Sunday, September 14, 2014

Dating For Dumb-Dumb

As some of you may or may not know, last year I got divorced from my husband of 7 years. It was not an easy decision to come to, but we have managed to remain friends and we are working very well together to raise our son and keep a friendly demeanor between the two of us. I’m sure he will agree that it isn’t always easy. In fact, I’m sure he will tell you there are days where he wishes I didn’t even exist and that’s OK. As human beings we have the right to be angry and grieve the loss of love in whatever way comes natural to us. Some days it’s easy to see your ex smiling and other days you wish they would just trip and fall into a steaming pile of shit. After all, serves them right for breaking your heart. But that’s really not what brings me here at this moment. You see, in the 8 years that I have been off the market it seems as though a lot has changed. Not just the world around me, but also how I perceive the people in it. I’ve never been a fan of dating and truly anyone I’ve ever been with has been a school or work contact. Unfortunately for me, I no longer have this luxury and I have been forced to put myself out there. The events that are about to be described are as true as I can recall some of the names and events have been changed to protect the stupid and please if you’re single take a few tips from a dumb-dumb like me, the most important one being to never sit with your back towards the door! You’ll thank me for that one someday.

My name is Jennie and this is my story of online dating in the year 2014…

In the last year since I have tried my rounds on the dating circuit I have learned many things, most of them things that I hate about the opposite sex. For example, men with tiny feminine hands or as I like to call them “hobbit hands,” I know this is superficial, but as a woman with a healthy sized claw the thought of those delicate fingers caressing my body gives me the creeps and I will instantly want to end the date and move on to the next huge embarrassing failure that is coming into my love life. Not to worry though because once I’ve burned through Hobbit Hands along comes Chewy! You know the guy who chews his food like a cow or possibly eat so loudly that the entire restaurant is concerned that he’s eating a plate of glass. Or maybe he just gets that white stuff in the corner of his mouth when he speaks. Either way Chewy, like Hobbit Hands makes online dating feel like a game of Russian roulette. You never know when one of those gems is going to come screaming out of the chamber, but you can always be sure when it does nothing good will be left in the wake…

Now there has been the rare occasion where I have gotten through the first few dates without incident and even thought to myself “Hey, this could work.” That seems to be the point when all my reason and common sense takes a backseat, blindfolds itself and prepares to be taken on Mr. Toads wild bullshit journey through crazy town. It usually starts with a few nice comfortable dates. The conversation is good. He’s funny. He’s smart. He tells me I’m funny and beautiful and smart. Sounds good so far and there are no hobbit hands. His eating habits are far from questionable. I begin to let down my guard and put my cards on the table. At 31, I feel that I’m past the point of playing the chase me game, so I like to lead with my expectations and what I’m looking for. If it’s not for you say so now…. The moment comes and goes and we are both on the same page. OK, we're good! The guard can lower some more. And here is where we talk about the first life lesson to come out of this- the power of the Google… Had I been smart with the first dickbag that claimed to be on the “same page” as me I would have Googled him and easily found that he was married and had a hand full of children. Instead, I took the wild ride and got two lessons for the price of one. I found out about the wife when she stormed into the bar and came up behind me and slapped him silly. Hence, why I never sit with my back towards the door, EVER and I always do a public record search before I let you get anywhere near the goods! Guy number two was a little more stealth. He managed to sneak past me because he wasn’t a born American so somewhere in my mind I gave him a pass on the Google. Don’t get me wrong I still did my research but I waited longer than usual. Oh, there was just something about the way he said “aboot”… Anyway, when asshat number two claimed to be on the “same page” he even went as far as to do some futurescaping. That’s where they say things like, oh if you and I are together then we can do bla-bla-bla. In a month we can do intros with your son. Would you go with me here or there? They landscape the future with you. Of course it’s all complete bullshit and it means absolutely nothing, but they get what they need from this. Whether it be sex, or time, money, dinners, attention, whatever it is they need they get it from you. Especially someone like myself who has what I lovingly refer to as "mommy issues". Most girls have daddy issues. They want a man to love them and take care of them. They want a big guy to sweep them off their feet and rescue them. Not me! Oh no, I have the opposite. I want to mother you and save you and accommodate your every whim. So what ends up happening is, I get used and they move on to some bimbo with daddy issues that doesn’t need to control every situation and is actually in need of a man. Which is what I can only assume happened in this situation, because after three weeks of running hot he completely forgot how to use any means of communication and left me hanging in the breeze without so much as a go to hell. What a dream boat ladies! He’s back on the market if anyone’s interested and lesson 3 and 4 if you are keeping track are know your own issues and never fall for the futurescapes. The real stuff is tangible everything else is just smoke amd mirrors.

So here I am today, a little bitter and wounded, but ready to brush myself off and go for another round. I un-hid my profile on one of the world’s worst dating sights so that a bunch of four's that think their eight's can ask me for full body pictures and call me a prude when I decline. And though I told my step-mom I was going to use the $40 bucks she gave me to join JDate to buy a vibrator instead, I may just take her up on the offer and see if there are any nice Jewish boys out there in need of a bitter gal with mommy issues that knows one hell of a way around Google and won’t stand to have her back towards the restaurant door.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Anxiety.. My drug of choice.

Ok, it's confession time. For as long as I can remember I have suffered from crippling anxiety disorder. What that means is that 85-90% of my day is spent worrying, freaking out and feeling paranoid. Over the years I have endured many hours of therapy and butt loads of medication. Sadly, nothing has ever really worked. So while my body continues to run in a constant state of fight or flight, my brain is busy dissecting every part of my day regardless of how minuscule and unimportant it is. The constant anxiety is exhausting and besides making me bat-shit crazy it has also made it increasingly difficult for anyone to spend prolonged periods of time with me.

I think it's funny how drug companies put so much emphasis on depression and not anxiety. Nothing irks me more than that fucking Cymbalta commercial with the little wind up woman. Her depression has got her down. She needs Cymbalta to wind her up and get her out of her funk and back to gliding aimlessly through life. What they should be showing is that metal woman wound so tightly that shes running into furniture screaming "the sky is falling" while pulling out small sections of her eyebrows. Then after the Cymbalta they cut to her sitting on the couch in three day old pajamas, trying to figure out how to give a shiny metal fuck about anything. That's the problem with being an anxious person. It's either one extreme or the next. I've yet to find a medication that will make me "normal" and I'm guessing the drug companies realize this and that's why the stick so heavily to their "fight the depression" guns. Simply stated, it's just easier.

Recently, I decided it was time to- once again- seek help in the task of conquering my crazy. I've started therapy again and  am taking some anti anxiety medication. The truth is that after 3 weeks they both  make me feel like shit. Having to relive all the chaos that has molded me into the stress monster I am today is exhausting and the side affects from the drugs make me feel as though my brain is being impacted by some sort of natural disaster, like a giant cyclone of "fuck it" mixed in with a blizzard of  "Nope! We all gonna die!!!!!" I keep telling myself that this will pass as the medication starts doing it's job over time, but its hard to explain to the people around me that for right now, I am just as big a mess as ever.

This week has been a tough one for me. I feel as though the medication is trying it's hardest to make me better, but that my brain is fighting to keep me cracked. I have periods of numbness, followed by burst of anxiety and paranoia. Then there's the part of me that is so used to feeling like I need to run-run-run-fight-fight-fight, that it's having withdrawals. I feel like the anxiety has become a drug to me. Like out of all the things about me, it's the one thing that defines who I am as a person. I feel like it's what makes me creative and funny and motivated. I also realize it's the same thing that makes me scared and weak and difficult. Doesn't that sound more like a person fighting a drug problem than an anxiety disorder? Weird, right?

I'm not really sure what the future holds for me or if I'm ever going to be able to fully kick the habit of feeling anxious and completely overwhelmed. Maybe the drugs will work. Maybe they wont. Maybe I'll find peace one day on a therapist couch or maybe I wont. What ever the case maybe, I'm sure that I will find a way to make it work. Even if all I'm able to do is expose myself in a blog post, in the hopes that one less anxious person may not feel so alone today. 

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Baby Psychology

I normally don't get up here and actually mommy blog, but last night my five-year-old said something to me that really got me thinking and I just had to share it. I really think that sometimes we don't give kids enough credit and if we take a moment and listen they can teach us things about ourselves and life that we never expected. I could also be completely full of shit. Either way, you decide.

I was the kind of child who was petrified of most things. The dark was always a big issue (still is) and I always feared there was something in the closet (besides a giant mess). I realize that a lot of children have these fears. In fact, most kids when they crawl into bed at night will ask you to close the closet doors so that the "monsters" wont try to get them. Last night as I put my five year old to bed he calmly asked if I would open the closet doors. When I asked him why, he said that if the doors were closed he wouldn't be able to tell if there were monsters inside. He likes them open so that he can keep an eye on the thing that scares him. A thing that at times he is certain does not exist. I couldn't help but think of what a great metaphor this is for so many of us. Wouldn't most of us choose to have those doors shut in order to keep that "monster" locked away and hidden? After all, monsters are scary. Who really wants to face it?

As I walked to my room later that night, I thought hard about all the closet doors I leave shut so that I don't have to deal with the "monster" inside. As someone whose idea of coping involves avoidance and denial, it never occurred to me to actually keep an eye on the space where the scary stuff can hide.  But I realize now that my kid is 100% right. When you can keep an eye on the thing that scares you the most, it make it a hell of a lot easier to decided weather to run or face it. Or maybe I'll find out I'm being completely ridiculous and there was nothing in that closet to be scared of to begin with.

Hmm... Who knew that bed time could be so eye opening?

I know it's not like me to get all mushy and brag about my kid, but I have to admit that I am in complete awe of my son and thankful for the perspective he was able to give me at 8:30 on a random Wednesday night. That said, he didn't work alone...If you're wondering, I'm also thankful for the Prozac. 

Monday, June 18, 2012



The ability to do something that frightens one.

Strength in the face of pain or grief.

Every day we wake up, take a deep breath and greet the morning. Sometimes it's easy and other times we'd all rather pull the covers up a little higher and ignore the world right outside the bedroom door.  With each new day, new obstacles in life arise and often they try to bring us down. It may be friends or family. Perhaps your boss is a dick and there's a deadline to be met that seems impossible. Or maybe it just seems as though, today, life itself, is out to get you.

 Whatever the case, it's what we do in these challenging times that makes the difference. Sure, you could give up, pull the covers over your chin and hope your challenges get bored with you and move on to terrorized someone new. Some of us might even embrace the negativity, feed into it and allow it to grow and consume us. But, there are a few who face their troubles head on, fight the good fight, and walk away, a little scarred, but educated and better for the experience.

It can be a tough choice, trying to decide what path to take. Especially when it's so easy to give in to our problems and fears. Realistically, we know that the things that are troubling us are not going to magically go away. Contrary to popular belief, "things" do not just work themselves out. No, people work them out. Whether you're lucky enough to have someone who will do it for you is a completely different story, but trust me someones got to do it. So why not it be you? Are you scared? Good! Are you worried? You should be! Can you without a doubt find a way through it? Well that my friends, depends on who you are...

In this world there are two kinds of people- Victims and Survivors. You see, it's very easy to allow yourself to be a victim of your circumstances. To take a beating and never fight back. Absorbing blow after blow, while that little voice inside your head screams that you don't have what it takes to change a thing. And when it all seem too much, the victim gives in, allowing the negativity to turn into a haunting monster. Unwilling to run or change, the victim is left to be tortured. They wake up every morning, pull the covers up as high as they can go, and listen to the monster fill them with feelings of worthlessness, unwantedness, and dread. They do absolutely nothing to help themselves. They wait. They want. They suffer. And in the end, nothing ever changes.

Now, the Survivor on the other hand, has suffered his fair share too. Like the victim, he's been beaten down and tormented. He's been made to fell worthless, unwanted, unloved and disregarded. The Survivor's been to hell and back with that same monster of negativity, yet managed to change the game at some point, by finding the courage to fight back. They silenced that voice that said they were not good enough, by believing there was more to life than being miserable. It may not have happened over night, but the Survivor found a way to rebound, to start fresh and grab a new outlook on life and themselves. They saw the life they wanted and clawed through the bullshit, at all cost, to get there. Survivors were once Victims who decided life was too short to spend another miserable day hiding in fear while waiting for a savior. Instead the Survivor found courage and by doing so, became their own Hero. They created the change they so desperately needed and deserved.

So, the next time you're faced with a struggle- what's it going to be? Are you going to fight against the current or let it drag you under? I can't promise the fight wont be long, but I can tell you it's worth it and so are you. 

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Welcome to the pit...Every flavor here is vanilla!

It's not very often that I am able to muster up the creativity to write these days. I often blame my job but, the reality is that I am only creative when I'm despairing. I like to think of it as being in the pit. Though it sounds very depressing when I read it in black and white, it's not really that awful. In fact, I find it's when I'm at my best. Creatively anyway.

I find that I fall into the pit seasonally. It's like a bad case of allergies that rolls around every spring and instead of sneezing and sniffling, I'm up late nights thinking about life and where I find myself these days. I do a lot of reading and soul searching in the pit and it's there that my inspiration is born.

This year I will turn 29. This month, to be exact and it's got me thinking a lot about where I am in life and what exactly it is that I want out of it. I have a job, a family and a decent sense of humor about it all. So why do I feel so empty? Well, I am aware that time spent in the pit makes me feel this way but, it's what got me here that I find interesting...

A friend of mine recently told me about an affair she was having. Her husband's a shit so I couldn't really blame her but, it was the way she told me that threw me for a loop. It was as if she said, "The sky is blue today." Very matter of fact. Not guilt laced, not wary. Just a statement. It is what it is. Now, I very much love my husband and would never in a million years dream of turning to another man yet, the idea of this intrigued me on some level. Not because I was interested in adultery but, because I was curious as to how these things happen... Do you just show up at your neighbors house one morning naked and ask for a cup of sugar and a fuck? Certainly that can't be right. Or maybe you go to ? (Please don't try to visit the aforementioned website, it is fake. Trust me, I Googled it.) Whatever way it happens, it's baffling to me. And this is because I am and have always been a creature of habit. I enjoy monotony on some level. I fear change and rarely ever deviate from my norm. Though occasionally, when I am in the pit, I wonder what different would be like. To not always be so structured, routined and in control.

My favorite analogy of this is that for 25 years I ate only Vanilla ice cream. Sure I would slap some sprinkles on from time to time. Maybe add a little Carmel sauce but, my norm was vanilla. It was safe. I knew I liked it and it never disappointed. Then one day I was at a girlfriends house for a play date and she offered up the only frozen treat she had...Chocolate. Not wanting to be rude I accepted her offer and ate a tiny scoop. The first bite felt wrong. Foreign, not something I was use to. But, bite after bite I found myself enjoying it more and more. When I was finished I couldn't believe how much I enjoyed the chocolate ice cream and thought "Holy, Shit! How could I just assume I didn't like this?" And today I wonder a lot about the opportunities I deprive myself of because it's not my normal and I just assume it's not for me.

I feel it's safe to conclude that we have all felt this way at one time or another. Whether it's someone like my friend who has chosen to take a giant radical bite of Rocky Road in her relationship or someone like myself who chooses a bit more plainly to wash her face before shaving her legs this time in the shower. Occasionally it's fun to deviate from the norm. Take a risk and see where it leads us. Taking chances doesn't happen for me often. I spend most of my time on the precipice where every day is basically the same and when I'm there I love the safety it allows me. But it's times like right now when I'm despairing in the pit, a place where I too am most always served vanilla, that I'm able to sort out that a little chocolate never hurt anyone. I urge you all to do one thing today that isn't your normal. And when you do, remember- "The only difference between a rut and a grave is their dimensions." ~Ellen Glasgow

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Go Ahead...Drink the Kool Aide.

Hello world...I know it's been a while but I'm back for a short moment and I would love nothing more than to catch you up on the Mouthy Mommy's misadventures. The problem is that my brain is so over crowded with work stress that I can't manage to get one coherent thought that isn't related to healthcare. So I decided to fill you in on one of my favorite work moments. I know. I know. It's your lucky day!

I would like to start my story like a shit cupcake. I'll start with the bad(the frosting if you will) and end on the high (a little devils food cake)... Also, is anyone else loving the term "shit cupcake" as much as I am? It's genius! But I digress...

A few months ago I was FIRED from the company I worked with for roughly a year and three months. Was I upset? Sort of. Was I scared about having to start over? Kind of. Was I surprised ? Not even a little bit. You see, the problem with being a Mouthy Mommy( Or Mouthy Account Executive in my case) is that you tend to fly right in the radar zone. And it turns out that Corporate America would very much appreciate you keeping your trap shut and your opinions to yourself. I guess if you're a mindless sheep or a complete dip shit this is a suiting environment. If you're a mouthy opinionated bitch...Not so much.

So, like so many, many, many times in my life, I was called into my bosses office and asked to turn in my badge. Only this time instead of crying and begging for my job, I felt a strange sense of relief and pride. In part because I manged to be a lady and not tell a single person in the office to go fuck themselves on my way out the door, but also because I needed a reason to leave that miserable place and there is no way I would have left on my own. After all, I have a serious shopping habit to support! As well as a kid and a husband...

For three unemployed weeks I reflected on where I went wrong. Why was I so miserable there and why did they let me go? Well, the misery part was easy. I just didn't enjoy working for people who expect you to fail and give you all the tools to do so gloriously. If you force me to do things "your way" and then blame me for not being successful, you really are just the worst type of asshole and I will be sure to tell you so. And there my friends is the "why" part. I think I sealed my fate the day I called my boss Hitler during an argument and then topped it off by stating that the CEO has a Messiah complex that requires more Kool Aide drinking than a Jim Jones movement. I may have also suggested that we start sacrificing a goat Monday mornings to a statue made in the likeness of said CEO all in the hopes that his mightiness would be pleased and keep me and the rest of the bottom feeders employed a bit longer. Needless to say, my manager was not amused and it was exactly 4 days later that I received the boot.

I hear when people are laid off there's a small bereavement period. A time where you cry and morn the loss of your weekly pay check. I gave myself exactly five minutes to feel sorry and sad and not a minute more. I knew that I would find something new and I knew that from that point on I was no longer going to settle for being miserable at the hands of those I work for. In the words of a good friend and colleague of mine "healthcare is a motherfucker of an industry". It is a soul crushing, constantly changing monster filled with pressure and failure. One month you're on top and the next you're on the chopping block all while you pound the pavement in 6 inch heels, knocking on doors in the hot Florida sun. Doors that have already been entered by 352 of your competitors who have not only been doing it longer than you, but who also buy better lunches and give away nicer pens. I guess the same could be said about anyone in sales, but for someone like myself who sells a healthcare "concept" instead of a tangible product, I cant help but think that selling vacuum cleaners door to door would be a cake walk.

Now to wrap things up quickly, here my friends is my happy ending...

I now work for people I love. I've been here a few months and yes, I still struggle to meet my goals. This "motherfucker" of an industry has chewed me up and spit me out. I am working my ass off everyday without reaping the rewards I feel that I should. Today my 352 competitors kicked my ass and I did not receive as much as one new referral. As disheartening as that is, tomorrow I will get up, strap on my 6 inch heels and pound the pavement in the hot Florida sun. I will be told "NO" far more times than yes and I will take it all in with a smile. Then God willing, I will wake up the next morning and do it all again. Why? Because I love who I work for and I know that they care about me. It's cliche' I know, but I promise it is a fact, that when you work for people who build you up, it makes it a hell of a lot harder for the industry to tear you down. That said, I'm also not an idiot...If anyone's interested my resume can be found on :)

Monday, June 6, 2011

House Wars

I know it's been a while and at this point you've all probably forgotten that the Mouthy Mommy ever existed. I want all of you to know, that it's not because I have nothing left to say- because believe me I have lots- it's just that I've literally have had no time to myself to sit and write. This working mom thing is turning out to be a giant pain in the ass and my "me" time is long over due. So, that said, I've managed to carve out some time (I'm sitting in my empty laundry room with the door locked) and give you all a taste of the Mouthy Working Mommy's chaos.

If you don't know I am currently working for a Medicare service provider while juggling motherhood, domestics and most recently, home ownership. I've managed to make peace with the fact the the world of Medicare has an uncertain future and that my kid is growing up to be a know it all asshole but, the home owner thing has thrown me for a loop.

It seems that everything you want to do in your new home requires some sort of 12 step program and an ass load of cash. And if that's not enough to drive this type A budgeter over the edge my husband has decided to put in some "sweat equity". Now a normal woman married to normal handy man may not be alarmed by an offer to paint a bedroom or slap on some crown molding but, unless my husband started taking some night classes I don't know about and attained his general contractor license there is NO FUCKING WAY I would ever be comfortable with him wielding a paint brush or something as sharp a a mitre saw. He also has zero concept of what things cost. Here's a perfect example:

Him: We need new carpet in the master bedroom. It should only be about $200. I'll go to Home Depot and get a quote.

Me: Are you sure? That sounds really cheap. Maybe we should just use the extra carpet and have them patch the bad spot.

Him: I'll see what they say, but it going to be cheaper to replace it. I'll call you in a few after I talk to Home Depot.

A few hours later...

Him: OK. I found a carpet place called "Rape your wallet extravagant carpets and more" and they said we need grade A+++ carpet and it will cost $900.

ME: Wait, what happened to home depot and $200? And why exactly would you shop at a place with a name that screams rip off? Please just get a quote from a normal place to patch the goddamn carpet!

Him: STOP CONDESCENDING TO ME! I know what I'm doing. The guy is coming tomorrow to give me a better estimate. I'm pretty sure he had his math wrong.

Me: So we are going to hire someone to do work in our home that lacks third grade math skills?

Him: CLICK.........

I wish I could say that this was the only time in the last few weeks he's yeld at me for being condescending bitch, but sadly this has become a daily ritual and truthfully it's all my dads fault. I grew up in a home where I had a father bright enough to know his limitations when it came to handy work. For example, dad could change a light bulb, pressure wash the driveway and install a night light but, anything beyond that was handed to a well researched and priced professional. I grew up believing that this was how it worked. When I saw men fixing things in their own homes I would think to myself, Your wife's going to be sooo angry when she comes home to a giant fucked up mess? Why? Because that's what I was raised to believe. How does that poem go? Children learn what they live. If a child lives with a dad who hates manual labor, she will learn to hire a handy man. Now ask yourself, "With what is my child living?"

Apparently my hubby comes from a long line of do it yourselfer's. I've never seen them do anything themselves, but he assures me they do and that he too has inherited part of that genetic code...As usual I have to call "BULLSHIT" and also a licensed contractor.