Tuesday, December 22, 2009

The Mouthy Mommy Goes To The Gun Show...

In an attempt to earn some extra cash this holiday season and give my family all the useless crap they want but do not need, the Mouthy Mommy decided to take a weekend job. Unfortunately for me, it was a gig at the West Palm Beach Gun Show. Fortunately for you, it was a complete disaster and left me with much to write about.

Let me start by setting the scene...When I pulled into the parking lot of the gun show, I was overwhelmed by the sight of Ford and Chevy pickups adorned with the always classy, Truck Nutz. For those of you who are unfamiliar with "Truck Nutz" they are plastic testicles that attach to the undercarriage of your vehicle. In Redneck Land they are considered an automotive improvement, like window tint or a sound system. As I exited my car and walked slowly to the front gate, I could see a massive amount of men waiting in line to purchase tickets (That's right, tickets to the gun show). 90% of them were all business in the front and party in the back. Meaning, the mullet ratio was off the charts. The only quality that was more abundant in these men than mullet haircuts, was obesity and camo covered Wrangler jeans. Which is probably why my attire of skinny jeans, white long sleeve shirt and pink scarf had me sticking out like a turd in a punch bowl (I actually heard someone say that while I was there). As I tried to contain my laughter, I picked up the pace and made it to the front doors where I had the privilege of being the only woman vendor waiting to enter the expo center. I looked around at the guys that I would be working beside and realized that between the 20 of them, there wasn't one full set of teeth. Not even if you put them all together in one mouth. It was outstanding and I knew right then, that I would be learning a lot on this job.
I just wasn't sure at that moment, what it would be.

The inside of the show was as exciting as the outside. The tables were full of high powered assault rifles, giant knives, WWII memorabilia (complete with all the Nazi garb a young skin head could dream of) and tasers as far as the eye could see. In an attempt to keep the show a family affair, there were also a few booths set up with cheap, pink camo clothing and chintzy kids toys complete with choking hazards, made only in the USA. My favorite item of the day was the lipstick mace. Printed in bold red letters on the front of the package were the words "Never be date raped again!" Which got me thinking, is date rape that much of an epidemic in Redneck Land? Are woman repeatedly having this problem? Holy shit! If I was date raped more than once, I don't know about you, but I think I'd forgo the mace and become a shut in instead. Finding Mr. Right just doesn't seem worth the emotional scaring.

After taking a quick moment to evaluate my surroundings, I sat down at my booth and began the longest 8 hours of my life. I wasn't there to sell anything. I was just there to babysit a small batch of fliers, provided by the pawn shop I was representing. None of the patrons noticed I was there and I was left to sit alone. Well, kind of alone. I had 3 lovely vendors sharing space with me and because we shared space they felt we should also share conversation. I didn't necessarily feel the same way. I was hoping to do my time, make some cash and forget that places like this hell hole, ever existed. Making friends was the last thing I felt like doing, but I forced a polite smile anyway when I was greeted by Humpty Dumpty, the scope salesman on the left of me. After all, it wasn't his fault my invisibility cloak was malfunctioning. Humpty, was bald and egg shaped. He was also very eager to let loose about his theories on global warming. That's when I learned my first bit of redneck knowledge. According to Mr. Dumpty there is no such thing as global warming. It's just a fancy word that scientist use to make money. Ice bergs are not melting and there is a huge abundance of Polar Bears that hang out in Canada, all we have to do is spread them out and they will no longer be on the endangered list. I'm not sure how this conversation began or where he got his facts, all I know is that seconds after I said "hello," Humpty took me on a magical journey through stupid land and I haven't been the same since.

Upset with the fact I would never be able to get back that 20 minutes of my life, I walked outside for a smoke. It was at this time that I passed two men having a conversation. I'm not sure what they were talking about, but I do know that one of them felt that the gun show was, and I quote, "Mind bottling!"

On my walk back from my smoke break, I passed some interesting art work. One blatantly racist piece, was a photograph of President Obama shinning Sarah Palin's shoes. Even though I found it offense, it seemed to be a real crowd pleaser. I actually saw children under the age of ten, pointing and laughing at it. This proving my theory, that stupidity is genetic and possibly contagious.

Though the entire weekend left me feeling like there should be a law against allowing any of these people to reproduce, operate a firearm or teach school age children, I did find one person there that wasn't half bad. The NRA was kind enough to provide a Sara Palin impersonator and I was lucky enough to get a picture with her. I personally think the real Sara is an idiot, but in the gun world she is as popular as baby Jesus and Budweiser. They absolutely love her and they can't wait for her to run for office in 2012. (If you want to know if the world will end in 2012, elect that woman into office and I promise Armageddon will follow.) Anyway, Patsy the fake Sarah allowed me to hold a big gun in the photo. I'm not sure what kind it was, but I did learn that it is A) illegal to take a picture with a gun if your finger's on the trigger and B) the Palin look alike does not like it pointed at her face. She says it's because she didn't want it to look like I was shooting her lipstick off. I think she was missing that it was exactly the look I was going for. All jokes aside,Patsy was a nice lady and I'm saying that genuinely. Not just because I gave her the link to my website.

It was amazing how much she looked like the Governor. If you want to check out her website( and trust me it's worth a look) you can find her at http://www.sarahpalinimpersonator.com/ .

So, though the gun show was a complete waste of my time, it did teach me a few things. 1) That I will do pretty much anything to make a few bucks and 2) that I have no business working a gun show...EVER. I also learned why I should never own a gun. Until there is proof that gun ownership doesn't cause retardation, I'll stick to finding other ways to protect myself. Maybe I'll start toting a bow and arrow or better yet I'll strap on my tinfoil helmet and will the Canadian Polar Bears to guard me... Damn it! Looks like stupidity is contagious. Somebody get me a gun!

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Dear Santa and/or Baby Jesus...

Dear Santa and/or Baby Jesus,

I'm not really sure if either one of you exist, but just in case I feel it's best to cover all my bases and address both of you. Hell, if you see the Easter Bunny hanging around, feel free to pass this on to him too. I'm not picky and truthfully, you'll need all the help you can get.

I am aware that I've been a bit naughty this year. I have repeatedly neglected my housework, I torture and poke fun at my husband to improve the comedic value of my blogs and I've taken the Lord's name in vain so many times, that my son is starting to think that his name is Jesus Christ. Also, I may have called a Dollar rent-a-car customer service woman a few names that are illegal in some states. But please, before you judge me for that one, you may want to check your naughty list for her too. I'm not sure what her real name is, but I assume her last name is Face and her first starts with a "C".

Listen, I'm not perfect. I screw up a lot, but I do good things too. I always leave a penny in that little dish at the gas station (if I have one). I make sure my family is fed and clean (most of the time). And most importantly, I bring the gift of laughter twice a week to a bunch of crazies, for zero money(this is 100% true). So if you think about it, all the good I do for others cancels out all that naughty crap I do to others.

Now, to the point of this letter. I have a few wishes/wants/needs this Christmas and it would be nice if one of you could come through for me this year.

*I know I asked for this last year, but a nanny and a house keeper is always number one on my list. I understand that placing two live humans under the tree is an unorthodox request to fill, but honestly, there are plenty of people waiting in front of The Home Depot for a job. It would be a gift for all involved. (Just so you know, there is a Home Depot a few blocks from my house. It would take zero effort for you to swing by there before you stuff your fat ass through the window, Santa.. Sorry, I don't have a chimney and I'm not leaving the front door unlocked in Broward County. You'll figure it out. )

*I would like you to stop all Facebook users from using slang in their status updates. I'm on there a lot and reading sentences with the words "cuz", "minez", "wuz", and "dat" is about to earn me a permanent spot on the naughty list next year for committing a hate crime.

*If it's not to much trouble I could really use some free time. An hour a day would be great. Locking myself in the bathroom and pretending to take a dump for alone time is hardly my idea of relaxing. Have you ever tried using a toilet as a computer desk? It's terrible. Plus, I think my kid and husband are on to me. The kid incessantly bangs on the door the entire time and my husband has started messing with the wifi when I'm in there. I'm not going to lie; they both really suck. I need the time.

* My final request is a toughy. I would really like to be famous. I know I'm kind of a big deal with the crazies, but I'm looking to branch out. I'm thinking a reality show or a book deal. Or how about the Mouthy Mommy on ice? I can't skate for shit, but I'm a fast learner and people seem to love that ice skating bologna. Look at how well Sesame Street is doing with it. Maybe we can get Oscar the Grouch to play me. Whatever, I'm not going to tell you how to do your job... Just see what you can do.

Well, I know that with only a few weeks before the "big day", you guys have a lot of work to do. So get on it and don't let me down again. There is really very little keeping me from doing a swan dive off the roof these days and it's likely that one more disappointment may push me over the edge. Keep that in the back of your mind when you feel like cutting corners.

The Mouthy Mommy

Scotch and pot will be left out in lieu of cookies and milk. Santa, I know it's your favorite. You reeked of both when we visited you at the mall last week.

Boys, there is no need to fight! You can all get me a gift.....

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Got Pink?

I am always looking for new things to write about. Sometimes I use my real life experiences and sometimes I pull from outside sources of stupidity. Last week I received an e-mail from my father containing a link to an article he had found. ( He likes to use his free time to surf the web and when he finds something kid related he shoots it over to me. A few weeks ago he sent me this: Baby's First Bong)

So when I read the title "Are Pink Toys Bad for Girls?", I instantly thought that it was going to be a picture of a young girl holding a pink vibrator or maybe a pink crack pipe. I wasn't sure, but I was assuming it would be inappropriate on some level. I guess that's why I was shocked when I opened the page and found an actual article. Could it be that he finally sent me something of value? I read through it quickly looking to see if scientist found a link between the color pink and Autism in girls? Was pink causing girls to commit suicide? Did pink cause cervical cancer? NO, of course not!!! The only thing the color pink's doing is causing feminist to lose their shit. And I'm assuming the only reason my father sent the article to me is so that I would lose mine.

Let me start by summarizing the article. Two women in the U.K got their panties in a bunch when they entered a toy store and "noticed the toys they sell are clearly marketed for girls and boys based on color" These idiots quickly formed an alliance with more idiots and are protesting under the name "Pinkstinks". They feel that, "pink dresses, kitchen toys, dollhouses and other playthings rendered strictly in rosy hues teach girls early that they have different roles than boys. This process causes girls to value beauty over brains and fosters an obsession with physical appearance." Pinkstinks has also gained the support of a former consumer Czar (not sure what a consumer Czar is, but I'm guessing it's a Queen term; like power bottom and that also, he is an idiot) Ed Mayo, agrees that the "color apartheid" puts children on different paths in life. Then like any idiot supporting bullshit he changes his tune and says "while it might not be the color pink's fault, one of those paths definitely leads to lower pay and status than the other."

Really?!? How typical of an idiot to fight a battle over something that "might not" be the reason for the problem. ( I wonder if these women and their Czar were Bush supporters?)

Here's my take on the whole thing....
**The reason boys and girls have different roles is because, guess what...They are DIFFERENT! It's science. If you have a problem with that, maybe you should stop reproducing.

**Stop blaming toys and colors for crippling girls ability to make a decent life for themselves when they grow up. If your daughter's a whore and has low self esteem it's not Barbie's fault, it's yours. Maybe you should have spent more time teaching the importance of self worth and less time picketing in your Birkenstock's. As a stay-at-home mom and housewife, I know exactly what brought me to where I am today. And guess what, it had nothing to do with the small cupcakes I cooked over a light bulb in my hot pink Easy Bake Oven. It had everything to do with watching my mother. If you want someone to blame for your kids problems, stand in front of the mirror and point. It's your fault, not the toys.

**Gender specific colors are only specific if you allow them to be. I bought a pink laptop. I didn't do it because pink is my favorite color. I did it because my husband thinks pink is "girlie" and it deters him from using it. At the same time my two-year-old son's favorite color is pink. I have never told him that pink is for girls. I have no right to tell him something he likes is wrong. (Unless he "likes" murdering small animals or performing sex acts on mannequins. I can deal with gay, straight and gender confused. I am not however, prepared for serial killer.) The point I'm getting to is this, the color of a toy has little to do with the reason a child wants to play with it. My kid wanted a pink kitchen play set. I bought him a blue one (because the pink was sold out) and he plays with it every day. Proving that color had nothing to do with why my little guy wanted it. He just likes whipping up FAB-U-LOUS imaginary food.

**Gender specific toys are also only as specific as you allow them to be. My house is littered with dinosaurs and toy trucks. Yet in the small toy bin, I also see a tiny set of eyes peering at me. The eyes belong to a doll my son had to have last Christmas. (He named her Karen, after a girl in his nursery school class.) Though “Karen,” spends most of her time at the bottom of the toy box, occasionally she gets taken out for a romp and her and my son have a blast together. He’s never been told that dolls are for girls and in our house, he never will be. As a parent of a young child I make the decision to teach what is and is not acceptable behavior for boys and girls. If I don't make a big deal out of something there is exactly that, "no big deal." There is no law that says pink toys are only for girls or that boys can only play with toy guns and blue dinosaurs. If you have a problem with your daughter playing with doll houses and pretend cleaning supplies maybe you should think about why it bothers you so much. Then when you figure it out stand in front of the mirror and slap yourself in the face. Why? Because you need a reality check. When was the last time you heard your kid complain that the toys they are playing with were discriminating or stereo typing their gender? Never right? That is because they don't know about any of that stuff until you teach it to them. Once again it is your fault. So stop protesting for stupid causes because you are bored and allow the rest of us to make our own choices for our kids. It would really be nice to walk through the automatic doors at Toys R Us without having to yell at you to "Shut the f*ck p and mind your own business."

Recently American idiot moms called for a boycott of Toys R Us because its Christmas catalog featured "outdated gender roles." As an non idiot American mom, I'm calling for all of them to get a hobby and take a Midol. Honestly, how do they have all this free time? Are there not enough dinners to cook and clothes to clean at their houses? Geesh!

If you want to read more of the article you can check it out here : http://www.lemondrop.com/2009/12/02/are-pink-toys-bad-for-girls/?icid=mainhtmlws-main-wdl5link6http://www.lemondrop.com/2009/12/02/are-pink-toys-bad-for-girls/

Also feel free to leave me your feedback.I would love to hear what you think.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Dear House, Goodbye...

Today is the one year anniversary of my mother's death. I wasn't going to revisit the subject after I wrote the tribute to her on her birthday, but then something came up. I am having a hard time letting go of things that belonged to my mother and that includes my childhood home. Unfortunately, because of the times, I am unable to keep the home in my family. This reality has been haunting me since my mother passed and my grief counselor feels that in order to experience closure it would be helpful to write a goodbye letter to the house. Writing a letter that would not be read felt like such a waste because in my mind, nothing is permanent until it is said out loud. That is why I have decided to share it with all of you.

(I've never written a goodbye letter and I have to say, it felt odd writing one to a house. I really hope this helps me, because it really feels nutty. )

Dear House,

I never thought the day would come when I would have to tell you goodbye, but now I must and it's more difficult than I ever imagined. You are one of the only tangible pieces of my childhood. Proof to me that happier, carefree times existed. You are the place my parents built together. The home that our family grew in, broke in, died in. I've spent the last year trying to find a way to keep you. But with times the way they are and my life pulling me farther away from the town I grew up in, there is just no way to make that a reality. So now I must let you go, though I worry I may always struggle to live with that decision.

Before I lock your doors for good, I would like to take a moment to thank you for all the years you gave me shelter. You are more than a house to me, more than a home too. You are like an extension of my mother and when she was alive, no other place felt as safe and warm. But now without her you sit like a ghost; vacant and cold. The more time passes, the more I realize that my need to keep you is a last attempt to hold on to my mother. A way to keep pretending that she'll come back to me. That's why I had to stop coming by as often. It just became to unhealthy for me to wallow in her absence, as I often did when I was with you. When mom first passed away, I came every week to lie down in the spot where they found her and collapse in piles of her clothing, that rested on the closet floor. I did anything to feel her presence and I wrapped feeling that spark of her, in being with you. I know now, that feeling closer to her has to come from within me. I can't allow my obsession with keeping you to continue hindering my ability to move forward and find closure anymore. I can't keep coming back to you, feeling like if I move slow enough through your halls that I might catch a glimpse of her. It's crazy...You are empty, she is gone and unless you magically gain the ability to pull heaven down, there is no more reason for me to come back.

Goodbye, House. I really hope that the years will be kind to you and that someday a new family can find joy and shelter within your walls. Please know that to me, you will always be home. I will miss you always, just as I will her. I love you both forever. Goodbye...


Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Awesomely Worthless Gifts...

With the economy in the toilet, there is a lot of stress that goes into holiday shopping. Face it, you can't afford Macy's or Brookstone's this year and it's looking like T.J Max may even be a stretch. I have heard that people are setting budgets of under $20 a person and I think that's a very responsible thing to do when times are tough. The problem is that though budgets are down, prices are up and twenty bucks will only get you a few pairs of tube socks and a jar of mayo, if your lucky. And who wants that?..The answer is no one. (Did you hear that, grandma?) So, the Mouthy Mommy put herself to the test and came up with a few awesomely worthless gifts for you to give your loved ones this year. Unfortunately, I couldn't keep them from being crappy, but I was able to find things that are fun and most importantly functional. Get ready to shop folks. Here is this years best worthless gifts for under $20!

Saving the environment is huge right now. You see these totes in all the stores and you may have purchased one in a moment of guilt. (The state of the Earth really is an Inconvenient Truth ) But do you ever remember to use it? I'm guessing you don't, because A) most of you don't really give a damn about the environment and B) I know for a fact you enjoy using those plastic grocery bags for everything, from raping paper to trash bags. So why buy this bag? Well, for one, it's a terrific conversation starter and two, it's not for you, douche nozzle. It's for someone who actually loves Mother Earth or at least wants people to think they do. Stop being selfish and buy this bag. It's a steal at $6.99 and it can be found at; http://www.perpetualkid.com/leave-bag-in-car-shopping-bag.aspx

My husband can't remember shit and every time I send him out with a grocery list, he loses it or forgets to read it. That's why this year for Hanukkah he's receiving To-Do Tattoo's. Nothing says I wear the pants in this family like a sleeve tattoo of honey do's. They are $3.49 at; http://www.perpetualkid.com/to-do-tattoo.aspx .

Another big craze right now is that Jesus character. Every where you look some one's sporting a What would Jesus do? piece of jewelry. That's why I love this Ask Jesus, magic answer maker. Now people can stop wondering and start delivering the rapture as Jesus would have. Get your Bible buds their own personal 11 inch Jesus today. He will only set you back $19.99 and he's at;

Sticking with the magically glorious Magic Eight Ball design, is the Instant Excuse finder. Help your brother get out of visiting his in-laws or maybe give your best bud a fast excuse for ditching work after a long night of banging cheap tranny hookers. It's the perfect gift for anyone! It cost $ 4.69 and can be found at; http://www.amazon.com/CloseoutZone-11853-Instant-Excuse-Ball/dp/B001DNA1VG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=toys-and-games&qid=1259692229&sr=8-1

Have a whiny, brooding teen in the family? Check out this soap. Though it's tear free it's sure to give them something to cry about. Also, it kills two birds with one stone. It cuts and keeps the wounds clean. After all, kids want attention, not an infection. Ha! I crack myself up... The soap is $6.95 and can be found at; http://www.fetosoap.com/shop/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=43

These bacon strip bandages are super cool and fit nicely into a stocking. A box of 15 are $3.99 and are sold at; http://www.perpetualkid.com/bacon-bandages.aspx

For the neurotic hypochondriac in the family, check out The Complete Manual of Things That Might Kill You. That kook you love will be able to easily find what's killing them by self diagnosing using all of their symptoms (real or imagined) in this one of a kind book. If you really want to splurge, pair this book with the Bacon Bandages. The book is $19.99 and can be found at; http://www.perpetualkid.com/manual-of-things-that-might-kill-you.aspx

Know a clean freak. Here's a gift that shows how obnoxious you find them. OCD man comes with a sanitary wipe, latex gloves and a informative list of compulsions. It's $8.95 and sold at; http://www.amazon.com/Novelty-Figures-11561-Obsessive-Compulsive/dp/B000CA0H0Q/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=toys-and-games&qid=1259692267&sr=1-1

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Grandma! What Did You Just Say?

If you haven't figured it out by now I come from a mildly dysfunctional family. Maybe dysfunctional is the wrong word. Bat shit crazy is better and this goes for my entire family, biological and extended. Now, as much as I would love to punish the whole lot of them by exposing their craziness, today is only about one; my grandma. At first glance she looks like a kind old lady, but then she opens her mouth and turns into Super Yenta, queen of the verbal bitch slap. (For my non-Jewish readers let me define Yenta for you. Yenta-(Yiddish) a vulgar shrew person, especially a woman, who is meddlesome or gossipy.)Please don't misunderstand, I love her for it. Honestly, there is nothing funnier than a 74 year old woman cursing like a sailor and talking smack. I can only hope that I'm half the Yenta she is someday.

I would like to share some dialogue from my last dinner time visit to Grandma's house. Knowing it was a gold mine of laughs, I wrote our conversation down the second I got home. I swear to you, this is all a true story. I couldn't make this up if I tried. My Grandma is hilarious.

After a healthy helping of pasta and meatballs, Grandma removes both of our plates from the table and goes for seconds.

Grandma- Jennie Would you like some more pasta?
Me- No, I'm full thank you.
Grandma- You don't like my cooking, do you? Every time you come over you barely eat anything.
Me- Grandma your cooking's fine. I'm just full and I'm trying to avoid getting a big fat ass.
Grandma- What are you implying, Jennie?
Me- Nothing. I'm just trying to keep the weight off. Everything isn't always about you.
Grandma-( glares at me while raising one penciled eyebrow) Yeah, I'm sure! Well move out of my way then, you little bitch. I need to get my big fat ass some more pasta. You know, it's terrible the things you say about your poor Grandma.

Once grandma polished off her seconds, we cleaned up the kitchen and talked about my youth.

Grandma- I don't know if you remember when you were little and we went to the pool?
Me- Maybe, why?
Grandma- Well, I could have killed you that day. (She then pauses and puts the dish she was washing into the sink to look at me.) You know, after spending time with you today, I probably should have killed you.
Me- Grandma! I thought I was your favorite. You want to kill me?
Grandma- Jennie, I told you I don't have a favorite and everyone wants to kill you sometimes. Stop being such a pain in the ass and hand me the rest of the dishes.

After spending 15 minutes washing dishes so that we could put them in the dishwasher, I asked Grandma why we didn't eat off of paper plates.

Grandma-I don't like eating dinner on paper. I always use dishes.
Me- Why, does dinner taste different on a paper plate? I always use paper and trust me it's fine.
Grandma- Jennie it has nothing to do with taste, it's about having class. If you want to eat dinner like an animal at your house that's OK with me. Just don't call me to come over.
Me- You know what, the next time you come over for dinner I'm feeding you on the floor.

Grandma- Don't be so dramatic, Jennie. It's not like I would eat your cooking if you invited me over anyway....Oh, stop with the face! I was just kidding.

After clean up and coffee, we enter her living room. It contains a sofa and a love seat that she has owned for 20 years. They are both in perfect condition and look like the came straight from a 1980's Sheridan hotel.

Grandma- Jennie, I think the baby has some chocolate on his face. Wipe him so he doesn't get any of it on my couch.
Me- Grandma, there is nothing on his face. Relax, your couches will live to see another decade.
Grandma- What's wrong with my couches?
Me- Nothing, they're fine. You're just so neurotic about getting them dirty. They're couches for Christ sake. Do you plan on taking them to heaven with you or are you hoping that the Guinness Book of World Records will show up when you die an award you for having the oldest and cleanest couches in existence.
Grandma- No Jennie, I don't think I'm going to take them with me or that your smart ass book people will come. I just like my stuff to be nice. Just because you like to live in shit and allow your son to use your couches as a goddamn napkin, doesn't mean I have too. You know you're such a bitch, I think I may slap you.

Once Grandma cooled down it was time for some Yenta style gossip. Someone in her condo died and Grandma shared the news early in the morning with her girlfriend, who also lives in the condo complex. Later that day Grandma's neighbor called to inform her of the death, unaware that she already knew. Here's how she told the rest of the story. I changed some of the names, so that my Grandma will be less likely to yell at me later for embarrassing her friends publicly. (Even though none of them own or even know how to operate a computer. )

Grandma- So Velma called me and said, "Did you hear Betty died? Silvia called me this morning and told me." I said to Velma, "Yes I did. I was the one who told Silvia in the first place." Then Velma had the nerve to argue with me saying that she talked to Silvia before I did and that I was lying. Can you believe that woman?
Me- No, that's crazy.
Grandma- I know, but it gets better. I was so annoyed that she called me a liar, that I hung up on her and went on with my day. Later that evening, it must have been around 9, there was a knock at my door and it was that psycho, Velma. I was already in my night gown, so I didn't bother flipping on the light, I just cracked the door open and peaked my head out to see what it was she wanted. No sooner did I have my head outside, she starts insisting that I let her in because she has something to show me. Against my better judgement, I let the bitch in and she starts giving me the third degree about our conversation earlier in the day. She was really getting on my nerves so I said, "Velma what is it that you want, because I just don't give a damn about this and I want to go to bed." She then pulls a cordless phone out of her pocket and shoves the caller ID in my face saying,"What does that say. Just look. I told you Silvia called me before you saw her." So I snatched the goddamn thing out of her hands and said " I see what it says. It says get the F##K out of my house Velma." And then I threw the phone back at her and shoved her out the door.
Me- Grandma! That is so awful.
Grandma- No Jennie, what's awful is living next store to that f##k head!

**No joke, that's how she talks to people. It's outstanding how mean she is, isn't it? Grandma has really learned how to take advantage of her golden years. This is her philosophy: "When you're old you can say whatever you want. Why? Because people never take it seriously, they just assume you're suffering from dementia."-Grandma

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Phoning In A Worthless Wednesday

"You would like to think you're hard working, but let's face it: Two or three hours after you get up in the morning, you're ready to pack it in." - Walter T Pratt

I have to be real honest with you guys, it's only a little over a day until the new Twilight movie is released and I have been way to absorbed re-reading the book and Googling cast interviews to put any effort into this blog. So, I'm phoning it in today. I was fortunate enough to have saved an extra blog for days like this. The problem is that it was one of the first blogs I ever wrote. Which means it's very safe and probably not what I would consider my best work. Oh, well... It still got you here and bulked up my views number, so I guess it's done the job. Enjoy your worthless Wednesday and remember that sometimes it's OK to do just enough not to get fired. Look at your boss for Christ sake. What is it that tool really does anyway? Besides micromanaging your ass and making sure you're not stealing computer paper (Which we all know you do anyway, you thief. ), he's basically doing the bare minimum too. What a worthless web we weave! Now read this and get back to pretending to work.

Driving Me Crazy. (Original date of conception 7/30/09)

After a long day of traveling with my crazy two year old, I'm ready to be committed. I always try to organize myself before a drive. In the passenger seat I keep extra juice boxes and toys. The center counsel contains pacifiers and the remote to the portable DVD player. Yet, it never fails that once the odometer hits 65 mph he loses his mind. The last two drives we have taken resulted in 3 near death experiences and one head trauma caused by a flying juice cup. The near death experiences I provided by over steering. It's always in an attempt to reach something he's screaming for. Once it was for the green dinosaur. I took the time to explain to him that he already had the red one, but the red one is a T-Rex and he clearly wanted the green Triceratops. Not that looking for Dino's is the only thing that leaves me searching when I should be driving. Sometimes I have to find the juice cup he chucked at me, because afterward he had throwers remorse and needed a sip of fruit punch to calm his nerves. I know letting him cry is smarter than putting our lives in jeopardy, but an hour drive with that little monster screaming at me is more painful than any wreck I could get my self into.

The long car rides with the "Mouthy Midget" are not the worst of it though. Now when we take a quick trip to the mall or supermarket he gets car sick. Unfortunately, he never throws up when we are safely parked. He always waits until I'm stuck in the middle lane with no place to pull over to start spewing like the exorcist. This then leaves me to drive the remainder of the way with him screaming "EWE, Yucky" and me rummaging for anything remotely close to absorbent.

I've tried thinking of ways to keep my driving dilemma under control and this is what I have so far:

*Duck tape and lots of it. It can be fashioned into a muzzle or restraint. Just make sure to do that before you start driving or it defeats the "safety" purpose.

* A helmet is great for protection in case of a collision caused by baby, but they also deflect flying debris.

* Sham Wow is another great thing to have handy. It's super absorbent and can be trimmed into sections to cover your kid and your car. And really, haven't you always wanted a reason to buy them? That animated crack head on TV is an outstanding salesman.

Though it sounds like I may end up looking like I belong in special "ed" more than Gymboree's "mommy and me", being safe on the road is worth the embarrassment; wouldn't you agree?
Wow, that was painful to read, but you know what's not painful to read; The Twilight Saga. Which is why I happily posted this. Now I can get back to what I really feel like doing today; fantasizing about mythical, underage creatures violating me...It's going to be a great week, folks. See you Friday!

Friday, November 13, 2009

The Redo

I'm reaching the age now where getting carded for booze and cigarettes is no longer mandatory. It could be because when I shop I usually have my kid with me and even if the clerk suspects I'm under age, he feels I deserve to self medicate. (Who wouldn't feel sorry for me after seeing baby gi-me-dat throwing a monstrous fit at my feet while I'm searching for my debit card.) Or maybe it has something to do with the bags under my eyes and bushel of grey hair I'm sporting on the top of my head . I'm not sure which it is, but I'm hoping it's the damn kid. Whatever the case, I get excited when I'm carded. Sometimes I get ahead of the game and have my drivers license out and on display before it is even required. Most of the time the cashier doesn't even look at it, he or she just continues ringing up my goods, while I stand awkwardly waving my ID in the air like some kind of idiot.

There are a few rare occasions when I get lucky and I'm actually asked to prove my date of birth. (It only happens when I am alone, so I guess that proves my theory that it's the damn kid.) It plays out the same way every time. I smile wildly at the cashier as he looks me up and down. Then with one hand on my hand bag, I wait for him to insist that I show identification for my purchase. Once the call is made, I spring to my wallet and hold my drivers license out like a golden ticket. A golden ticket that may or may not be mine. Though it excites me to get carded, I still haven't learned how to hand it over without looking guilty. I guess that's a habit that formed after years of carrying a fake ID. To this day, I never look the clerk in the eyes when I purchase a pack of smokes. I guess you can't teach an old juvenile delinquent new tricks.

With the back story out of the way, I will now direct you to the point of this story. Though it centers around being carded, it has a lot more to do with the things we can't say until it's too late. Last weekend something happened to me at the gas station and it reminded me that though I call myself the Mouthy Mommy, I am only tough when other people are far from swinging distance. It is true. In real life the Mouthy Mommy can be a real pussy. I like to speak my mind, but I hate getting my ass kicked for doing it. That's why I blog!

Last Sunday my wonderful husband took my son out for the day so I could get some writing done. About an hour after they left, I was hard at work and had burnt through my last cigarette. Unable to function without my filtered inspiration, I quickly changed into my track suit and set off to the gas station. Because it's only a block away, I made it there quickly and grabbed my debit card and ID( just in case) before going inside. On this day, a small Latin woman was working the counter. She looked about 45 and for some reason her hair was a horrific mess. It was really distracting, but honestly, it was none of my business why the gas station attendant chose not to brush her hair. I was there for smokes and nothing more. After briefly considering to enter her into one of those makeover shows, I order up a pack of my favorites and decided to leave before I had the urge to tackle her and run a comb through the mop on her head. Blissfully unaware of my need to fix her, she took my order and waddled back to fetch my cigarettes. As I waited for her to return, I tossed my ID down on the counter by the register. I really hoped that she would want to look at it when she got back and to my surprise she actually did. I was thrilled with her interest, but I noticed her eyes shifting back and forth between me and the card way to many times. For a minute my fear of getting busted for a fake ID returned, but then I realized that I really am 26 and instead of fear I felt sorry for myself. Sulking aside, I was getting concerned as to why the woman was taking so long, but before I could ask her what the problem was, she looked at me and said, "Oh, my. You look so pretty in this picture. It must have been taken a long time ago. You look sooooo different now." I was stunned. The gas attendant had just backhandedly insulted my appearance. The same old ass, gas attendant that looked like she had just walked out of a wind tunnel. I couldn't believe it, but she of all people, was calling me ugly. Briefly incapacitated by shock (And my fear of Latinas. Those girls can fight.), I didn't respond to her insult. I simply paid for the cigarettes and left. I was about half way home when I was ready to fight back, but by that time it was too late. The moment was lost.

There is nothing I hate more that having to redo the confrontation with myself, because I was unable to come up with anything when it mattered. I'm sure you have had one of these moments in your life. Where someone says something to you that is completely out of line and you can't think of anything because your brain has locked up. Yet later on, when you're all alone you're suddenly capable of doling out the comebacks like some kind of humiliation wizard. Think of all the times you should have opened your mouth and instead sat quiet. Times when you were reduced to fighting with yourself in the shower just so you could get the last word. These are the times when you really need a redo. Today I'm offering you that chance...

If you have a redo moment you want to get off your chest, take this chance to let the Mouthy Mommy know. You can share it in the comment section below this blog or post it on the Mouthy Mavens fan page on Facebook. Tell me what happened and what you wanted to say. I promise it will make you feel better and possibly give us all a laugh too!

I'll start the redos by replying to the gas attendant...
Gas Attendant-
"Oh, my. You look so pretty in this picture. It must have been taken a long time ago.You look sooooo different now."

"Actually it was taken last week. I got lucky I guess. It turned out that the DMV photographer use to work for Glamor Shots. Why? Are you trying to say I'm ugly, you old bitch? Have you seen yourself recently? You look like a tornado drove you to work."

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

In Loving Memory Of My Mother

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does.Even for me.
-Stephanie Meyer

The world doesn't stop spinning because you lost someone you love. Life goes on. Days will pass. And eventually there will be a time when you will struggle to remember what life was like when they were still around.

It has been 11 months since my mother, Theresa Anne Nadler passed away and today would have been her 46 birthday. I wanted to take this opportunity to write something nice for her, but when I put the pen to paper, the direction changed and the content of this page is what I was left with. It's a little jumpy and incoherent at times, so please forgive me; vulnerable is not really my thing. So, a cheery, birthday tribute it is not. Maybe in a few years I will have gotten use to the fact that this is how life is going to be and I'll smile instead of cry when I think of her. Tonight my sister's and I are going to get together and celebrate my mother's life. We will have good food and plenty of tearful conversations about what it was like when mom was with us. Most importantly, there will be cake. Dead or alive, it's not a birthday unless there is cake and mom deserves a happy one no matter where she is...

In the almost year that my mother's been gone, I have thought long and hard about our relationship. It wasn't a perfect one. There were times when I was more her parent than she was mine, but I loved her more than words can express and I've managed to make peace with the fact that she did the best she could with what she had. Good or bad, I'm thankful to have had her as my mother.

Like anyone grieving, I sometimes ask myself if I told her I loved her often enough, if I visited as much as I should, and if I told her how important she was to me. I'm not sure what the answer is. I can only hope that I was able to give her enough of those things while I had the chance. It's too late now to beat myself up over it.

My mother's death was sudden. Not that it would have mattered if I had time to prepare for it. I still would have been shocked, even if I knew it was going to happen. I think it's because my mind plays crazy tricks. It convinced me that my parents were invincible. It fooled me into believing that there would always be more time and that my parents would live forever. Unfortunately, it was all a cruel lie. The truth is that for everyone, there comes a day when the deals we make with god must be repaid. And God doesn't care what you leave behind or the manner in which you cash in. He doesn't care that you were somebody's mother or daughter or friend. You just go blindly to fulfill your obligation, while those that love you struggle to pick up the pieces and move forward with the rest of the living. I struggle every day. It has broken me.

As much as I believe that things happen for a reason; I am still very angry with God. Not only did he take my mother, but he damned me with a mind that will eventually fail me. One day all my memories of my mom will start to fall away like sand through a sieve. A sieve that will allow me to forget the exact shade of green her eyes were and how small she felt in my arms when we hugged. It will allow me to lose the tone of her voice and what her house smelled like on Christmas morning. After less than a year, I'm already starting to feel some of that slipping. The scariest part of it for me, is knowing that there will be a time in the future, where I stare at pictures and question if the memories that flood my mind are real or manifested from the photographs.

Day by day life moves forward. New routines are set and new traditions are forming. It's sad how normal living without my mother is becoming. I am starting to have days when I don't think of her at all. Sometimes two days will pass before I realize there hasn't been a glimmer of her in my mind. I feel so guilty for that and as unfortunate as it is, I know that as days turn to months, and months to years, I will think of her less; there's just no way to stop it. Like God, time can be so unfair.

I hold on to the hope that things will get better the longer she is gone, but for now I miss her terribly. With every day that passes there comes more occasions to remind me that I'm motherless. They are unavoidable and heartbreaking. They leave me painfully longing for her; praying that she'll exist again even for a second. Sometimes I get lucky and I dream of her. But it seems my eyes open too soon and I'm just left wanting her more.

Sometimes it's difficult to be happy because I feel like I'm doing her a disservice by enjoying life while she's not around. My mother would have gone crazy if she heard me say that. More than anything she wanted her kids to be happy. That is why the hardest part of losing my mom is not the fact that I cry for her when I'm sick or that I forget she's gone and try to call her when I'm lonely. The hardest part for me, is looking into the eye's of my younger sisters when they need her most; knowing that though I may try with all my might, I will never be able to fill my mother's shoes. That void will always be there. All I can do is try to make the transition less painful by doing things for them the way my mother did. My mom would have wanted that and I think the girls appreciate the effort.

I miss my mother more than I ever thought was possible. For 25 years she was my best friend and a really great mom. I hope that where ever she is, she's having everything she dreamed of on her birthday. Oh, and cake... Lots and lots of cake.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

I'm A Bad Motha--Shut Yo Mouth!

How much do I love bad words? Let me count the ways....Just give me a minute to make sure there are no kids around or I'll be in big trouble.

I love bad words and honestly, who doesn't . They give you a way to express anger without violence. They show enthusiasm, joy, and are guaranteed to create a laugh if used in the right context.I think if used correctly, curse words can enhance any sentence. So why is it that I now have to pack my potty mouth away? Well, it seems that along with stealing my youth, looks and sanity, motherhood, in it's last attempt to crush my soul, needs me to alter my vocabulary too. To some extent I understand the need to watch what I say. I have a very impressionable two year old, who wants nothing more than to be just like me. When I laugh, he laughs. When I dance, he dances with me. He has even started carrying a purse to the store when we go out.( Though, I think that has more to do with his love of the color pink and show tunes) So I get that it is just a matter of time before he starts repeating some of the obscene nuggets I drop when I speak. The problem is I don't know how to quit. There is no bad word gum to chew, I've never heard of foul mouth rehab, and I doubt there is a cursing anonymous out there.

Since none of these things exist, my husband, Captain curb your language, has made it his job to help whip me into shape. He's very serious about his new role and I have to tell you, out of all the things about him that drive me crazy, him correcting my language is the worst. He cuts me no slack. The second an obscenity flies from my lips he's there standing on his soap box, cape blowing behind him, laying down the law. He's like some kind of Goddamn potty mouth crusader. I try to argue but he always interrupts me with something about our kid repeating the things we say at his religious nursery school. Then, in what I can only assume is an attempt to push me over the edge, he tries to give me a new word to use instead of the dirty one. Oh, and what gems they are. Instead of bitch use witch. Instead of fuck use frick. Instead of asshole use butt head. And so on...Now if you think people who say obscenities sound like idiots wait until you hear a sentence with one of my dip shit husbands substitutions. "Go frick yourself, Butt head." Really!?! I don't know about you, but that hardly holds the verbal face punch I was craving.

In an effort to compromise with my husband, I offered to only use the words that my son may hear on cable television. But apparently Captain CYL is running a household dictatorship. He quickly refused my offer and threatened to install a V-chip without giving me the password. In response to his unfairness, I stomped my foot like a child and insisted that he spell out where the line starts. If I can't use cable friendly words, then does that mean shut-up, moron and hell are contraband too? Do I have to stop saying Jesus Christ and Goddamn it? We're Jewish for Christ sake...It seems that Jew or not, taking the Lords name in vain is on his list of no-no's. While words like shut-up, moron, and hell are OK, just as long as they are not directed at the kid.

As the days go on this entire debacle gets more and more out of hand and my list of usable, fun and colorful words gets shorter. Just this week I got in trouble for using the word retarded in front of my kiddo. I wasn't saying he was retarded, I was simply describing the the nature of his new transformer toy. It was imposable to transform. I kept looking at the picture, while trying to bend and contort it, but it wouldn't change. It was retarded. (In retrospect I should have probably said I was retarded. After all, the age recommendation on the toy was four and up, yet at 26, I still couldn't get that bastard to cooperate.) My husband agreed that the toy was a piece of junk, but encouraged me to stop saying the r-word. Even more than the f-word the r-word is my favorite go-to when I'm frustrated. Now what was I going to f-ing do?

Angered by the fact my vocabulary was being raped harder than a drunk sorority girl at a frat mixer, I tried to think of a better way to clean up my language and still use the words I love so much. Sadly, I've only been able to come up with a new argument. Growing up my parents used bad words all the time. They just made it very clear that there are certain things adults can say and do that are off limits to kids. That's the angle I decided to use the next time my husband, AKA The Captain, starts in on me. Instead of cutting out all the things that make my life worth living; like bad words, cigarettes and cheap wine, I'll spend more time on teaching my kid boundaries. Just because my two year old can't be trusted with a pair of scissors doesn't mean I can't use them to clip coupons. I just have to be careful not to leave them where he can reach. My kid would kill himself if he was given a knife, but I still use one to cut my food when we are sitting at the dinner table. The point is, whether it's naughty words or sharp objects, I need to be straight with my kid and let him know that until he's old enough, somethings are not for him to use. After all,one day it might not be my foul mouth he's hearing, but someone else's; like his grandpa's for example. He needs to know what the boundaries are. And I think teaching him that lesson is better than me changing my vocabulary to shear ridiculousness. Honestly, that would just be retarded.

I realize there is a better chance that hell will freeze over than my husband buying into that speech, but I'll try it anyway and hope for the best. In the mean time I'll try to make peace with the fact that my potty mouth days are numbered...Oh well, at least my kid can't read yet, so I'm free to be me here.

Enjoy these fun clips. I feel they really celebrate the colorful nature of the English language. While you watch, think about how sorry they would be if they used The Captains substitutions. It would be a fricking shame, wouldn't it?

It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia is a gold mine of bad language. It's genius!

Yes, even Spongebob and Patrick could use a little soap in their mouths sometimes..

Monday, November 2, 2009

China VS America..A Worthless Toy Smack Down!

"People are probably trying to poison you"
"It's a conspiracy"-Walter T. Pratt

Last week my kid came down with a terrible head cold and I had to take him to the doctor. I hate going to the pediatricians office. One) because there's nothing worse than being quarantined in a room with sick children that have no regard for personal space and two) because there's never anything to read besides Highlights magazine and the toy recall binder. The toy recall binder is roughly the size of two encyclopedias stacked on top of one another and it is a real buzz kill. I hate finding toys on the list that I own. Not so much because they could potentially maim or kill my two year old, but because I spend a lot of money on these toys and I'm way to lazy to return them once they are recalled. Not that there is a point in returning them. I'm just going to use the money to buy another crappy toy that will eventually be recalled too. And God only knows what the company is going to do with the toy once they receive it. Probably repackage it and send it somewhere else in the world where people don't check lead content or care if their kid chokes to death. So to end the cycle and save a life, I toss the defective toys in the trash and go an my merry way.

(*** My little tree huggers out there try not to get you organic cotton panties in a bunch over this. I always wrap the hazardous toys in news paper, stuff them in a mess of plastic grocery bags and hide it under the soda cans at the bottom of the trash before I send them off to the landfill. I wouldn't want the lead paint leaking into our water supply any more than you would.)

Anyway, as I sat flipping through the book of doom, I found myself checking out where the defective junk was manufactured and yes, it was almost always made in China. Seeing "made in China" plastered on every page got me thinking about all the recent calls by American moms to ban Chinese made products from the USA. I wondered if it would really solve the problem. Would American made toys be safer? I decided to do some research to help me make a more educated decision. I hope my research will help you too.

When I got home from the doctors office I jumped on my China made P.C and did a little fact search. It turns out that though 96% of the recalled toys are made in China, only 10% of them are recalled because of lead paint. 77% of them are recalled do to design flaws. And do you know who was designing this junk...Stupid Americans. That's right, it was us. Did you really think the same people who are inventing robots and that PlayStation 3 you love so much would produce something as worthless as a Easy Bake Oven? No way. They simply follow the 77% of bad directions they are given and laugh at our ignorance while they do it. As for the lead paint issues, that is completely on the Chinese. They should have known better. However, I think it's an obvious case of "you get what you pay for". You can't pay people two cents and hour and expect them not to try and cut corners. These are the things that happen when you want something for nothing. And please try not to fool yourself into believing that American companies are more noble either.They find ways to cut back and make more money too. The only difference is we Americans have regulations. Regulations that still allow us to use lead paint, but show us how to do it with out getting caught. Regulations that allow small children to work in sweat shops in third world countries just so that you can save a buck when you buy a made in the USA product. So think about that when you decide to gather up your posse and boycott. If the products are not made in China that means the same idiots that design these death traps will be manufacturing them too. All while paying little children a dollar a day to do it. Does that revelation upset you? Well before you grab your torch and pitch fork think about this. Most labor shops are not filled with five year old children assembling Barbies and whatnot's while being whipped and starved. I have a close family member that was in charge of quality and shop control for a few of the big American factories and she gave me an interesting perspective on it all. The shops give these kids a place to go and make money for their family and it's a safer option than begging in the hot dangerous streets all day. The children are also guaranteed hot meals in the shops, which is more than I can say for them if they were at home with their poverty stricken families. I'm not trying to be funny or cruel. I realize not all of these child labor shops are good environments, but some of them are saving those poor kids from dieing of starvation. Just think about it before you hate-mail me or decide that your kid will be playing with home made garbage from now on because China and America are evil.

To all you boycotters who still feel China is out to get us, I want to commend you on trying to solve 10% of the problem by creating a new one. Just keep in mind that it will cost you double for that American made alternative and on top of raping your wallet, it will still be a worthless piece of junk that's probably made somewhere other than the USA. I hope this will help you choose your battle wisely....

**Sorry it was so heavy today. Let me make it up to you... I would like to send you off with a few worthless toys that were designed and made by Stupid Americans. Go USA!!!

Lawn Darts-

Made and designed in the U.S of A. This fun projectile reportedly cause over 6700 injuries. All the injuries occurred because Americans couldn't figure out that Lawn Darts were made to be thrown at the Lawn and not at family, friends and neighbors. In 1988 we the people of the United States could no longer be trusted with them and Lawn Darts were pulled off store shelves.

The Atomic Energy Lab-

With this toy created in 1951, you could be the first kid on your block to glow in the dark. It came complete with four samples of Uranium baring ores, a Wilson's cloud chamber and a Electroscope(to measure radioactivity). Included with the American made abomination was a government manual called "Prospecting for Uranium." The manual urged kids to go out and find radioactive material with the tools provided in the energy lab. If any was found they could receive a large monetary reward. The best part of this was that it was marketed to ten year old kids. (Were you even trusted with real scissors at the age of ten?) The Atomic Energy Lab was pulled from store shelves a year after it's release. It's sad that it took Americans a full year to realize playing with radioactive material is a bad idea...

Monday, October 19, 2009

Thanks Sis, Now I Feel Old And Worthless!

"Your family only tolerates you because you have some of the same genetic material as them. They are basically in it for themselves."-Walter T. Pratt

What were my parents thinking having all these kids! OK, there are only three of us, but would it have been so bad to stop at one? I understand that accidents happen, my son is living proof of that; I just wish there was a point where my parents said "three is a crowd" and stopped having children. I am the oldest of three girls and while I love my sisters unconditionally, that doesn't always mean I like them. My youngest sister Taylor, is 11 years younger than me and is really becoming a pain in my ass. Mainly because she's living La Vida Loca while I'm grudgingly pushing my cart of youth up and over the hill. It's so unfair!

It all started less than a year ago when my mother passed away. Being the oldest, I felt the responsibility to jump in and fill my mother's shoes. Not that my dad isn't doing a great job dealing with an adolescent girl alone, because he is. I just didn't want my teenage sister to have to grow up feeling like she was missing out on the mom experience. What do I mean by the mom experience? Well, when you are a girl you go through things that no matter how hard a dad may try, he will never understand.For example, dad doesn't see why getting your period warrants a sick day or why tampons aren't sold is cases of 1000. He would also rather not deal with grooming issues and boyfriends. So, it's in this space that I step in. I go with her to buy underwear and feminine supplies. I take her for haircuts and highlights. I've shown her how to turn one eyebrow into two and most importantly I'm teaching her the art of humiliation as only a mom can. When I pick her up from school, I make sure to blast the latest Hannah Montana hit, while I gyrate uncontrollably in my seat and scream her name from the open window. When we go to the movies and she points out a cute boy she likes, I make sure to point at him and shout loudly "Taylor, that's the boy you like? He looks gay." So when I think about it, maybe I deserve some of the crap she's been shoveling my way for the past few months.

Truthfully, the stress from all life's curve balls has begun to age me. Mentally, I've always felt about 40 years old, though physically, I thought I looked years younger than my actual age. My sister,Taylor, has decided to call bullsh%$ on this delusion and knock me down a peg. She started her reign of terror one day when we were getting ready to go out to a movie together. Tay had decided we would see the latest Tyler Perry hit and have some dinner down at City Place ( a happening West Palm Beach hot spot). It pained me to have to sit through a movie that didn't contain vampires or talking animals, but I wanted her to have a good time and decided to struggle through the movie against my better judgement. I arrived at my dad's house early, so that we could get ready together and have some surrogate mother, sister time. Looking back, I can see that this is where my ageing woes began creeping in. For our night out on the town, she dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, that looked like they had been drug behind a truck for five miles and a Batman shirt.( By Batman shirt, I mean a top that's sleeves connect to the waist line in a way that makes you look like you have bat wings.) I wore a pressed black button down shirt, bootleg jeans and heals. When we were ready to leave the house we took a minute to examine each others clothing choices. I thought she looked homeless and she thought I was lame and looked like mom. On a mission to forget her earlier statement about me looking like our mother, I fished for a compliment on our drive to dinner. I did this by congratulating her on having such a young looking older sister. I told her that she was lucky to look like me, because at the age of 26 I still looked 16. Though she agreed we looked similar, she disagreed strongly that I looked younger than 30. Her words crushed me, and I knew I had to punish her. The problem with being a surrogate mom is you have no real authority. With this in mind, I had to think of a creative way to get the message across that this kind of behavior will not be tolerated. So, I put on some old school New Kid on The Block music and rolled down the windows, allowing everyone we passed on the road to see my tired, busted dance moves. She was mortified and I was sure she would keep her thoughts on me getting old to herself from now on... I was sadly mistaken!

Taylor continues to rain on my "I look good for my age" parade whenever she has the opportunity. She points out my sagging post baby skin, my stretch marks and my ghost like complexion at least once a week. To make matter's worse, she wont allow me to participate in any of her school functions. I asked her if she would get me the paper work so that I could chaperon her school's homecoming dance and she refused. When I asked her if it was because I was so young looking that her peers might mistake me for one of them; she laughed in my face. Then she told me the real reason. Apparently those busted, tired dance moves of mine are really embarrassing and she fears that someone at the dance will realize we are related. Is that any way to treat your moster?(that's sister/mother put together. I'll have to put it on urban dictionary)

Her latest attack on my youth, can only be described as criminal and is the driving force behind this blog. This weekend my baby sister stayed at my house. We went to the mall, talked about boys and had a lovely time. That was until Sunday morning. I was sitting at the computer looking up all the latest Twilight news when I noticed her standing behind me. The fact that she was so quiet should have made me realize something was up, because she just loves to criticise me for being a 26 year-old Twilight fan. A few minutes passed and the silence was broken by her gasping loudly. "What?" I asked her. By her face I could tell something was wrong."Oh, my God Jennie. What happened to you?" Now I was getting nervous. What had happened to me? I had no clue. I was just sitting quietly at the computer minding my own business. Was I bleeding and didn't know it? "Taylor, what is it?" She paused for a second and ran her fingers through my hair. "Jennie, the top of your hair is so gray! It's crazy!" She could see I was stunned by her attention to detail and quickly came up with something to make me feel a little better. "Don't feel so bad, Jen. At least your hair's not falling out like Cassie's. Now that would suck." Cassie is my middle, prettier sister and I'm sure she would be more than unhappy that Taylor threw her under the bus so quickly to make me smile.( Though I'm sure,at one time or another, Taylor has sacrificed me to make her feel better.It's not nice, but it works for us.) While the thought of Cassie holding clumps of her silky, ash brown hair in her hands wast slightly comforting, I still found myself speechless. The reality that no matter how hard I try or what I may think, I am closer to thirty than twenty was hitting me hard. So was the unfortunate truth that from now until I die, I will only get more wrinkly, grey and busted. On the upside, I do realize something little Taylor doesn't. My looks are her future and if I look like mom so does she. After all, and she said it herself, we do look strikingly similar!

***Thanks for reading... Just wanted to let everyone know I will be on hiatus for a week or two, working on my book. Sorry! I'm a crappy multi-tasker and really need a time out from blogging to focus. Please don't forget about me when I'm gone! I will be back the first week of November. Enjoy your Halloween!

Thursday, October 15, 2009

A Homeless Doll $95..Homeless Doll Story Book Bio $14.95..A New Mouthy Mommy Invention...Priceless

American Girls Mission Statement
Every story has a star.
Each American Girl is not only the star of a historical six-book series, but also a shining example for girls today. Lessons of love, friendship, courage, compassion, and tolerance are at the heart of every American Girl story.

In an attempt to cash in on our financial crisis and unemployment woes, American Girl is proudly bring a new girl into their clan of time period misfits. Her name is Gwen Thompson. She is blond, homeless, and dressed in a hippie inspired white dress and flip-flop sandals. (how appropriate) Her story is an unfortunate tale of a young girl who is abandoned by her deadbeat father and is forced to live in a car with her mother. A mother who because of her minimum wage salary and ex-husband's inability to pay child support, is unable to provide for her. The saddest part of the whole story is that American girl is expecting you to shell out $95 bucks for this homeless gypsy.

To cover their ass, American Girl released a statement stating that this doll will help "teach children compassion and tolerance." Sure it will. You just have to find a kid stupid enough to pick the homeless girl over the other more fun, less depressing girls. My guess is that the only people who would really want to buy Gwen are the people who's lives resemble hers so painfully...The problem is, if your kid needs this doll to relate to, chances are you can't afford to buy it. That is why I'm introducing a homeless doll that is not only affordable on any budget, but is a lot of fun too.

Here is Homeless Hannah...........

Hannah's Story

Hannah is a happy kid who loves her mom and wishes she knew her father. After her mother lost her job as a data processor because of methamphetamine use, they lost their house and were forced to live behind the local 7-11 store. When the Department of Child Protective Services found out about this, Hannah was moved to a home for girls until her mother cleaned up her act. After a year in the girls home, Hannah's mother was sober and ready to remarry a construction foreman she met in rehab. He had a nice house and Hannah was allowed to move back home. Life was super once again.

Hannah's story is one of hope and triumph. It is sure to give your homeless child the will to go on and the knowledge that sometimes living in a car is just a speed bump in the road of life.

How to create your own Homeless Hannah

Hannah is really two things in one; a fun arts and crafts project and a doll.
She is constructed out of products that I found lying around the house, but you can also find these things in dumpsters, fast food restaurants, the center console of your car and at the homeless shelter. She is easy to put together. Just follow the simple directions and she'll be joining your family in no time!

Here is a photo of all the things you'll need to create Hannah and her dream house.

Tape, pink Sharpie(for lips), a second Sharpie for the eyes, string (for hair), scissors (to cut out Hannah's outfits and home furnishings), glue (to attach hair) , a plastic spoon (the body), and any magazines you can find (for fashions and home furnishings).

To construct the dream house simply flip over your begging sign and glue the home furnishing photos to it. Because Hannah is basically two dimensional, you can just lean her against the home to make her look like she's inside.

**Here you can see Hannah getting ready for bed..Sleep tight Hannah!

Hannah's outfits are cut out of fashion magazines and taped to her spoon handle body. There is no end to her fashion possibilities.Especially if you hit up a nice neighborhood on recycling day.

For you green homeless moms out there, you'll be happy to know that Hannah is 100% recyclable and reusable. No spoon to eat those beans you heated on your cars radiator? Hannah can help! Strip off all Hannah's glamorous accessories and use her as an eating utensil. With her the possibilities are endless. Get cracking on yours today. Christmas is right around the corner!

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Worthless Wednesday Dreams and Ambitions

This instalment of "You Are Worthless" Wednesday, is brought to you by your dreams and ambitions. Enjoy!

"You don't have any outstanding qualities. It's safe to say that you're pretty much just like everybody else."-Walter T. Pratt

You are not that original!

**Do you have a great and original idea? Guess what, it turns out a lot of other people have the same great and original idea too. Bummer... Here are a few theories on why this is.

My BFF seems to think that when you speak an idea out lout it travels through space and is capable of penetrating many minds. Minds that are not only faster than ours, but that are a lot smarter too. Sound crazy? Think about all the times you've shot up in the middle of the night with a great idea only to find a few months later it's already been put in motion. According to my BFF, if you discussed your idea with anyone, you have no one to blame but yourself. Personally, I believe that I'm not that smart or original. If I can think it, chances are someone else already has and they are probably a lot more motivated than I am.

The Fix:
Maybe a tinfoil helmet would cut down on the brainwave leakage? You could always try that the next time you decide to dream big.

"When was the last time you did something you were proud of? Keep thinking. I bet you're stumped"-Walter T. Pratt

Some of your good ideas really suck.
**Sometimes there is a reason that invention you came up with hasn't been made yet. The reason is that no one would buy it.

Last week while I was working hard on my new business venture, (a venture that is strictly centered around my writing) my husband came to me with a ONE OF A KIND MONEY MAKER. Apparently, while he was driving around peddling his bosses products he came across a billboard advertising wireless headphones. After thinking long and hard he decided it would be genius to invent earrings that could flip into your ears when you wanted to listen to music or talk on the phone. He was beyond excited to share this with me, which is why I felt so guilty when I busted a gut laughing in his face. Here is how the conversation went after I was able to control my laughter:

Me- "You can't be serious."
Him-"What do you mean? It's a great idea."
Me- "So why would you wear the head phone as earrings?"
Him- "Because they are wireless and it would keep you from loosing them. They would always be hanging in your ear. When the phone rings you just flip them up. It's a time saver."
Me-"That's stupid. Are you aware of how large they would have to be? And how do you plan on making them light weight enough to dangle from a hole in the ear? Also, have you never heard of Bluetooth and Earbuds?"
Him- "You know what, Jen, I was just trying to help you out by sharing something that would sell like hot cakes. If you don't want to do it that's fine, but I still think it's a good idea. Women would love it!"

Folks I could be wrong and he could have something here. But as a woman I can tell you I don't "love it". Can you imagine sporting a pair of Casio's instead of your diamond studs? No thanks.

The Fix:
Do your research before you share your AMAZING ONE OF A KIND MONEY MAKER with anyone. I know it's exciting when you think of something new, but keep in mind, if you are going to share it there is a good chance someone will call you on your stupidity. Oh, and by the way honey, some idiot did make those earrings. They look as stupid as I imagined and after inspecting them I can promise they are not selling "like hot cakes". Get yourself some tinfoil and I'll make you a helmet.

"If you take a big risk and follow your dream, chances are you're going to fall flat on your face. On the upside, everyone around you will get a good laugh."-Walter T. Pratt

If you are going to say you are a writer, back it up by actually being one.
**I say writer because that's where I'm coming from, but really this goes for anything you choose to label yourself with.

Recently someone asked me what I do. I knew right away that this person wanted to know what I do to make money, but I didn't know if it was socially acceptable to say that I "do" someone with a full time job and great health benefits. Instead I weighed my options. Currently I am a stay at home mom/housewife that writes a blog and is hoping to get a book deal. I could go with that mouth full or I could skip the boring part and look interesting. Tuff choice...I told the woman I'm a writer and regretted it instantly. After allowing my delusion to slip out she asked me what I wrote. That's when things got humiliating. I told her about the blog first. She responded with a look that told me this qualifies me as a writer about as much as singing into a hair brush makes me a singer. Then I told her I was writing a book too. Her follow up to that was to ask me who my publisher is. When I couldn't answer that question she smiled and wished me good luck. As she walked away I couldn't help but wish I was a better liar.

The Fix:
Practice your social "about me" chat in front of the mirror in your bathroom. This will give you a chance to perfect your delusion while still allowing you the privacy to lay down a hot Celine Dion track.

Wow, this is by far my most worthless blog... I'm so sorry for the time suck. If you take only one thing from this today let it be the tinfoil helmet. Not only would you look outstanding in it, the helmet will keep your dreams safely stored inside your mind where they belong.