The Party You Are Calling. . .

. . . is no longer at this address.

I finally got my own domain! It’s jerseygirl89.com.

I can’t believe I’ve consigned myself to being Jerseygirl on the interweb forever, but hey, it was available.

Anyway, if you subscribe, this shouldn’t change your subscription. And if you don’t subscribe, get on that, would ya?

Please, please, follow me there.

I’m trying to update links and whatnot. Email me at jen@jerseygirl89.com if you think you need to be on my blogroll.

Click Whore

Many moons ago, I used to post on a site called “Blogit”. It was under a different name, so don’t bother looking for me there. . . . there are just some things that should remain anonymous. Anyway, Blogit was a blogging community where you got pennies for page views, but the real thrill was to make the top ten in the various categories.

Well, I say it was the real thrill because A., I’m competitive and B., I made about 80 bucks after practically living on that site for 6 months. I quickly learned that the best way to get page views – and my name on the top tens – was to name check other bloggers in my posts. Eventually it got to the point where I just started a blog called “Click Whore” to separate my power-grabbing, name-dropping writing from the real stuff.

When I ventured out into the real blogging world, I did my best to avoid click whoredom. Any mentions of other bloggers were heartfelt and any comments I made on other people’s blogs were genuine. I slowly built up my readers to a certain point. Then I got distracted by other (paid) writing work and three kids and the blog sort of stagnated.

Which was truly okay with me. I didn’t need hundreds of subscribers or thousands of page views! I wasn’t going to spend all of my family time blogging! As long as a few people were reading, I was FINE.

Then, one day last week, my traffic spiked. Tripled, to be exact. Just for one day. I searched to see if someone supercool (wait, everyone who links to me is supercool) famous had linked to me or dugg me or whatever, but I couldn’t find anything. I couldn’t find a trackback, either.

The only thing I knew was that the spike had happened when I posted about The Fresh Beat Band.

And now I’ve become a click whore. I mean, I don’t even know if it was The Fresh Beat Band that got me the readers, but I’m stooping to mentioning them. Which may not even work. Like whoring myself out to a guy who’ll pay me with his gambling money. . .if he wins.

Suddenly I can see it all so clearly. . .

She stumbles out of the seedy hotel, leopard print mini-skirt flipping, long red wig slightly askew. “Damn it, that poor bastard didn’t have enough. . .Why didn’t he win? I need more, more. . .just one more day with all that traffic and then I’ll be done, I swear.. . . . HEY YOU!” She takes off quickly but slows down when the the transparent heel of her stiletto breaks off. A man in a trenchcoat runs in the opposite direction. “Wait! Foot fetish pictures! Angelina Jolie naked! With Levi Johnston!” She starts to cry as the man disappears. Just as she finishes wiping her nose on the sleeve of her pink faux angora (fauxgora?) sweater, a young woman approaches her.

“It doesn’t work that way anymore, ma’am. But if you just come over here the Wal-Mart, we can take your picture and you can have internet fame of a different sort. . . “

Get Off My Ass

In my years away from Jersey, I missed some things. Great pizza. People who speak quickly. Bagels. Fellow Yankees fans. Delis. The shore. Diners. But I never missed the cramped movie theaters and I cringed at the thought of driving out here again.

They’ve fixed the movie theater situation, but I’m afraid the driving has only gotten worse.

It used to be that as long as I avoided the highways filled with aggressive speeders and tailgaters, I felt okay. One of the great things about Jersey is that there’s a back way to get pretty much anywhere, so this was not the problem it could have been. But since moving back, my knowledge of the back roads has not been enough.

The psychos are everywhere now.

Sometimes they’re like the bitch who followed me yesterday, two inches from my bumper, gesturing. I was going the speed limit AND there was a lane she could have used to pass me, but she preferred to stay behind me and risk rear-ending me.

Then there was the person today, going ten miles under the speed limit, braking at each (unlit and unsigned) intersection and flipping me off when I darted around her.

And you can’t forget the people driving their hulking SUVs (and I say this as a minivan driver) while talking on their hand-held cell phones (illegal here), who can’t park – or turn – for shit.

Of course there are also the douchebags who think that I too will be charmed by the fact that their car stereos can play R.Kelly very, very loudly. I mean really, why would anyone want to play R. Kelly at all?

Occasionally there seems to be cross-breeding, such as when a tail-gater needs to play his car stereo at full volume, or when a slowpoke is also talking on his cell-phone.

Finally there are the people who really scare me. The ones that think our little provincial highway is, in fact, a NASCAR track. They weave in and out of traffic at 100 miles per hour, as though they were playing a videogame. And I swear it’s not only bitterness because I happen to suck at any videogame that requires driving – though I think it’s really odd that even though I’ve never caused an accident in real life and hardly even get honked at I can’t drive an imaginary car worth a damn – it’s because it’s fucking dangerous.

So here’s a little message, lousy drivers of the world: Get OFF my ASS.

You didn’t think this would be about exercise, did you?

I Never Should Have Turned On the TV

Let’s take a moment to think about the Fresh Beat Band, formerly known as The Jumparounds.

Done yet?

Unless you have very young children, you probably have no idea who I’m talking about. Lucky you.

The Fresh Beat Band has a show on Nickelodeon. I’ve never seen it, I’ve only been subjected to their music videos, which are played all the time on Noggin. They are annoyingly catchy, like Roxette. But for preschoolers.

Anyway, I looked them up this morning. Not because I want to buy an album – I swear – but because one of them looks vaguely familiar. It turns out that I don’t know her, but in my explorations I did discover something odd.

Oh my God, so much explanation for something and it’s not that big of a deal. Sorry.

There are a lot of parents out there with very passionate feelings about the Fresh Beat Band. And they all have way too much time on their hands. I mean, I know people argue on message boards instead of just writing their own blogs (though I don’t know why since here I can just delete anyone who disagrees with me), but a children’s band? Really? Shouldn’t parents have better things to argue about, like the introduction of solid food?

What is wrong with people? No wonder W. was president for 8 years and no one understands the politics of the recession and health care reform. . .they’re all busy fighting about whether the Fresh Beat Band members are “too pretty” (Is everyone on Noggin supposed to be as freakish looking the humans on Lazytown?).

And I’d like to know how the hell they have time for this. As a parent who spends a LOT of time on the computer (er, I work on here. It’s not all Facebook.) and doesn’t even have time to look at message boards, I wonder if all of these people have maids and nannies? I somehow doubt it.

Or maybe they care so much about what’s on Noggin because all their children do is watch it?

PS To the person who said that they “Have” to lip sync because they’re also dancing. . . go see a Broadway show. Or a high school show, for that matter. They can dance and sing at the same time. It’s called talent.

PPS To the people complaining that the videos are just advertising. . . .the whole damn network is advertising. You think they’re being noble by not having traditional commercials? No, they’re selling your kids all the characters so that you wind up buying Dora dolls, Diego toothbrushes, Max and Ruby books. .. .uh, not that I’ve been that naive. No way.

It’s NOT Your Party

Yesterday Lovebug told me a joke. He and Ironflower tell a lot of jokes, most of which are humorous to them only. But I laugh anyway. I think it’s in the job description. Anyway, Lovebug told me this gem: “Mary had a little lamb.” I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue with the nursery rhyme or some version thereof. He continued, “It’s dead”.

Now, my first thought was that it was mildly funny. Then I thought, why is my three year old making jokes about dead animals? I quickly blamed his too frequent viewings of Family Guy, which he loves to watch with Hot Guy. I asked about that and I was shot down. Apparently Lovebug learned the joke from the children’s magician he saw at the library. Hot Guy told me that he also made jokes about his little volunteers kissing each other.

And he’s not the only one. I’ve seen children’s singers doing the same kinds of jokes. And don’t get me started on the clowns, one of whom talked about dirty balloon animals, much to Ironflower’s chagrin. “But how will he get them dirty, Mommy? Are we going outside?”

I’m one of the last people (polyamorous pagans would undoubtedly be behind me, for example) anyone would describe as conservative, but I’m starting to have some conservative thoughts. Even though I let my children watch Family Guy, I don’t like it when children’s entertainers get all wink, wink, nudge, nudge, let’s make the adults laugh.

Call me crazy, but I think there’s something creepy about a man in a weird outfit making kissing jokes while surrounded by small children. Or dead animal jokes. Or saying anything that I think is funny, because I have a sick sense of humor and children’s entertainment should not.

Don’t they realize that by virtue of their “children’s entertainer” job description that it’s not about the adults? If it was, all the children would be with a babysitter and Chris Rock would be performing. And kids don’t need dead animal jokes or kissing jokes, they can laugh hysterically by just saying the word “strawberry” to each other a few times. Totally different kind of audience.

How do you feel about children’s entertainers?

The Retard List

I hate retarded people.

Not people with Down’s Syndrome or other medically tested mental issues, I like them just fine. In fact, it could be said that I like them more than most so-called normal people, because most of them work hard to learn as much as they can.

The same cannot be said for the normal brained masses. Hence my use of the derogatory term, “retarded” (please don’t come back and haunt me, Eunice Shriver. I didn’t mean it that way, and you were scary enough in real life). Call them the intellectually lazy, the undereducated or the people who NEED A FUCKING CLUE. I don’t care. I’ll be calling them “retarded”.

And who are these people?

People who don’t understand that plural words don’t need apostrophes.

People who say that Sarah Palin is not a quitter.

People who do not give their children rules and boundaries.

People who have appeared on Bridezillas.

People who give their kids names that are really nouns, like Lexus or Princess.

People named Jon Gosselin.

People who can’t name their Senators but still bitch about politicians.

People who leave comments on here that say, “Nice post, thanks. Try my new hand sanitizer product.” (Dude, at least read the so not nice post before your blatant advertising. Sheesh.)

People who can’t pronounce the word “specific”.

People who want to ban books.

People who find sex scarier than war.

People who cannot tell the difference between “your” and “you’re”.

People who think women shouldn’t breastfeed in public.

People who fight against gay marriage.

People who wear Crocs to any restaurant nicer than McDonald’s.

People who wear Uggs when it is not below freezing.

People who can’t tell the difference between “are” and “our”.

People who think Paula Abdul is not on drugs.

People who don’t let their kids read Harry Potter.

People who write to eHow for advice like, “How many credits after a law degree does it take to get a Bachelor’s?” and “How many credits do I need to graduate?”

Let me state that except for the eHow idiots, I have personally known all the people on the retard list. I may even be related to, or friends with, some of them. Hell, I may even love them. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t think they’re retarded.

Who do you think is retarded?

No, I AM Grateful, Dammit

Today my daughter told me that she doesn’t want to have kids because she doesn’t want to work that hard. In case you didn’t know, my daughter is four.

I feel like such an asshole.

I mean, she’s not supposed to know how much work kids are yet, right?

And though I hope she remembers this fact when she starts having sex in fifteen years, I somehow doubt it. Clearly the bigger problem is that my four year old thinks knows she and her brothers are a lot of work.

I feel like I should fix it, but I don’t know how.

I do feel overworked right now. We’re broke, so I’m constantly trying to write articles from home while managing three kids under five, the youngest of whom screams whenever I’m not next to him and the two oldest of whom are extremely hyper. My dishwasher is dead, my toaster oven is dead and my fridge has stopped making ice. I can’t find a place to put everything so the house never looks clean, even when it is. Which it usually isn’t, but that’s beside the point.

Right here is where I usually check myself, remind myself that I’m blessed to have three beautiful children, a husband who puts up with me, my home, running water, a fridge that keeps food cold, enough stuff to be overwhelmed by it, civil rights, access to healthcare, a president I actually like . . .

But clearly this grateful attitude is not being conveyed to my children.

Also, I am little concerned that my four year old already has an aversion to working hard.

Any suggestions?

Not As Impressive As It Looks

When I said that I read a lot, or mention that I blog, or say something about writing some web content, people seem impressed. Not, you know, because they’ve read my brilliant writing but because they note that I have three small kids. And no nanny, cleaning lady or daycare. (I realize that this is perfectly normal in most parts of the world. But not so much around here.) They wonder where I find the time.

I’ve recently made room in my world for exercise again. And I do read a lot. And blog (though not as much lately). And write. And sometimes I play with my children. And I feed them. And I make sure they don’t kill each other. I realized, as I incorporated exercise into my life again, that it’s possible to fit in the things I really want to do.

What I don’t really do is clean. I mean, there are clean dishes (a trick since our current dishwasher seems to have died recently), clean clothes and clean sheets. There’s usually not any mold growing in the toilet. I try to sweep after every meal, if only to prevent ChunkyMonkey eating food from the floor. But I’m not a cleaner. I have to be inspired to mop, or to dust or to clean under the couches.

I LIKE it when things are clean, but given a choice between reading and vacuuming, the book is going to win.

But I never know how to answer people when they seem to be impressed with what I can do in a day. Do I admit that my house is messy and cluttered? That my kids ask me what I’m doing every time I mop? That my kids watch too much TV? Or do I just give them a smug smile?

Pishew You!

Even though Hot Guy grew up around guns and hunting, we’ve avoided the gun issue as parents of young children. Why teach them about guns before they were ready to learn gun safety? In fact, my kids didn’t know what guns were until they went to preschool.

Then Lovebug came home shooting things.

He points his arm out and says, “Pishew! Pishew!” to indicate that he’s gotten us. He doesn’t call it shooting, he calls it , “Pishewing”. He calls the things he makes out of Legos his “Pishewers”. And we avoid the “g” word, because I don’t think guns should be thought of as toys. But I also don’t want to stop what appears to be some sort of instinctive male tendency.

Then we met the boys with guns.

Not much older than Lovebug’s 3, the boys carried water guns as tall as they were. They carried them into my parents’ town pool after the following directions from their mothers, “Shoot away from people, boys.” One boy found that boring and put the gun by his mother’s chair. The other also found that boring, but his solution was to shoot at people. People like my Lovebug.

Lovebug, being a lover and not a fighter – as well as no fan of the water, came running to me in tears. I said the boy was mean and to stay away from him. Lovebug, Ironflower and my mom built a sandcastle. The boy came over to shoot it with his water gun. Why? I don’t know. I loudly told him to stop and go away. I had to stand up and loom over him for it to work.

His mother did not notice. She did not notice a strange woman practically yelling at her son. She did not notice when he shot other kids in the face. She did not notice when he tripped over the large gun. She did not notice anything until he blasted her with water. Then she told him to stop. Twenty times.

And I stood there wondering, do toy guns make kids aggressive? Or do aggressive kids want toy guns? And what kind of IDIOT lets her son loose with a giant water gun at the crowded kiddie pool? And should I go say something to her?

What are your thoughts about toy guns?

The Idiot Theory of Relationships

I used to watch Jon and Kate Plus 8. The kids liked it – and I didn’t have to worry about what they were learning from it, unlike their other favorite adult shows, Family Guy and Robot Chicken. Anyhow, if one more person blames Kate’s bitchiness for the dissolution of that marriage I’m going to break something. You know what makes a woman bitchy? Being married to an idiot.

Now, let’s take my own marriage. There are times, like when Hot Guy cannot find the children’s bathing suits -located in their dresser drawers – that I get a bitchy attitude. But then there are times when I cannot make the iron work without his intervention. (Which is why I don’t iron anymore. But I digress.) And then, well, Hot Guy doesn’t, of course, because he’s flawless and all, but OTHER husbands might get an attitude over my iron incompetence. Or about the time I backed into the garage door with our new car.

Anyway, my point is that in any given marriage at any given time, someone’s is acting like the idiot. As long as idiot duty hovers around 50-50, things will be okay. But Jon Gosselin never quit being the idiot. He never seemed to know what was going on, never stood up for himself, never discussed things, never took responsibility. And always having to be the smart one will stress a person out. Which might turn them into a bitch. Hence, Kate Gosselin.

Maybe she is a bitch. . . but being married to an idiot and having EIGHT kids might make you bitchy too. Maybe she is obsessed with money.. .but she has EIGHT kids, she really doesn’t have a choice but to be obsessed with money. Maybe she’s changed her look since she first got on TV. . .but hello, this America where everyone wants to look 20 forever. Is she really any worse than anyone else? Really?

And finally, let’s look at what’s happened with them since the divorce. Jon is dating a college dropout who parties hard and badmouths the mother of his children while also staying at MICHAEL LOHAN’S house with a tabloid reporter who claims they are dating. Oh, and maybe he’s going to design clothes for some designer most of us hadn’t heard of until this plan. Can someone say idiot?

I could totally be a marriage counselor, don’t you think?