Category Archives: funny as shit

The People’s Couch:  People Who Watch People Watching TV

 

Upon hearing the premise, you’d have to say “What an incredible waste of time”.

I mean, why on earth would anyone want to watch a television show that shows other people watching television?  Sure, there’s a slightly voyeuristic appeal to it.  I mean, how often do you get to spy into the private moments of others watching television?  Okay, on Bravo, pretty much daily.  But, this is not your typical reality show fare.

Then again, let’s look at the reality aspect of it and understand that, while unscripted, it’s not entirely reality.  The truth of the matter is, these fine people we are spying on are fully clothed.  Their hair is done.  Their houses are clean.  Now, take a look at yourself while watching late night television.  The likelihood that you are in your sloppy yoga pants, your hair in a scrunchie and dinner dishes still sitting in the sink is probably close to 100%.

However, that doesn’t make The People’s Couch any less unrealistic.  The reason you ARE tuned in is to watch the reactions of a cast of colorful characters making observations about the television shows you already watch.  Do you find yourself screaming at the television during a Real Housewives Reunion?  How about making completely inappropriate jokes during Survivor?  Funny observations during Game of Thrones?

These are the reasons you WANT to watch The People’s Couch.  There is a wonderfully delicious sense of camaraderie watching complete strangers make the same observations you are.  It provides for at least a dozen “laugh out loud” moments during the show.  And, like in real life, there is a cast member for everyone’s taste.

First, there are the families:
The Resnick Family, which includes a dad and his three very sassy daughters.  These girls are incredibly silly but always make great observations with hugely animated gestures.  Once in awhile, we are treated to a visit from mom joining them on the couch.  Still, always a big laugh when dad tries to force his testosterone opinion out among all that estrogen.  Poor guy barely gets a word out between them.

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The Zeno Family, which consists of Mom Princella and Dad Lamont and their snarky teen son, Rashawn.  Mom and Dad Zeno have been together for a long time, are still hopelessly in love, which makes for a lot of endearing yet embarrassing moments for their 19 year old son.  The star of this show?  Mama Zeno, who will randomly vacillate between interesting commentary, requests for foot massages and, much to Rashawn’s dismay, the sudden need to stand up and twerk.  But, Daddy likes!  Daddy likes!

The People's Couch

The Egber Family, the only family not on a “couch”, Mom Julie and Dad Andrew and their two youngest sons Sam and Jack, snuggle in one helluva large bed and make all sorts of inappropriate comments at the television.  The boys are quick witted, smart and pretty much know everything about everything. The joy in this family comes from Dad, who forever needs to be schooled in pop culture by his precocious sons.  Also, recently?  We’ve discovered that Mom can have quite the potty mouth now and then.  We love her for that!

The People's Couch

Amanda and Kenya, sisters who live together and often the ones providing the greatest laughs because they generally say what you would only dare to be thinking.  Most of their funny happens through twisted faces, rolling eyes, or contorting into crazy yoga type positions when they are cringing in horror.  Also, Kenya’s cry of “AAAH MAN duh!” whenever she is appalled or thoroughly amused.  They are also the favorites of all their fellow cast members!

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Cathy and Destiney, these Persian Princesses are absolutely eye candy.  Two beauties who are often indulging in new beauty products, face masks, wrapped updo hair styles.  Destiney is definitely the more outspoken of the two with Cathy her “straight man”, making dry humor observations of her sisters kooky assessments.  They also are compulsive pillow hoarders.

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Then, we have the friends of The People’s Couch:
“The Boys”, as they are affectionately referred to on Twitter is a group of three beautiful human beings named Blake, Scott and Emerson.  (Sorry, Ladies.  They’re just not that into you)  These three all have experience being in front of the camera before as they are all performers in some right.  All three are funny, sarcastic, flippant and always have some hysterically funny anecdotes to share.

The People's Couch

“The Girls” consist of besties Brandy and Julie.  Both ladies are also comediennes and have worked together often over the years.  You can tell this by the witty repartee that occurs between them.  The non stop banter is enhanced by the presence of their three little doggies and usually, two big glasses of wine.  *clink*  And no, they are NOT a couple, but you would never know.  They finish each others sentences like an old married couple and by sentences.

The People's Couch

Last, but not nearly least, “The Golden Girls”, another set of three besties, however, these dames are forces to be reckoned with.  The Golden Girls consist of Teddi, Ayn and Sue, three “women of a certain age” who watch television together from the comfort of their community couch.  These three are probably the most saucy of the bunch because, face it, when you are a woman of a certain age…you can kind of say whatever the hell you want.

The People's Couch - Season 1

 

Shows that will be watched tonight, April 29th, 2014 will include:
Cutthroat Kitchen, Devious Maids, Long Island Medium, Deadliest Catch, Chrisley Knows Best and Million Dollar Listing New York.

So, if you aren’t watching The People’s Couch, you are missing what has slowly become the overnight sleeper cult sensation of 2014.  Tune in to BRAVO on Tuesday nights at 10 pm for a half an hour of the funniest show you will soon be addicted to.  And stay tuned at the end of tonight’s episode for a VERY special announcement!

Here, have a little taste:

http://www.bravotv.com/the-peoples-couch/season-1/videos/the-people-watch-mdlny

Barely out of Tuesday…

 

Sometimes, I find a song that touches me in a pretty profound way.  There are days that I listen to it and think “this is a great song” and then, the same song on another day takes on a completely different meaning. Today on Facebook, Adam Duritz of Counting Crows posted up his song “Barely Out of Tuesday”.  This particular song is not new to diehard Crows fans.  It’s a song that never made it onto any of their albums which is a damn shame.  Yesterday, I was under an enormous amount of stress and seeing as it is about 4am right now…and I am barely out of tuesday myself, I thought I would share it. 

Relative to nothing I have said thus far, I think I might have bitten off more than I can chew this semester.  I am taking an algebra course, an intermediate algebra course.  I have managed to get through many years of college and test out of having to take math courses.  This time, I was not so lucky.  As a pre-requisite to getting into the Bachelor’s program I am looking to get into this fall, statistics is required.  I’m not concerned about that because statistics really have very little to do with actual numbers.  However, this algebra course is required to be able to get into the stats class.  So, my suave manipulations of the system will not get me out of this one this time.  I suppose the luck had to run out eventually.  I probably did myself a grave disservice by not taking the intermediate course directly after taking the “pre” and “elementary” courses that preceded it.  Now it is eight years post degree and I have very little recollection of the “order of operations” or “distributive properties”, “associative properties” or “inverse/reciprocal properties”.   I did a lot of research on “Rate My Professor” type websites before settling on this particular teacher.  I knew I was going to need my hand held on this one and by all accounts, she is just that type of professor.  She allows scientific calculators in class.  She allows you to do your homework over and over again online until you max out your score with a perfect grade.  She even allows you to bring a “crib sheet” with notes into her exams.  One page only, handwritten notes.  “You write small enough, you can probably fit everything I teach you onto your study guide,” as she calls it.  “Write too big though and too bad.  You lose.”  Okay.  Fair enough.  Actually, well beyond fair and with a six point font type of handwriting, I can really make this work in my favor. 

However, she did stress that you, the student, will only get out of the class what you put into it.  “Don’t bother to open a book until test day and your grade will reflect that,” she said. “Study for at least one hour every day and you will do just fine.”

By nature, I am a procrastinator.  I am also one of those really cocky students that truly believes she works best under pressure and at the last minute.  Math, I think, will be the end to this notion and probably the end to my perfect GPA as well.  On Thursday, after class, I told the Hotband that I am going to just “relax” for the night and give myself Friday off as well.  Since it’s a long weekend, I will have Saturday, Sunday and Monday to do homework. 

Best. Laid. Plans. 

I do nothing on Friday.  Nothing. Don’t even crack open a book to do some reading in Applied Ethics or my humanities course.  Why bother? I have this nice long three day weekend.  I have all the time in the world.  I have more than an ample window in which to get all my work done.  I have…

food poisoning. 

Friday night, my hubs ordered in from our favorite italian place.  Normally, I just have some pasta and meatballs.  This time I thought it would be nice to try their eggplant.  As I was eating it, I thought it tasted peculiar to me.  My husband tasted it.  He said it didn’t taste strange to him, so I just assumed it was me and continued to eat it.  Halfway through the dish, I decided that I really was not enjoying this meal at all.  It still tasted odd and a bit sour even.  About five hours later…I was vomiting my guts up.  At one point, I vomited so hard that the content of my bladder erupted.  Seeing as my face was occupying the bowl, I could barely swing my fat ass around in time to find the hole on which to set it upon.  My husband walks in to find me covered in puke from trying to twist around in time to pee in the bowl…and sitting in a puddle of my own urine.  I was shivering, felt like my body was ice cold while simultaneously sweating from every pore.  My husband helped me get up, clean myself up, change into fresh pajamas and sent me to bed.  Bed…where I proceeded to stay for the next 32 hours, completely obliterating Saturday as an option for homework and studying. 

I finally awoke on Sunday around 2pm, feeling like utter shit…like I had been hit by a bus.  I had a throbbing headache.  So, the hubs being the angel baby that he is, set me up in style.  A bunch of pillows, fresh t shirt and undies and some warm socks.  A nice cold glass of water on the nightstand.  Remote in my right hand, cellphone in my left.  My laptop plugged in so I could blog, facebook and tweet during the Jets game, the Golden Globes and of course, The Real Housewives of Atlanta.  I was in social networking heaven.  He also bought me a slew of gorgeous gourmet cupcakes for me to devour once I was feeling better.

Hello, lovers…nom nom nom.
 
Friday, Saturday, Sunday.  All gone.  No studying done.  Monday arrives.  I feel like ass, but able to get out of bed finally.  When I do, I am greeted by my son who apparently arrived at my house at some point over the weekend.  I was so sick, I scarcely knew he was there.  He was all like “Hey Mom, how are you feeling?  Good?  Great.  Remember you said you would dye my hair for me this weekend?  Remember?  Remember that?  Well, it’s Monday already and…and…and…”
 
“And you would like me to color your hair now.”
 
“Yeah.  Can you?”
 
“Yes.  What do you want done?”
 
“I want my hair blue.”
 
“Blue hair,” I reply.  “All of it blue or just certain spot blue or a blue streak?  What are we talking about here?”
 
“All of it.  Blue!”  
 
I sigh.  But, it is his hair. He is fifteen. If he wants to look like a smurf, who am I to stop that?  I schlep myself out of the house to do some errands I had thought could be done at any time over the weekend, you know, because it was a LONG weekend after all and I had all the time in the world, right?  So, I go to where my daughter works and buy some boobie car covers (also known as bras).  Hey, buy two get two free?  Bras in my size run about $40 a pop, so buying two to get two free is a deal that I would get out of bed for.  Then, of course, since Ross is right next door and they do their shoe/purse restocking on Mondays…well, I can’t let a perfectly good “get out of bed when you’re sick” errand run go to waste right?  Cute Jessica Simpson pumps.  Adorable Guess slingbacks.  Mine.  Productive.  Next.  Over to Office Depot because I need graph paper, a scientific calculator, some pencils and some folders.  All of this for my math class which equates to, in my mind, doing something productive in math for the weekend. There we go.  Guilt of doing nothing, alleviated with one quick trip to Office Depot.  Salvation in the form of a Texas Instrument calculator…oh, and the purchase of a really cute pink stapler.  Because, every princess should have a pink stapler on her desk, right?
 
Final stop? CVS.  After mulling over all the possibilities… we decided on a nice electric blue which, best case scenario, will look like deep blue highlights over his black/brown hair.  Worst case scenario?  The boy will look like Cookie Monster.  
 I know you have some cupcakes too, bitch! I saw them. Now where are they???
 
Well, long story made real short (I’ll make the long story longer in a separate blog post that includes pictures), I ended up stripping my sons hair of its natural color, leaving him with bright. orange. streaks.  all over his pretty, mop top of curls.  Yeah.  There’s a reason I never became a professional hair dresser.  He takes a look at it. He stares at it.  I assure him that when I add the blue, it will cover up all that bright, light orange and…
 
“I LOVE IT!  IT LOOKS SO AWESOME!!!!”
 
“Seriously,” I ask incredulously.
 
“Holy crap, it’s AWESOME,” he exclaims again.  “Forget the blue stuff.  I’m keeping it like this.”
 
“Nick, honey,” I say, “It looks like I dropped a bucket of Clorox on your head from a really high place or something.  It’s just a big…splat…all over your head.”
 
“Dude, it is SO cool.  Thank you, Mommy!”  He gives me a big hug and dashes out of the bathroom, presumably to jump right on Facebook and let the world know that he know looks like a damn tiger.
 
So, how does this all relate to my earlier complaint about not getting to do any of my math homework this entire weekend?  Well, simply…it doesn’t.  While I didn’t enjoy being sick and definitely did not enjoy the uncomfortable feeling that accompanied not being fully prepared for my algebra class this evening, the full out, painful belly laughs that I shared with my son and husband Monday night were entirely worth it.  
 
Here I now sit, a mere 4 hours and 40 minutes into Wednesday or, as the song says, barely out of tuesday.  And I think I am willing to forgive myself this for the lack of drive or effort in completing my schoolwork.  If nothing else, this past Monday night showed me what most of us have known all along.  Family first and foremost, always.  If it means getting one little goose egg for a grade due to lack of homework preparation, so be it.  The moments that I spend with the kid and the hubs made that zero worth while…
 
and if you do the math, Happy Family – Algebra Homework + Digital Camera = Lifetime Memories.
 
I think I made the grade.   
 
 

I am a Mommy. I am a Blogger. But…

I am not a “MommyBlogger”. I have to admit that mommy bloggers make me want to eat my own eyes out of my skull. No, I do not think that every single thing my children do are precious. Frankly, they annoy the piss out of me on a daily basis. I come from the Roseanne Barr school of mothering. I gave you life…what the fuck more do you want from me. If by the end of the day, you aren’t dead…then I did my job.

I really tried to get into the Mommy Blogger community, but apparently, if you have teenage children or worse yet, adult children who are married and on their own, they have no use for you. You can’t compare diapering tips on a 14 year old who had died in Xbox heaven. And, you certainly won’t get any compassion if your 22 year old is on her second baby in the course of her three year marriage.

So, I tried Granny Bloggers. Well, most of them are too old. They knit shit and bake cookies shaped like little pine trees with green Christmas sprinkles. I buy the pre made dough and then eat most of it before the cookies even hit the oven.

I got to wondering…does this mean I am doing a shitty job with my kids. And I am here, now, on no sleep for a day and a half to say this:

I am a pretty righteous fucking mom and a cool ass grandmother to boot.

My kids talk to me about drug use, abortion, politics, birth control (though my daughter keeps kind of missing the mark on that one) and all kinds of other bullshit that most kids don’t talk to their moms about. I’m friends with my kids on facebook mainly because their friends find me a huge source of entertainment. Yeah, I talk about blow jobs and lube and spicing up the old marital bed. And you know what? They laugh at me. They think I’m funny. Their friends think I’m the cool mom and say “man, I wish I had a mom like yours”.

So, fuck mommy bloggers who don’t accept me because I don’t fall into the Betty Crocker book of how to be a mom. And fuck granny bloggers who don’t feel that a one year old grandchild possibly qualifies me as an experienced grandmother.

No one in my house is going to Harvard, but both my babies are/have gone to college. My daughter made it to 17 before losing her virginity to the boy she was dating for two years. Her next great love of her life…she married. She’s Pro Life, much to my dismay…but someday, her own daughter may give her a lesson that changes her mind. And my son? He’s a democrat in the making. Average grades. Great musical talent…rocks the fucking guitar like no ones business and all self-taught.

Basically, for a mother who has done absolutely nothing to nurture her kids, my children are Fan fucking tastic. People tell me “CP, you must have done SOMETHING right”. And maybe I did…just by always being honest with them. I never made them believe in Santa or the fucking tooth fairy. I give them their Channukah presents unwrapped with the tags still on them in case they want to take shit back.

So no, I have no clue about the best kindergartens to send your little prodigies to. I have no idea how to make cupcakes for Spirit Day. I let my son dress up as a serial killer for Halloween because it was fucking hysterical. My daughter had more make up at age 14 than I have ever had in my 43 years of life. I just loved buying her girly shit.

But my kids are LOVED. I mean, LOVED. Like, I can’t get through a day without them hugging me or kissing me or at very least texting me. They definitely got the raw end of the deal with me for a mother. But I taught them how NOT to be…and that in itself is a lesson learned.

I shall leave this off with my favorite quote from Roseanne, Domestic Goddess who taught me all I know about mothering Jewish children:

“They’re all mine. . . . Of course, I’d trade any one of them for a dishwasher.”

Or a nice set of Louis Vuitton luggage.

I am still a Jewish Princess, after all.

This past weekend…

was my High School reunion. Well, not really high school. Actually, it was my Junior High School reunion. I used to live in Queens, New York. I grew up there. The place is in my blood and part of everything I am. I had all my “firsts” in Queens. One summer, I went to sleepaway camp, like I always did, with all my friends from Queens. It was, as usual, a blast. Great summer, moreso because I got to be a junior counselor that year.

On the last day of camp, I hugged all my friends goodbye and told them I would see them at school in a couple of weeks. My parents always took us on some stupid vacation at the end of camp. I was all prepped for it. So, with my brother and I packed up in the car…we began on our journey to wherever it was we were going. I saw us pass the exit for Queens as we were driving along the Long Island Expressway.

“Where are we going,” I asked.

“You’ll see,” Esther chirped.

We drove on for what felt like HOURS. We finally pulled up in front of this enormous brown house. Tons of trees and foliage.

I hated it immediately.

“Welcome home,” my mother said.

EXCUSE ME????

“What do you mean ‘welcome home’, I asked. “This isn’t HOME!” Now, I’m panicking.

“We just bought this house,” my stepfather said. “isn’t it great?”

Great? I don’t think so.

I ran away from home THAT weekend, right back into Queens, sobbing into the arms of my friends. I stayed at several different houses throughout the week of any friend who would have me. I missed the first week of school in Long Island. I didn’t care. There was no way I was going back there. No. Freaking. Way.

Well, with police intervention, I was returned to my parents house. I started school in Long Island, but never fit in there. Sure, I made a couple of friends, but my heart was always deeply embedded in Queens. I went back there every weekend that I could. I had friends from Queens come out to this mansion I was living in. They started calling me a “richie”, which was someone who had money. We didn’t have money…but the house I lived in sure as hell looked like we did.

Eventually, those ties tapered off…

Years later, my kindergarten friend, Abby, tracked me down on Classmates.com. We picked up right where we had left off some 20 years earlier. Then, along came Facebook, getting me deeper in contact with all my friends from Queens. We have been laughing and talking online for months. All of this leading up to my reunion this past weekend.

I haven’t seen these people in 28 years…since I was torn away from them, kicking and screaming all the while.

It was bizarre to see most of them. Everyone aged, sure. The men got bald, the women got chunky and had lines on their beautiful faces…but for the most part, no personalities had changed. We meshed right back into our old fun and games like no time passed at all. The reunion was a blast. So much laughing, talking and drinking going on (not me though…I stayed sober). We had an “after party” at a local restaurant that we stayed at until 5am.

Now that it’s over, I wish it never ended. I got back on a plane to Florida in tears, the same way I left them 28 years ago. I hope I don’t have to wait another 28 years before I see these people again. It would break my heart. These are my true friends. I couldn’t believe the fond memories they had of me during certain times of their lives. It was great to reminisce about the old days. All we did was laugh and laugh to the point where we couldn’t breathe any longer.

It was simply and without question, the most amazing time of my life.

i think i may have tourettes!

I have a very foul mouth. Don’t know where I got it or when I got it, but somehow, I cannot control the things I say. This is most prevalant on facebook. I tend to say things in peoples threads that are simply vulgar and tasteless. Then, I get other people on that same list saying “Oh CP, you are so disgusting!” I can’t apologize for it because I have been like that since birth.

My father (my biological one) was named Stephen. When Stephen and Esther were married, all they did was fight…ALL the time. They would hurl the worst kinds of profanity at each other. So one day, when I was two years old, my mother was selling my crib. A couple came over to buy the crib. Their names were Steven and Ruth. My mother said “CP? This is Ruth and Steven. They are here to buy your old crib!” First words out of my mouth?

“Fuck you, Steven.”

No hesitation. Just blurted it out, much to the chagrin of my parents. What the hell do they expect from me? You’re going to scream fuck you at each other all day long and don’t expect your child to pick it up? Bitch, Please!

Now, I say filthy things on Facebook. I have started talking to people I don’t even know just to say nasty things to them. There is a friend of a friend on Facebook that I find myself saying really filthy things to because I know he gets frustrated and embarassed. I can’t help it. The more people tell me to stop, the more I insist on doing it.

I like to tell people to suck my tits all the time. Even if I don’t really want them to, I still need to say it to them.

My high school reunion is next weekend, and I know I am going to find myself saying that to people I went to school with. It’s my answer for everything.

Hey CP? How are you?

Suck my tits.

Hey CP? What are you up to?

Nothing much. Suck my tits.

Hey CP? Anything going on?

Yeah, you. Sucking my tits.

See? It can’t be helped. And I have tried to stop it, but it simply doesn’t work. Could it be that I have a mild form of Tourtette’s? I don’t know. For those of you who don’t know what Tourette’s is, allow me to school you:

Tourette syndrome (also called Tourette’s syndrome, Tourette’s disorder, Gilles de la Tourette syndrome, GTS or, more commonly, simply Tourette’s or TS) is an inherited neuropsychiatric disorder with onset in childhood, characterized by the presence of multiple physical (motor) tics and at least one vocal (phonic) tic; these tics characteristically wax and wane. Tourette’s is defined as part of a spectrum of tic disorders, which includes transient and chronic tics.

Tourette’s was once considered a rare and bizarre syndrome, most often associated with the exclamation of obscene words or socially inappropriate and derogatory remarks (coprolalia). However, this symptom is present in only a small minority of people with Tourette’s.[1] Tourette’s is no longer considered a rare condition, but it may not always be correctly identified because most cases are classified as mild. Between 1 and 10 children per 1,000 have Tourette’s;[2] as many as 10 per 1,000 people may have tic disorders,[3][4] with the more common tics of eye blinking, coughing, throat clearing, sniffing, and facial movements. People with Tourette’s have normal life expectancy and intelligence. The severity of the tics decreases for most children as they pass through adolescence, and extreme Tourette’s in adulthood is a rarity. Notable individuals with Tourette’s are found in all walks of life

.

And don’t send me any hatemail saying “You know CP, that’s not funny. My _________ has Tourette’s and you shouldn’t make fun of it?

Oh yeah? Suck my tits.