneth gets her hooha heated now offers A-Steams for the gentlemen. That's right fellas, step right up! Not only do you need to get your assholes bleached, now you must blow some hot, juicy air up there.<br />
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These celebrities are doing it wrong. You don't need to pay $50 for these treatments. There are plenty of affordable home remedies. For instance, I have the Shark steam mop. I just need to fire that thing up and mount it for 20 minutes. I've got a tea kettle I use every morning. Why not brew some tea and baste my baby maker all at once? Better yet, there's a free alternative: spend an August weekend in Kansas without air conditioning. You can get swamp ass for free!<br />
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<b>You can <a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=PeopleIWantToPunchInTheThroat" target="_blank">subscribe via e-mail</a> and never miss a post. </b><b>Follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/Throat_Punch" target="_blank">Twitter</a>, and <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/piwtpitt/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a>. </b><br />
<b><br /></b><b>Want MORE to read? <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">Check out my BOOKS!</a></b>Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-31462707691929725552020-02-26T08:41:00.000-06:002020-02-26T08:41:23.494-06:00Things I Could do Before I had ChildrenI had a make over last night with some of my girl friends. We got our hair styled and we got our make up done and then we went out for dinner. Whoohoo!!<br />
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Sitting in the chair at the salon, the hair stylist noted that my hair style is "cute." She said, "Do you always wear it so.....flippy?" <i>Why yes I do, I thought flippy was in. Is it not??</i> She said, "It's OK, we can tone it down a bit with the straightening iron." She proceeded to straighten the shit out of my hair and make it smoke (literally). When she was done, she said, "There. Now you don't look so much like a mom!"<br />
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I moved over to the make up chair and this woman was not as diplomatic. She said, "I'm going to have to do something about your brows." <i>Oh yeah, I need to get them waxed.</i> "Yes, you do. Soon. I'll do what I can. In the meantime, let's draw attention to your eyes so the brows don't stand out so much." I told her to break out a new bottle of concealer, because I was gonna need it. She chuckled, but didn't argue with me.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>As I sat there in the chair having all my wrinkled badges of motherhood covered up with flesh colored putty, I started making a mental list in my head of all the things I used to do before I had kids. Things like secretly yearning for a minivan, waxing my eyebrows (and my bikini area), wearing more than one color of eye shadow and picking clothes without first checking the tag to make sure it was washable and preferably no ironing required.<br />
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Here's the list I came up with and I'm sure you can add to it:<br />
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1. Go on a trip with nothing but an overnight bag. Now I need a suitcase full of nothing but lovies, bedtime books, Shout wipes, wet wipes, anti-bacterial wipes (yes, I keep the wipes business going single handedly), coloring books, markers, games, snacks, First Aid kit, and extra batteries. That doesn't even include the additional suitcase I need if we're going to stay somewhere with a pool or near the beach!<br />
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2. Laugh without the fear of wetting my pants.<br />
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3. Go to the bathroom alone. I've started locking the door, but I think it's more annoying to have them pounding on the door while I'm trying to get my business done. So I shout, "I'm pooping and it's gonna get real stinky here in a minute. You'd better move along!" It seems to work for now.<br />
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4. Have sex on the kitchen floor. Actually, I never did this before I had kids, because the floor just seemed so cold and hard. But now I definitely can't do it because it's still cold and hard...and sticky and covered in crumbs.<br />
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5. Sleep in.<br />
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6. Decide at 10 PM at night to go get ice cream, go to the bar with the girls, go to Mexico, or anything spontaneous. Even going grocery shopping at 10 PM has to be planned out.<br />
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7. Spend $150 on my hair. Maybe this is why I hate my hair now. What do I expect when I go to Great Clips and I color my hair myself?<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRWTTL-Iv00Zoy14D8u2ifhFMaMB_S0OzSn8j8JhbJAzrBWYsU6Nz54-G_IlvJpgqa_ezcw3dnRgBAxm45zshz-HeOJ8JFbH3belDVB3PlAothcgqsHkDwhqV7LSXIlnldIYvltoOhpsM/s1600/the+rachel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRWTTL-Iv00Zoy14D8u2ifhFMaMB_S0OzSn8j8JhbJAzrBWYsU6Nz54-G_IlvJpgqa_ezcw3dnRgBAxm45zshz-HeOJ8JFbH3belDVB3PlAothcgqsHkDwhqV7LSXIlnldIYvltoOhpsM/s320/the+rachel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">This is the last popular hairstyle I can remember.</td></tr>
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8. Spend $150 on <i>anything</i> for myself.<br />
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9. Read. I used to read all the time. I still do, only now I read <i>Diary of a Wimpy Kid</i> and <i>Pinkalicious</i>.<br />
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10. Spend an entire day on the couch watching rated "R" movies.<br />
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11. Drive by McDonald's without thinking <i>I wonder what the Happy Meal toy is right now.</i><br />
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12. Wear heels. I was never one to wear very high heels, but something happened after my children were born that I have absolutely no tolerance for anything higher than a flat. I have a couple of wedge heels that I can manage for an hour or two. I really don't even like tie shoes anymore either. After I'm done tying the kids' shoes the last thing I want to do is tie another pair. I seriously look for slip on shoes as often as possible.<br />
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13. Swear. A lot. I still swear and my mother would say it's a lot, but now when I drop something on my toe instead of yelling, "Mother fucker!" I have to say, "Mmmmmm....fuh......ohhhh...owie, owie, owie!!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Q90MZEq-U2tJv0PzN0Gf19LQZWC5jXQDjGaAjoMB6DUG0rsijrJzX5GIU_fBOuUJLqDz6VQNJEKosRSNM-b8yvs4DpDYV7blejpvSkyxvslyfZudJyj3UA6dU7n-BIhPvugx0zetUNnz/s1600/no+swearing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Q90MZEq-U2tJv0PzN0Gf19LQZWC5jXQDjGaAjoMB6DUG0rsijrJzX5GIU_fBOuUJLqDz6VQNJEKosRSNM-b8yvs4DpDYV7blejpvSkyxvslyfZudJyj3UA6dU7n-BIhPvugx0zetUNnz/s400/no+swearing.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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14. Roll my eyes at the mom with dried egg in her hair, one leaking boob soaking through her filthy sweatshirt, wearing men's pajama bottoms and slippers limping behind an over flowing shopping cart full of processed food while towing three screaming kids under the age of 5. Now I just give her the look that says, "Hang in there, sister. Bedtime is coming and there's a bottle of wine with your name on it."<br />
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15. Buy furniture and carpet that isn't stain treated. I've bought two new couches since I've had children. One is dark tan and one is brown. What does that tell you? The days of white couches are behind me.<br />
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16. Walk around my house in bare feet without the fear of stepping on Legos, Barbie and/or Monster High doll shoes, Squinkies (they don't hurt, but they scare the crap out of me, because I think they're big squishy bugs), Mighty Beans, Go Go Crazy Bones, Hex Bugs, or Littlest Pet Shop figures. Not to mention grapes, raisins, Cheerios, apple peels, or puddles of milk. Interestingly enough I've never stepped on a Cheeto, apparently my kids hang on to those better or take the hit and eat it off the floor anyway.<br />
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17. Invest solely in Sharpie markers. Now if it doesn't say "washable" it doesn't come in the door.<br />
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18. Read anything about dying children.<br />
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19. Eat a hot meal. By the time I'm done making sure the kids have what they need, cutting up their food into manageable pieces, blowing on anything that is too hot, arguing about why they must eat what's in front of them, and blowing again, because it's still too hot, my food is ice cold.<br />
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20. Listen to music that isn't "Kids Bop."<br />
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21. Talk to the Hubs about movies, current events or anything that doesn't relate to our kids. Now we just say things like, "Did Gomer poop today? He's been constipated lately." or "I need thirty bucks. Adolpha's feet grew again."<br />
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22. Never helped a child pee into an empty sippy cup because the fucking flight attendant didn't understand that a toddler cannot hold it for another half hour when the fasten seat belt sign will turn off, fucking cow!<br />
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23. Shower without an audience. I get in the shower now and I have two little faces peering at me the entire time questioning my actions and my body. "Mommy, why does your 'china' (vagina) have a mustache on it?" or "Are you <i>always</i> supposed to wash your armpits, because sometimes I forget."<br />
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24. Drive a two-seater. Now we drive practical cars, because we're practical people.<br />
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25. Throw parties for <i>actual</i> milestones, not <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2012/01/potty-parties.html" target="_blank">potty parties</a> or <a href="http://www.daughters.com/article/?id=227" target="_blank">period parties</a> (holy shit, they do exist!!).<br />
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26. Never used my sleeve to wipe a child's runny nose. Now I'm so immune to snot, I'll wipe a stranger's child's nose just out of habit.<br />
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27. Hold a new baby without getting a little teary eyed and kind of wishing for another one (before the Hubs smacks me upside the head and reminds me that I think I'm sleep-deprived <i>now</i>).<br />
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28. Never let a baby vomit on me so that my new carpet wouldn't take the hit.<br />
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(PS - before you start commenting that I don't love being a mom, that I don't appreciate the time I have with my kids, that it's "sad" I feel this way, blah, blah, blah. That's not true, so fuck you very much for your opinion, but you can just stuff it and save your comment to yourself.) <br />
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<b>Want more to read? <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/p/buy-my-book.html" target="_blank">Don't miss my BOOKS!</a></b><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">If you liked this FOLLOW ME on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/People-I-Want-to-Punch-in-the-Throat/283626551683138?ref=hl" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/Throat_Punch" style="color: #33aaff;" target="_blank">Twitter</a> or<a href="http://feedburner.google.com/fb/a/mailverify?uri=PeopleIWantToPunchInTheThroat" target="_blank"> subscribe via e-mail</a>.</b>Jen Piwtpitthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09576108150881254072noreply@blogger.com213tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-17938215963463594562020-01-24T09:34:00.001-06:002020-07-28T20:05:59.401-05:00So Middle-Aged Women are Baring All for Football<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNg04VuFb0MLtb9Rc_UZf5yIr3yd3lRr8nkjndfavS3yA0WAS0ZnVAodTOHY3QloQ-FalhY3vyTZUH4cZPypfuNke1h-oa6Opv242av1vaYjLFgRWs_sMN42mWwUHRDBQfzc4X-ykfunIz/s1600/red+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1350" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNg04VuFb0MLtb9Rc_UZf5yIr3yd3lRr8nkjndfavS3yA0WAS0ZnVAodTOHY3QloQ-FalhY3vyTZUH4cZPypfuNke1h-oa6Opv242av1vaYjLFgRWs_sMN42mWwUHRDBQfzc4X-ykfunIz/s320/red+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Okay, so if you've been following me for a while, then you know that I live in Kansas City. I don't know if you heard or not, but the Kansas City Chiefs (our football team for the unsporty folks like myself) are going to the Super Bowl for the first time in like 1,000 years or something.<br />
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Because it's been 1,000 years since we've been, our city is losing its damn mind. Everywhere you go has Chiefs' paraphernalia for purchase. Every. Where. The usual places like sporting goods stores, but also drug stores, grocery stores, and yesterday I saw some dude on a corner selling stuff out of the trunk of his car. Flags are flying on houses, businesses, and cars. Everywhere you go someone asks, "How 'bout them Chiefs?" and you're supposed to nod along and say, "Yup. How 'bout 'em?"<br />
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The whole city glows red.<br />
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Everyone is getting on the bandwagon. Even me. I admit it. I did it when the Royals were headed to the World Series and I'll do it now too. I'm always glad to support anything that puts Kansas City on the map and boosts her confidence a bit. Plus, it's much easier to be a sportz fan when major things only happen every 1,000 years. I don't have the stamina to be a die-hard fan.<br />
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So, what I'm trying to say here is that EVERYONE is rooting for the Chiefs. We're all doing what we can to encourage the players and let them know their city is behind them!<br />
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And today I found out the lengths that some women in this town will go to show their support. <a href="https://sobrosnetwork.com/2020/01/22/kansas-city-chiefs-women/?fbclid=IwAR2MDuXXHpcWYl4abm3XQx0X4kOJ6UZa4LOOmK01ekUAD91LZEG_yhV__ao" target="_blank">It was brought to my attention that there are Twitter handles out there dedicated to women showing their bewbs to motivate the boys to win big.</a> Not just any women, though. MIDDLE-AGED women. That's right, you've got a 35+-year-old boobies out there on full display as a form of uplifting inspiration.<br />
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At first, I didn't believe it, so I had to go down the rabbit hole. I was holding my breath because this isn't a very big town and I was a little worried I might recognize some of those milk duds from my days in La Leche League. I was also a little concerned I might recognize one of the moms from school. Gomer thinks I'm the most embarrassing mom on the internet, but you know someone's mom is out there going, "Hold my bra."<br />
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After perusing some of the pics all I can say is, "Whoa, mama." Sure, some porn sites have glommed on and there are some professional-looking bodies out there, but the bulk are just what was advertised: middle-aged melons. Imagine if you and your friends were wearing nothing but a Chiefs shirt with strategically cut holes (one a little higher than the other because by middle-age we all have that one droopy gal) to show off your tiddies.<br />
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After I was done clutching my pearls I said, "Hey! My nipples do that too, it must be normal. I feel so much better now!"<br />
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I mean, it takes guts to put your middle-aged body out there on the interwebz and let everyone ogle your wonky nips. I'm not going to do it, but good for them and if this works for the Chiefs, then I'm going to let it go without any judgment because it's been 1,000 years since we won the Super Bowl.<br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pg/peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat/events/?ref=page_internal" target="_blank"><b>I'm on the road next month! Come and see me!</b></a><br />
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<b>Have you listened to my podcast yet?? Yup! I have a podcast now. It's called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/twomidlifemommas/" target="_blank">Two Midlife Mommas</a>. <a href="https://twomidlifemommas.podbean.com/" target="_blank">Check it out here!</a></b><br />
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<br />Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-58143963700908629822020-01-15T08:00:00.000-06:002020-01-15T08:34:31.000-06:00Of Course Gwyneth Has a Candle that Smells Like Her Vagina<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho2cBhbd2-LJ2_VIsepDYhc-1sqtO-l-irADYPUOH2HZ_SgLLTA9oxCaLP2cdDzVKBaGTzDca5_3KXzNhSNFHC3USHM3EfcPaqB0R0ixXucGXtdze2d0fD7LNmAob2iXd3oRvtVig9qhp9/s1600/vag+candle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho2cBhbd2-LJ2_VIsepDYhc-1sqtO-l-irADYPUOH2HZ_SgLLTA9oxCaLP2cdDzVKBaGTzDca5_3KXzNhSNFHC3USHM3EfcPaqB0R0ixXucGXtdze2d0fD7LNmAob2iXd3oRvtVig9qhp9/s320/vag+candle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Goop</td></tr>
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You guys, I was just saying I wanted to get back to blogging. I was like, "I should blog again!" And then immediately, I was like, "Ugh, what would I even talk about?"<br />
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And then the clouds parted and the Blogging Gods allowed the planets to align into two of my favorite topics: Gwyneth Paltrow and vaginas.<i> It's a sign!</i><br />
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Here's the thing, I was ready to call a truce with Gwyneth Paltrow the other night. Yeah, we've been locked in a one-sided feud since she started <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2015/02/ladies-stop-steaming-your-vaginas.html" target="_blank">steaming her vagina</a> and <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2014/03/conscious-uncoupling.html" target="_blank">consciously uncoupling</a>. It's been a bitter fight...even though she has no idea who I am...nor does she care what I think of her life. Or the rest of the internet, for that matter. Damn, in many ways we really should all aspire to be like Gwyneth! Aside from her <a href="https://www.vox.com/2019/2/7/18215395/netflix-gwyneth-paltrow-series-goop-pseudoscience" target="_blank">terrible "health" advice</a>, of course. Anyhoo, I saw her on the red carpet at the Golden Globes and even though she was dressed like a steamboat madam, I had to give her props because she looked <i>ah-may-zing</i>. I don't know if it was the jade egg jammed up her hooha or the daily two-hour workouts with18k gold dumbells, but something is working! I knew exactly how good she looked because the gunny sack she was wearing was essentially see-through and you could see every one of her abs. Her skin was gorgeous and even in 4K I couldn't spot a wrinkle. I was like, "Okay, Gwynnie, I bow down. You're aging terrifically and all your woo-woo magic beans are working."<br />
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BUT THEN she went and <a href="https://shop.goop.com/shop/products/this-smells-like-my-vagina-candle?country=USA&variant_id=74552" target="_blank">released a $75 candle that smells like her vagina</a> and now our feud is back on.<br />
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I mean, come on! First, who pays $75 for a candle? I just went to the mega candle sale at Bath & Beauty Works and snagged a dozen for that price. Second, who is buying these? Who wants that?? After I got home from BBW I realized I barely want a candle that smells like cookies, I certainly don't want one that smells like Gwynnie's muffin!<br />
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This vag candle sounds like a total bust. I bet Gwyneth loses money on this one! Oh wait, I'm being told the candle is completely sold out and there is a waiting list. God damn it, that fucking gorgeous genius strikes again! I bow down. </div>
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This got me thinking, though. What does Gwyneth's front butt even smell like anyway? I assume it's a heady mix of patchouli, cigarette smoke, ginger, privilege, and <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2013/04/gwyneth-paltrow.html" target="_blank">autumnal yum</a>. </div>
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According to Gwyneth it's a "funny, gorgeous, sexy, and beautifully unexpected scent." Oh wait, that's what the candle smells like, not her coochie. I'm so confused because I thought the candle smelled like her vagina?<br />
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I'm even more confused after that description. No lady wants to be told her lady garden has an "unexpected scent." That's never a good thing, in my opinion.<br />
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And I have no idea what gorgeous or sexy smell like. But if you want to smell funny, I'm currently working on my own candle. I figure if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right? Plus, my love tunnel smells unexpectedly hilarious!<br />
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<b>Want more? <a href="https://twomidlifemommas.podbean.com/" target="_blank">Listen to my podcast!</a></b></div>
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Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5984487997306130330.post-19581043547502224972020-01-01T09:53:00.000-06:002020-01-01T09:53:30.709-06:00Happy New Year!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9wjtqjAcF5lID8EgTuo6od35p0lTMaIr5dk819fh8U32JSqRDCXyv7nst23e7IbaR_tsKoDkzALg1XPGScfgyZVXVHsbtdOQse68RCICrvoiOGB4qMH58RSQETUWT-WE8ZquO1nxbmSf/s1600/HNY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9wjtqjAcF5lID8EgTuo6od35p0lTMaIr5dk819fh8U32JSqRDCXyv7nst23e7IbaR_tsKoDkzALg1XPGScfgyZVXVHsbtdOQse68RCICrvoiOGB4qMH58RSQETUWT-WE8ZquO1nxbmSf/s320/HNY.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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If you've been around me for a few New Yearseses, then you know that I don't do resolutions. My resolutions are things like drink more water and hang up my coat, because those are easy. (Says the woman looking at her coat on the floor while downing caffeine without a glass of water in sight.) This year will be no different.<br />
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Instead, I like to pick a word for every year and work on that. I did that last year, but I didn't write down the word, so I forgot what it was. It was probably "Focus." This year I'm writing down my word right here, so I won't forget.<br />
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This year my word is "Gratitude."<br />
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I'm grateful. Usually. I swear it. But for a grateful person, I bitch a lot. I'm not going to stop bitching. That would be crazy, but I am going to work on showing my gratitude more. I'm always recognizing the big stuff, but I want to work on the little things too. My husband told me that every morning he wakes up, he starts the day grateful we all made it through the night. I wake up pissed off that the birds are loud. I want to be more like him.<br />
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So, here I go! Wish me luck!<br />
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I'm grateful you're all still here. I'm grateful I've been given this opportunity to follow my dreams. I'm grateful I have a floor for my coat to lay on.<br />
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Happy 2020, Everyone!<br />
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What's your word??<br />
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P.S. - <a href="http://www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com/2019/12/12-days-of-giveaways-day-twelve.html" target="_blank">The Giveaways</a> are closed and the winners have been notified, so check your email!! Thanks to all who participated. Keep checking back, because I had so much fun giving stuff away, I plan to do more of that this year! <br />
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<br />Jen Mannhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01554251529637715733noreply@blogger.com2