Friday, December 24, 2010

Merry Christmas

It's that time of the year when we all over extend ourselves and buy a bunch of shit that no one really needs. Ah, Yes- it's Christmas!

I remember how exciting this time of year was when I was young. My mother would decorate our house with magical Santa replicas, mini towns and snowmen. It was fabulous. Then the week before the big day mom would start counting down the sleeps till the jolly fat bastard arrived to deliver the loot. "Five more sleeps till Santa comes," she would say. And I would snuggle into bed each night and pray that this would be the year Santa would give me the one thing I always wanted. The gift of being an only child.

If your wondering, he never did. Eventually my family even expanded from two girls to three and I just learned to deal with the fact that Santa and God fucked me... But now that I'm older and have given up on childhood fantasies like Santa and singleton living, I am starting to realize that my sisters are two of the best things that ever happened to me.

I know that sounds cheesy, but after my mother died it hit me that these two people are the only ones that share the same blood I do. And because we have shared the loss of our mother, we are supportive of the fact that we may never get over her being so painfully absent from our lives.

Though Christmas isn't the same since my mom has left us, I find joy in the little ways we keep her with us at this time of the year. We decorate our homes with some of her favorite pieces. We count down the sleeps with our tiny boys and best of all, we get together and reminisce about how she made the day magic. I think she gave us the best gift of all...Each other.

Merry Christmas to all, I'll see you in the new year!

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Three Is The Magic Number

Ugh! I am so sick of hearing people lecture me about having another baby. My family, my friends, even random people in the grocery store are insisting that torture myself- yet one more time- with the nightmare that is procreating. I don't know where it is written that you must have more than one child, but I do know that in china it's against the law and if it comes down to it-sianara suckers!

For the record, there could be nothing I deem more awful than getting knocked up again at this point in my life. And by "this point in my life" I mean, the point where I'm thin, happy and no longer a slave to a screaming, suicidal money pit (aka my kid). Not that I would trade him for anything. He really is terrific for a three year old and I must say that his love of swearing and fighting warms the center in my chest where- I'm guessing- my heart should be.

But honestly, it's not just my freedom and waistline that have me locking that second baby drawer tightly. I turns out that I am one of the few sane people who think that pregnancy is more awful than AIDS. Okay, maybe that analogy was in bad taste, but I promise you, it's at least as bad as Leprosy. Think about it- swelling, puking, weight gain, urinary incontinence, uncontrollable flatulence, shortness of breath, skin blemishes, constipation and then of course, the grand finally of distroying your vagina in front of a room full of people. (There's more crappy things, but I started having my equivalent to a Nam flash back and had to wrap it up.) To me those are all symptoms that should end in death, not the spawning of a "bundle of joy". So tell me, who in their right mind would willingly sign up for that? And do it twice? For this gal, there's just no fucking way.

I realize how selfish this all sounds, and sometimes I worry that my son may be missing out by not having a sibling. Especially when I catch him speaking to himself, while playing solo. But then I stop and think about how he will never have to share his toys, his parents love or a sibling ass whooping. He'll also reap the financial benefits, which may not seem like a big deal now, but it will when he wants us to buy him a car for his 16th birthday or if- fingers crossed- he goes to college and needs us to help him pay for it.

So, those are my non-selfish reasons. Do they top the chart of why this family of three will never expand from a fork to a tree?(nice play on words, right?) Of course not! Those are just the reasons I give to my in-laws when they start bugging me about giving my monster a baby brother. For me it's the selfish reasons that have me running for the morning after pill anytime my husband so much as rolls to close to me at night when we're in bed.

The bottom line is, it took having a kid to realize I really don't like them. And how much does it suck that most of us that feel this way have to bullshit people into believing that we do like them? All because we're told "good moms" love kids. When the truth is that most moms only love THEIR kid. Do you honestly believe that after you leave one of those obnoxious kid parties that the booger monsters mother starts developing postpartum because all the little nightmares went home?.. Nope! But I would bet you money that she sat down with her husband, or boyfriend, or girlfriend and talked about what a shit head your kid is and how she would jump off a 5 story building before signing up to parent him/her. For some of you that may be hard to hear but trust me at one time or another your kid was that shit head. Don't take it personally, my kid was one last weekend and it pretty much put the cherry on the top of my "no more babies" cake.

In closing I would like to leave you with some wisdom...We are genetically programed to love our young and as my mother would say to my sisters and me, "I have to love you, I don't have to like you." So at least for right now I love my kid and like him too (most of the time). I would hate to chance it and have another one that may or may not turn out to be a chronic shit head. If you want to risk it go right ahead, but me- I'm praying for early menopause.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

The Bad, The Ugly and The Tenth Good Thing About Barney?

It's yet another drama filled week for the Mouthy Mommy and I have to say, I'm one mishap away from making my runaway fantasy a reality.

Last Friday my beloved mutt came down with an auto immune disease. I was absolutely devastated, but knew that if push came to shove I wouldn't allow her to suffer. I would do the right thing and let her go.

Sadly, push came and shove went. I stumbled through my emotions and did -in the end- what was best for me. I had test run and transfusions given. I spent money on ridiculous medications and have been hand feeding home cooked chicken- several times a day- to a dog who can barely lift her head off the ground. The funny thing is, that though I couldn't bare to lose her, it was my son that made me have the change of heart.

Sunday when my little monster returned from his grandmother's he wondered through the house calling for the dog. When she didn't greet him he asked me where she had gone...

ME- Watlie dog is very sick. She had to go sleep at the doctor's house to get better.

HIM- Does her tummy hurt?

ME- Yep....

HIM- Mom, I didn't give her any of my food! If she got some it was an accident.

He spent the next two days crying for her and asking questions like; "Did she drink the pool water?" and "Can she sleep here and go back to the doctor's when I'm at school?". I realized then that if I didn't do everything I could to save her, I would be left explaining the intricacies of life and death to a kid who, just a few weeks ago, stopped shitting his pants. He was smarter than I gave him credit for and I had zero idea how to tackle the meaning of death, heaven and God with a three year old.

I thought about how -less than two years ago- I had explained the passing of my mother. He was younger so it was simple: "Grandma died and went to heaven." He took the news as if I had just told him the sky was blue. It was a statement and nothing more. Later when his first fish died and then shortly after, the second too, I bluntly told him the fish died and went to heaven with grandma. To which his response was, "With Grandma and the cow that jumps over the moon? Ok, we'll buy a new one tomorrow." But now things have changed. He's inquisitive and wants to know why, how and where that heaven place is. Also he has an attachment to the dog, unlike the replaceable fish and his foggy memory of grandma.

As someone whose only religious connection is that I use the terms "goddamn it" and "Jesus Christ" a lot, I had a real tough time figuring out how to explain things without scaring him for life. I decided that because of my lack of knowledge and general distaste for all things holy, I should mosey down to his Jewish day school and ask for some support. It turned out to be a great idea because the director had loads of books to read that would explain these "taboo subjects" (her words, not mine) to him. The only thing she advised was that I read them first and edit out any things I deemed unnecessary or shocking. I did as she asked and have decided to share with you the good the bad and the ugly...

The good...

"God Looks like nothing, and nothing looks like God"
Because Nothing Looks Like God- by Lawrence & Karen Kushner

"Nothing that is alive goes on living forever. How long it lives depends upon what it is and what happens while it is alive"
Lifetimes- by Bryan Mellonie and Robert Ingpen

"It may be sad, but it is the way of all things, and it is true for everything that is alive"
Lifetimes- by Bryan Mellonie and Robert Ingpen

"They (all living things) have beginnings, and endings and there is living in between."
Lifetimes- by Bryan Mellonie and Robert Ingpen

The bad...

"God lives in your tears when you're sad or scared"
Where does God Live?- by August Gold & Matthew Perlman

"Grandpa, is not sleeping or away on a trip. He died and is never coming back."
Where Do People Go When They Die?- by Mindy Avra Portnoy

The ugly....

The Tenth Good Thing About Barney- by Judith Viorst

Basically this entire book left me slack jawed. The story goes that a little boy loses his cat Barney. His family decides to throw a funeral and bury him in the garden, but first the boy must say 10 good things about Barney. Shockingly, he only comes up with 9 things and is left to contemplate life and death with his neighbor, Annie, who has decided to come over and join in the festivities. Later over cookies and juice the two discuss what Barneys future holds. Annie is convinced the cat went to heaven, but the little boy disagrees. He shouts at Annie that Barney "is dead and in the ground" and pulls her hair. At this point his father interjects and tells Annie that there is a large possibility that she is wrong, because no one has proved there is a heaven, but that there is solid evidence that Barney is "dead and in the ground." Annie gets pissy and runs home, mad about having her faith questioned. The father now decides to take the boy out to the garden to plant some seeds on top of Barney's carcass. He tells the kid that the cat will decompose and help grow the flowers. He ends the conversation by saying "That's a pretty nice job for a cat." And truthfully, for a cat, he's right. The book ends with the kid telling his mother the 9 nice things about Barney and he adds the cat's decomposition to the list to make it an even 10.

Looking back now I think I like this story- my version at least.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Space To Face...

Today is going to be 10% life lesson and 90% about me. The 10% life lesson today will be on the importance of personal space and respecting other's. The 90% about me, is simply because I'm self centered. You should all be very familiar with this by now. I'm honestly shocked if you're not.

Ok, now that you know that I am about to educate you, I need you to take a moment and put your listening cap on ( or foil helmet if you wish). We are going to start today's lesson with an exercise.

First, I need you to take a deep breath and slowly rise from your desk. Stand fully erect- arms at your side- and slowly raise them to chest height. Now that you look like a complete asshole, let's take it one step further and have you spin around- slowly- with your arms still raised....Hit anyone?..If you did, don't apologies. Just let that eagle smack be a lesson to the space invader next to you about the importance of breathing room. Then sit down and be thankful that as a Mouthy Mommy reader, you didn't have to learn the hard way like that schmuck... As always, you're welcome.

The point of the exercise is to give you an idea of where your personal space is. Anything within that circle you made is all yours and you have every right to protect and defend it. This goes for everyone. So, if you're guilty of face talking or hovering, it's time to check yourself and face the reality that no one on this earth is interested in being just one flap of skin short of a side show attraction with you. This is a fact. If you don't believe me, you can Google it.

Now to the important part, my story and the reason for this lesson...

Earlier this month I entered a building a few paces behind a physician that I have been trying to get business out of for months. When we got to the elevators, I cheerfully said,"hello". Doc in reply to my nicety nodded and smiled as he stepped closer to inspect my name badge. At the time I thought that he was trying not to be rude and wanted to get my name before continuing our conversation. Well, I was half right...It turns out that Doc is your run-of-the-mill face talker and instead of backing up and starting a conversation, he straightened himself out of his- badge studying- crouch and began speaking to me right where he stood. In my face, arms gently pressed against mine. My first reaction was to reach for my rape whistle, but then I remembered how crummy my numbers were for the month and decided to ride out the space invasions until the elevator opened and I could make my escape.

It was after only a few quick exchanges that I heard the "ding" of the elevator as it opened and I all but ran to the small space that was to be my freedom. Unfortunately, Doc had somehow managed to become one with my button down shirt and like my very own parasitic twin-followed me in. If you couldn't tell by now, I am not a fan of physical contact. And I don't discriminate, this goes for everyone, friends and family included. So because of this you can just imagine how the breath of a stranger smacking across my face, while my body is gently being caressed by a white lab coat would have my stress level rising to amazing heights. I took everything I had to fight back the urge to shove him out of my face and scream "BACK THE FUCK UP", but I decided to take one for the team and quickly found a new- business friendly- way to escape. You see, he was going to the 5th floor and now because of our exchange and his general proximity- I wasn't. I rerouted and got off on the 2nd. I had no business there, but I would be damned if I would smell his breath for another four floors.

Though it seems that I am -on most occasions- just being a bitch, I actually did my research this time and found a great article that explains why so many people- crazy and kind alike- have an issue with face talking space invaders. I urge you all to check out Time magazine's article, "Problem with Close-Talking? Blame the Brain." Here's the link if you are interested,8599,1919910,00.html ....I told you it was a fact and because I love you so much, I did the work and Googled it... Again, you're welcome!

Friday, July 30, 2010

The Shot, The Fall and The Overflow.

"The best thing you have going for you is your willingness to humiliate yourself."- Simon Bishop, As Good As It Gets

This has been a week of drama for me. Not like "Oh, Lordy. He's sleeping with my dead momma drama", but drama as only I can create it. For those of you who don't know me personally, I would like to give you a few fun facts about the Mouthy Mommy before I get on with my story. A) The Mouthy Mommy has a long list of things that petrify her. On the top of this list are doctors and shots (because I always think I'm dieing and I don't want confirmation) B) The Mouthy Mommy is about as graceful as a drunk water buffalo loose in a china shop, and C) The Mouthy Mommy sometimes like to refer to herself in third person because it sounds better when read aloud. Now on to my humiliation.

I started this week strong by bringing in 3 patients in two days. I was riding high on my accomplishment and thanking my lucky stars- that for at least this week- I had given myself job security. Nothing could get me down, except for what was waiting for me in my boss's office Tuesday afternoon.

At around 1pm I casually pirouetted into her office. She quickly acknowledged me and asked if I would take a seat because my general gitteryness- especially when standing- makes her nervous. Still twitching with pride, I followed her command and waited to be showered with atta-boy's. The praise was great and the cherry on top was that she asked me to sign up for a program that would allow me entry into the many glorious hospitals of Broward county. I would be like a Home Health Rep VIP. I was beyond stoked about this opportunity (because I am a huge dork), and quickly agreed to front the $150 annual fee and sign up for the program ASAP. It was only seconds after I submitted my credit card info that things got crazy...

Boss Lady- It says you need a physical and a tuberculosis test. Did you have chicken pox? Because you'll need proof or a vaccine too.

Me- What!?! I was told I didn't need those things to work here. I explained to HR that if I did I would not take the job.

Boss Lady- You don't need them here. You need them to go into the hospital. I'll have one of the nurses do the TB test in the office and you can get the physical next week.

Me- I'm not kidding. I wouldn't have taken this job.

Boss Lady- Stop being a baby. It's a tiny needle. It will take all of two seconds. Stop crying and I'll give you some candy.

Me- Awe come on!.. You know what? Fuck it, I Quit!

Now, my little Mouthinites don't be alarmed. I didn't really quit. I may have tried to run once, while crying and whining for my mommy, but I kept my employment and got the damn TB test. Though that part may seem like it was what caused my humiliation it wasn't the worst of it. The worst was listening to my boss give the highlights of our meeting to my regional manager and co-workers at a dinner later that night. Now everyone knows what a giant baby I am. Do you know how hard it's going to be to rebuild my hardassness when a 1/4 inch needle sends me hiding under a desk like I'm having a Nam flash back? It's pitiful, I know. I guess I'll have to get creative. Though I would really hate to have to shiv a Gomer to get my street cred back.

Moving on...

Wednesday was a better day. I got up. Checked my injection site-which was not raised or red- and thanked God for not torturing me further with Tuberculosis. After I marked TB off the list of things that may be killing me I went about my day harassing Doctors and their staff. It was at my last stop of the day when things -yet again- got ugly.

I had just finished speaking with a doc and was saying goodbye to the front desk gals through the little glass window in the lobby. I gave my closing line of "See you next week!" and turned to walk away like I'd done many times before. Then I pivoted quickly and began my walk to the door. I think I was maybe three steps in when my heel got caught in the weave of the carpet. At that point I had not fully made the connection that I was beginning a decent to the ground below, but unfortunately for me, one of the Gomers waiting in the lobby did. In an act of kindness, he tried to catch me before the fall got out of hand, but because I am apparently made of lead- failed miserably. Turns out that instead of helping me, said Gomer catapulted me into a small row of chairs and -since I have always felt it is best not to go down alone- I took three of them with me to the floor.

Miraculously the only thing injured in the tumble was my ego, but I was feeling a little down after all this drama and decided that the best thing to do was call my dad a whine like the clumsy baby I am. I was sure he would show me a little sympathy. He is my father for Christ sake! But instead of the "Hallmark" father-daughter moment, I got this:

Dad speaking to me while laughing uncontrollably-
"Awe, that's not so bad! Remember that time you worked in that doctors office and you took a shit a clogged the toilet so bad it overflowed and soaked the entire office, ruining the guys brand new carpeting? Every time I think of how angry that asshole got I die laughing. Didn't you quit after that?..(10 seconds of more uncontrollable laughter) Now don't you feel better?

Me- UGH! No, I had almost forgotten that one.

Dad- "You fell Jennie! Trust me, it's not half as bad as shitting on someones rug."

And you know what folks...As much as I hate to say this, he's right. I know from experience.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010


"Technology... is a queer thing. It brings you great gifts with one hand, and it stabs you in the back with the other." ~C.P. Snow, New York Times, 15 March 1971

Ok, so taking a job that requires me to drive around all day to set locations is turning out to be a nightmare. Though it in part has to do with my terrible sense of direction, it has more to do with the car navigation system I hijacked from my more oriented husband.

In the last 2 weeks since I've started using- what I refer to as- the "Mug-gellan" car navigation system, I have had more near death experiences and trips through seedy neighborhoods than most crack heads do when they have 40 bucks in their pocket and a bicycle at their disposal. There is no doubt that one day this thing will lead to me being mugged or at this rate dead. As the days go on I am becoming increasingly suspicious of this -seemingly- benign piece of equipment. And though I feel crazy asking this- is it possible for an electronic to try to kill you?

If I haven't made it clear, my Mug-gellan is a real asshole! Today, instead of directing me to make a quick u-turn in order to arrive on time and safely to my destination, it advised me to turn onto a small side street and continue 3 blocks to a crack house. This is not a joke or a lie. Muggy -as I will refer to it from here on- insisted (in its high soprano girl voice) that I must turn left onto 36th street. The problem was that 36th Street had been replaced by one of the most dilapidated shacks I have ever seen and in front of said shack, sat two skinny toothless men on 5 gallon paint buckets. (Sadly dad, no shower caps) It looked like something straight out of the TV show "Cops" and as I sat in my car- quickly adjusting my door locks- I couldn't help but wonder how long it would take real cops to get here if I needed assistance. I also contemplated whether or not a crack den would moon light as a Xanax distribution center, but I didn't want a reason to thank Muggy for sending me into the hood.

Thankfully, I was able to backtrack my way out of there alive and sober. I also managed to find my way- completely unassisted- to the smart untainted u-turn. I felt a real sense of accomplishment when I got to my destination with just seconds to spare-all by my own doing, might I add- and silently wondered why I didn't just go old school and use a fucking paper map. After all it's not like this was the first time Muggy pulled a stunt like this. Last week she insisted that every location I programed in did not exist, tried to make me turn on a one way the wrong way and once she even called me a cunt... Ok, that last parts a lie, but I'm sure she was thinking it.

Friday, July 2, 2010

The First Days Of New

"Though the candle flickers, the flame is never gone."- Colin Hay

Miss me?I know it's long overdue, but here's a quick run down of what I've been up to for the last three weeks...

When I woke up 3 weeks ago to the first day of my new job- I felt as though it was the first day of school. I had a fancy new outfit, a belly full of butterflies and absolutely no idea if my new peers were going to like me. Now while I'm sure everyone has jitters on their first day, I found that mine were intensified by the fact- that for the last four years- I've been nothing more than a domestically challenged housewitch with a babysitting gig. And during those years, the hardest decision I ever had to make was whether to go with Pampers or Huggies. Besides keeping my kid alive, ignoring house work and writing this shitty blog-I've had nowhere to be and no one to impress. I guess that's why I'm finding it so super exciting to put on a pair of pants that contain not only a working zipper, but also a full set of belt loops too. Though I am a little disappointed that I will be required to brush my hair AND wear a bra everyday, it seem- to me at least- a small price to pay for my new found freedom.

So far my new peers are treating me well. They all seem to be off balanced enough to get me and nice enough to fake it if they don't. Because I am the "new kid" it's very easy to be overlooked and ignored. I have decided to combat this by asserting myself into their conversations at inappropriate times with random comments about my IBT's (itty bitty titties) and willingness to sell my son on ebay to increase our yearly sales budget.

Moving on to office matters, I have decided to keep a safe distance from my new office whenever possible. This because I am a serial copier and fax murderer. I have single handedly broken 1 fax and 2 copiers since I've started and have been ban from ever using one or the other without assistance because of it. My thoughts on all of this are simple- I'm paid to talk to Doctors and Gomers. Anything above and beyond that will require more money and training. I didn't attend college for roughly three years to make copies (or earn a degree, apparently).

Now to my son. The little bastard is doing amazing without me. If any of you follow my misadventures on Facebook, you may have already read that two days after I left him to fend for himself, he decided to start doing his pees and poops on the potty like a big boy. I know I should be proud, but really I just feel like my three year old has given me the middle finger. I'm honestly not surprised though. He has managed to come to all of his big milestones without me. That's right, this stay at home mom was not there for the first time her baby crawled, walked or cut a tooth. It's seems unbelievable that I would miss all of these things, but what can I say- my kids kind of a dick like that. Oh well, he'll have other first I'm sure I'll be a part of someday. Like maybe I'll be the one to bail him out the first time he's carted off to prison. You never now, but I am hopeful.

I guess I should apologise for how long it has taken me to get back here. It's difficult when there is very little that I can talk about when it comes to my job. It's not like I'm working for the CIA, but there are HIPPA rules to abide by and I would hate to say anything about someone I work with and get fired for it. Wait, let me rephrase that... I would hate to say something behind the back of someone I work with and get fired for it. Also, because I'm no longer spending quality time with my kiddo, I'm limited on my motherly shenanigans too. It's tough being out in real world, but I promise to make the best of it and share all that I can with you. See you soon...-MM

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Literary Junk Food

I have literally done nothing this week and it's safe to say that at this current moment I'm wobbling drunkenly on the border of shear laziness and clinical depression. I think it's because I'm realizing more and more that my time management sucks and keeping up this blog will be a big challenge once I start working next week.

As excited as I am to go back to work, I have to admit that I really wish I could have made this blog my career. Especially after I took the time to read some books that -were no doubt- successful versions of what I do here each week. In my almost year as a blogger, I have found that my writing is the literary equivalent to junk food. It's good and sometimes down right delicious (if I do say so myself), but really it has no substance. Much like a super sized bag of M&M's- my work will make you ill if not taken in with moderation. I think it's even possible that reading my blogs will give you a fat ass. Don't quote me on that, but when you're done reading this it might be wise for you to run a lap- chances are you could use the cardio anyway.

The point I'm so long-windedly making is that this literary junk food sells when you're already famous. Look at Chelsea Handler. She just released "Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang" and it was a hit. There was nothing special about it. It was funny and filled with stories about her obnoxious father, ridiculous friends and -my favorite- her finding a love for masturbation at the age of eight. But as always when I was finished reading, I sat slack jawed and thought, "Are you kidding me?" This is the crap that gets people on the New York Times best seller list. I have all of these ingredients and then some. Not that I'm trying to one up Chelsea but, my father is absolutely out of his mind- you know he is- you read his contribution. My friends- well I don't have many of those, but my stories about my crabby grandmother and my 28 year-old man child (AKA my husband) fill that space perfectly. And as for childhood masturbation...Please! I'm the only person on this earth that thinks she had a good childhood and trust me it's not my nut job parents I'm thanking for that- it's the man in the boat. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're welcome readers for all the freebie's and thanks for nothing mom and dad. Why couldn't you have been stage parents? If you would have just pushed me really hard at something- all in a effort to live vicariously through my achievements- I could have been famous. Possibly even writing books for money. Instead, I'm a blogger. Monkeys scratching their balls while sitting on a tire swing at the zoo get more hits in a day than my website ever will in a year. Hope you're proud.

**Just wanted everyone to know that the only thing that is keeping me from shutting this blog down right now, is the fact that to a few people out there, I am that ball scratching monkey. One that misspells every third word and uses obscenities like chocolate chips in her junk food stories. For those two people, bon apatite!

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Times They Are A Changin...

When I'm not out changing the world one ridiculously long winded blog at a time, I spend my time cooped up in the house tending to my young son. I am also currently in the process of trying to build a website to promote my brand and while I do this, I obsessively think up new and stressful ways to spend my time. Recently, I thought to myself "How can I make my life more difficult and financially sound?" My response was an instantly overwhelming, "Go back to work!"

Lucky for me, I have some close friends still lingering in my old line of work and it was easy to find a door to stick my foot into. In an effort to not drag out the boring parts, I'll make a long story short and tell you that after a quick interview and a few handshakes, I landed a gig with a great company in the field of health care. Now I'm left to start a new chapter of my life as a working mom and while I'm beyond stoked to start this new venture, it does have me questioning some things about life and balance. Like how am I going to survive the guilt I feel for dumping my kid at daycare all day and how am I going to balance writing, working and being a mom..

A few weeks ago I hopped up on my soap box and gave a speech about following your dreams and taking risks. Looking back now, I can see that it was one of the biggest turds I have ever dropped on this website and I would like to apologize now for the hypocrisy that is about to ensue. It all started when I decided to take this new job. I have always been satisfied with the direction my life has taken. Well not really satisfied... I look at my place in life the same way as I do cleaning- if the mess is easily hidden when company is around, it's good enough.. But to settle and make do with the cards I've been dealt has never been hard for me, especially recently when I started writing. It wasn't until this opportunity fell in my lap that I realized - much like 99% of the world- I would sacrifice my dreams and aspirations for a pay check and a 401K plan. It is true, like the rest of you I am a slut like that. So, here are the meat and potatoes-my new soap box rant- if you will.

The truth...

-In life we have to sacrifice. And the reality is that one sacrifice leads to another. Then before we know it the only thing we've really given up on is our happiness and the things we love the most.

-There is no way you will ever be able to give 100% of yourself to 100% of the things you want, need and love. However, you will try to anyway. The only things in your life that you will ever be able to give 100% to are the time you are stretched too thin, overwhelmed and outnumbered. You may not feel this way right now, but know it's only because you're use to it.

-Money cannot buy you happiness, but it can keep the lights on, put your kid in a great school, and buy you things to fill the void that was left behind when you settled for the job you have now instead of the one you really wanted.

-Everyone has a price. You may think that you would never trade what's most important to you for money, but know this- given enough zeros behind a dollar amount- priorities change. You too would sell your passion to be Oprah rich. Quit kidding yourself.

-When people say "I'm self motivated" what they are really saying is- I have a car I can barely afford and I'm one lost paycheck away from losing my house. The truth is that nothing drives a person like the idea of losing everything to the repo man. But there's really no acceptable term for that kind of motivation, is there?

-You should have finished college and if you did finish, you should have picked a better major... Getting a bachelors degree in psychology is like having degree in burgers 101 and working for Chik-Fil-A. That type of degree is practically useless and will never set you apart from someone who specialized in the career you wish you had. As for the many like myself who didn't finish college- congratulations! You have just insured that you will always feel inadequate and underpaid. You really should have finished that psychology degree.

- Unless you're making millions with that side project you're doing, it will always be a hobby. No one respects a blog writer, knitter, stain glass maker or bedazzler. In life the work that makes you happy will almost never make you rich. It is a fact. You can Google it.

That said, I am going to try hard to keep running efficiently. Though I can't promise I'll post every week, I can promise I will do everything in my power to do the right thing by my readers and bring the funny as often as physically possible. However, I want you all to realize that by selling out and going to work for "The Man," I have given up a part of me that I promised I would never- full disclosure. In order to keep and maintain this job, I will have to try hard to never write about my company. Also, because of HIPAA laws, my patient stories will need to be kept at a minimum. That is unless they fire me...Then it's game on, Bitches!

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Happy Mothers Day- The A+ Parenting Way!

With Mother's Day around the corner I thought it would be nice to pay tribute to those with the dirtiest job around- Life maker...

Motherhood isn't easy. There are a lot of ups and downs and for 99% it's not exactly the career move we always dreamed of. Think about this- how many stay at home moms did you see on career day? The answer is none and that's because from day one we are told how empowering it is for a women to get out into the work force and make their own money. We're taught that a title will open new doors and that working moms are hero's. But what about the moms that forfeit the success and fortune to get down in the trenches with their child? What about the ladies who spend everyday- 24/7- caring for our future presidents, garbage men and executives? For that 1% who are willing to take a step back and live like it was 1952- I would like to say: THANK YOU!

When I was 8 I decided that above anything else, I wanted to be a mother. I got this spark by watching my mom. She was nurturing, loving and absolutely frightening, but more than anything proud to be a stay at home mommy. It was from her that I learned the ropes and kindly, she never sugar coated anything. She practiced what I like to call "A+ Parenting." It's a form of mothering that is imperfect and honest. It at times can seem neglectful or even mean, but it allows for mistakes and individuality and above all celebrates the fact that even as moms, we are only human. I would like to share with you some "A+ Parenting" secrets. Though I can hardly be considered an expert- after all, I only have one kid and I pawn him off every chance I get- I have taken the liberty of compiling my own mothers' life work in the field and find that it's not only useful, but accurate. Happy Mother's day to all! This is a gift from me-to you.

The Guide to A+ Parenting
-By Jennie Nadler Milechman
With contributions from the always dysfunctional- Nadler family Women.

There is no cure for a colicky infant and only A+ parents will tell you the truth about that. No matter what family members, old ladies at the grocery store or friends may say your baby sucks at this point in his new life and there is nothing you can do to fix him/her. The best thing- and probably the only thing- you can do to make life bearable is self medicate. I find that the right combination of booze, cigarettes and anti-depressants numbs the pain -of your new and ungodly situation- enough to get you by. I also recommend that you allow the little monster personal space to cry it out in. His personal space could be a swing, crib or relative’s home, but never a dryer, microwave or dishwasher. Postpartum tells us that the latter is a good idea, but trust me, in the end you'll be thankful you opted out of a life sentence in a rape-me-with-a-plunger type prison,though I am aware that a daily raping would seem like a spa day compared to what you’re dealing with right now.

At some point you may accidentally drop or maim your new baby. It's not uncommon that a tiny head cradled in your arms may accidentally find its way into a door frame. Nor is it rare that baby may somehow make its way to the floor with the grace of a lead balloon. There is really no solution for this, so it's best not to dwell on your carelessness. An A+ parent always keeps these types of incidents quiet. Unless there is an injury that requires immediate medical attention, what's the point of sharing your misadventures with anyone? It's ok to be shitty at parenting when you first start out; it however is not cool to have others confirm it. Always remember that the key to being an A+ parent is much like belonging to a secret fight club... The first rule is to never talk about it.

Germs are everywhere and there is absolutely no way you'll ever keep Junior away from all of them. When you first bring home your monster you'll be consumed with cleaning and washing and hand sanitizing and boiling- but know this, in a few months those things will become like taking the long way home, on foot through the snow and over Mt. Kilimanjaro. An A+ parent learns quickly that removing dog hair with your fingers from objects that are to be used orally, never killed anyone. You can clean a binky with your jeans and sometimes the 5 second rule can be extended to the 30 second rule or even the 3 minute rule depending on what end of an object or food product hit the ground first.

* Return Policy
Guess what there is no return policy. You're stuck for life with this little one. Let that sink in for a moment... A+ parents often have moments of "buyers" remorse in the first year. Hell, even good parents feel this way…Don’t feel guilty. You are only human and being overwhelmed is natural. Think about this- we are one of the only animal species that find it unacceptable to abandon or eat our young. The fact that you will eventually push through these feelings is a miracle. You really deserve a pat on the back…

*Stop apologizing
So what -your house is a mess, you’re a little overweight and your kid- at times- is a complete dick. This is a problem for every mom, the stay at home and working class hero varieties alike. For the longest time after becoming a mom, I started every sentence with “sorry”. “Sorry the living room’s a mess,” “Sorry for the tantrum,” “Sorry for the screaming.” Then I realized (with the help of my mother) that there are certain things you can’t control. Your kid’s going to cry during a nice dinner, some days you won’t get to the laundry and though genetically that little nightmare is half you- you can’t control what his underdeveloped mind instinctively tells him/her to do. A+ parents make no excuse and never give out false apologies. They live their life with the knowledge that some things are what they are and accept that “crazy”is part of the job description.

Dr. Phil warns that spanking is ineffective. You know what A+ parents say?.."Fuck Dr. Phil!" Now while a full on UFC match with your kiddo is a terrible idea, a whack on the tushy and a tap on the hand never killed or emotionally scarred anyone. I can guarantee that one day when your child is draped across a therapists' couch- and he will be, all A+ parented children are- the tap on the hand you gave him for trying to plug keys into a light socket will never enter the conversation. Children are fearless and suicidal creatures who need consequences that shock and sometimes sting to keep them out of harm's way. People today don't always understand this method of thinking because this new age-negotiate-with-a-toddler-who-has-no-concept-of right-and-wrong bullshit is all the rage and that's fine. A+ parents care less about the trends and more about what's best for their children. They also tend to hate Dr Phil....

*Giving in
Caving into the demands of a three foot tall poop factory can make you feel like an ass, but the serenity you receive once the tantrums cease is downright euphoric. A+ parents realize that a $2 toy or a pacifier in a three year old mouth can sometimes be a necessity that negates the consequences you'll have to deal with later. I have tried on many occasions to take my sons pacifier away and after a few hours of unmerciful screaming I always cave and return it to him. Why? Because as an A+ parent I have come to realize that sanity is priceless and braces are about 3 grand. It's worth the money later to keep from going postal today. I use this method of reasoning anytime I am bullied into purchasing toys at Target or terrorized into that second, third or fourth pack of fruit snacks.

*Potty Training
This is the nightmare of all nightmares for parents. We all ask ourselves when the right time to start is. We all get pressured by family members and pediatricians to get it over with. We all realize that until the poopy monster is ready there is absolutely nothing we can do to make them function on a potty the way they rightfully should. Now while this training can be stressful, it seems to be less so for the A+ parent. Why? Because as an A+ parent, you are smart enough to realize that your munchkin will not be walking down the aisle someday, one hand on his bride and the other holding up his Huggies. You're also sadistic enough to know that if he does- it will then be his wife's problem.

A+ parents realize that kids change and learn at their own rate. We give them credit for their personal victories and swell with pride at the sight of their advancements. However, we accept that- besides the love we feel for them- they are pretty much like everyone Else's kid. We understand how boring and obnoxious it is to constantly hear how "smart" the other little "Timmys" are and refuse to play the my-kid-is-better-than-yours game. Of course you think your kid is special and smart, we all feel that way about or own. People who ostentatiously talk about their children are much like men with small dicks that drive shiny red sports cars- it's simply a way of making up for your own short comings by distraction. The kid and the car are just glorified penis enlargers and no A+ parent gives a shit about how much bigger yours may (or may not) be!

*A+ Failures
Nothing in life is ever perfect and those that claim they have perfect lives, kids, jobs,families etc are full of crap! As an A+ parent we laugh at life's challenges and the mistakes we make along the way. We find comfort in sharing our stories of misadventure with our own kind (other A+ moms and dads) and realize that every day is another chance to try again and succeed or fail. (A+)er's never dwell on past mistakes, but find a way to turn the crummiest of times into the funniest of memories. Always remember this: if your kid is alive and well at the end of the day, there's no way you can be a failure. Screw ups happen every day and it is what creates character.It's best not to beat yourself up over it.

Remember all the stupid shit your parents did with, to and for you? Now is your chance to pay it forward...A+ parents have forgiven their parents for being idiots when it came to bringing up children because they too have become idiots by having their own. (A+)er's use the term "you didn't come with a manual" frequently when talking to their kids and have gained appreciation for the widespread coverage of therapy on most insurance plans. We sometimes think a therapy fund maybe more lucrative for our little monsters than a college fund. I personally recommend starting both; worst ( or best, readers choice) case- your kid wont use one or both of them and then it's "Hello Hawaii!"

***Have something to add to the A+ Parenting Guide? Just add it in the comment section below...And to all my moms out there, Have a happy and healthy Mothers Day. XOXOX

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Time Outs For Big People...

Children are the biggest responsibility you'll ever incur. Some of us are blessed by choice and others by circumstance. Whatever the case, take a minute to think about all the ways your sweet responsibility weighs you down and ask yourself "is it really so wrong that animals eat their young?"

I came into this life of motherhood with high hopes. After all I've managed to keep a dog alive for years without problems how difficult could it be to do the same with a child? Apparently the margin is bigger than I bargained for. Since my son was born- life and my little bundle- have continuously thrown curve balls my way and all of them have landed harshly in my suck hole. So what do I do when life as a mother gets me down? Well, of course there is the obvious-booze /antidepressant combo but, I have recently found new things to help get me through my periods of funk without destroying my liver. I would like to share some of my stress relieving activities with you. They are designed specifically for parents but, some of them are easily adjusted for those who were smart enough to use protection...

* The Runaway Game
Some times being a mom and wife sucks so badly that I fantasize about running away. Maybe you've thought of this too at times. I have managed to find a way to turn these intoxicating thoughts into a meditative and time killing opportunity. Here's what you do:
Find a place to sit and blank out for a moment. It can be anywhere and at anytime during your day. Now imagine dropping your kid off with someone you trust, grabbing your necessities and hitting the road. I usually start by loading my things in the car and stopping off to purchase a new cell phone. I don't need my old responsibilities tracking me down on my way to freedom. I then imaginatively hit the road and pick a place that no one would think to look for me. What will my name be in this new no-strings-attached-life? Where will I live? What kind of job will I get? Will I find myself a new man? What does he look like? Is he rich? How will I decorate my new home? Do I become famous in this new life? What do I do to change my looks? Can I afford new boobs? Should I have an accent of some sort? This game can take minutes or hours but it's a fun escape and may help send you to dreamland on a sleepless night. The possibilities are as broad as you imagination.

* Telemarketing Multi Purposing
It is never cool to pick a fight with a stranger face to face when you want to blow off steam. Why run the risk of getting your ass kicked when all you really want to do is unload and move on. I've come up with a solution and it's as easy as talking to those jagaloons that call your house everyday at dinner time. This game is perfect when you've had a long frustrating day caused by Junior or anyone else who's mucking up your life. When the phone rings and you hear the telemarketer on the other line, answer with an obscenity like, "what the fuck!". I like to start by questioning their career choices immediately after but, feel free to start whatever way you’re comfortable. Sometimes you get lucky and find someone who will play the verbal abuse with you like a game of ping pong. If this is the case make sure you get the last word. It would be ridiculous to lose at your own game.

If arguing with an unsuspecting stranger is not your style and you just want an ear to bend, telemarketers are great for that too. Feel free to project your issues with your father onto "Doug" the home alarm specialist, because let's face it, your need to feel safe and protected all stems from your parents divorcing in the third grade. Or maybe Doug has some ideas about potty training or dealing with nosey in-laws. Let him know how overwhelmed you are and do so passionately. Whatever avenue you chose to explore make sure you commit. Your goal is to keep them on the line until you have blown off the necessary amount of steam to continue about your day. And remember, never feel sorry for Doug or the thousands of marketers like him. If it was up to him, he'd knock you down and rifle through your pockets for spare change...

*The Lottery Game
This game is very similar to the runaway game in the sense that you're only limited by your imagination. If you're having a really rough day and have extra time you may even want to pair the two. Here are some things to get you started. What's the jackpot up to this week? Now imagine if you had all the winning numbers. What would you spend it on? How much would you give to greedy family and friends? Who would you tell first about your good fortune? This game is best if you're specific so take some time to really break it down. Just remember to allocate money for taxes. With the IRS not even your fantasies are safe from audit...

* Go Fuck Yourself
Literally...Nothing relieves stress like rubbing one out and that doesn't change when you become a parent. Just make sure that this activity is a private one. Your kids are already going to need therapy with you as their parent, its best not to send them into coo coo town early with your indecency.

* Facebook Stalking
Whether you're having a bad day or simply bored, becoming a Facebook stalker is a magnificent way to kill time. Check up on old flames, classmates and friends with just a click of the mouse. The best part of it all is that it's completely anonymous and the chances of you get caught rifling through this cyber "nightstand drawer" is really unlikely. Trust me, when you find out your old boyfriend has married a fatty and your old high school prom queen is currently undergoing rehab for huffing, you'll be thanking your lucky stars for that booger machine your stuck chasing after day after day.

* Teach Your Kid Something
Ever get tired of playground moms trying to outdo you and your child? How many times do you have to hear what a genius little "Timmy" is before you decided to make his brand of smart seem trivial by teaching your own kid a new trick. Whenever I'm feeling down after a play date I teach my child something way out of his league. For example when he was two and some of his super "smart" buddies started learning sign language- I taught my son how to read a handful of words, nothing crazy- just simple stuff like cat, dog, and elephant. Then the next time those pesky mommies tried to make my kid look stupid by asking baby coco the mini gorilla to sign - I was able to one up them by showing off my own mini-pants-pooping Einstein.

* Broomstick
This is my holy grail of decompression after a long and irritating day. And though most of you are thinking I jump on it and take a joy ride, you could not be more wrong (this time anyway). Broomstick is a game I play when I am so far over the edge that a mental disconnect will no longer cut it. All you need for this stress reliever is to grab a broom and head out back. Then with every ounce of rage you can muster, start beating the sweet bejesus out of a tree, fence or swing set. I like to keep the beating going until the broom breaks in two and falls to my feet with a defeated thud but, like all the other things I mentioned today- make it yours. I also encourage you to scream or imagine someone while you’re beating your way to Zen.

There is one important rule to always remember while engaging in Broomstick relief, ALWAYS use a broom with a wooden or plastic handle. Metal broomsticks will have you more shaken than when you started and you’re already a mental case, there’s no need to be suicidal.

** Have a funny or ridiculous way to relieve stress and frustration? Share it with the Mouthy Mommy in the comment section.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Defeated..? Not Today.

“But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for.” -Paulo Coelho

Every week I'm here, pouring my blood, sweat, and tears on to this page. My need to write has become like breathing- a necessity. Everywhere I look I see a story and my compulsion to write it down and share it with you has become an addiction that I'm unable to control. My mind is constantly running- narrating my world as though a novel may one day spring from my head, double spaced and bound. But there is always that little voice inside me screaming that I don't have what it takes and that this is all for nothing. I struggle with it every time I sit down to write.

There are not too many things in life that I can say I'm good at. I have failed miserably as a housewife, I've been fired from more jobs than I can keep track of and when it comes to being a mother, daughter, wife, sister and friend I sometimes fall short. Yet it seems that here- in the world of black and white text- I excel. Maybe it's because it gives me a shield to hide behind. It's a way to physically become invisible while still allowing my thoughts to run free. I love how the Mouthy Mommy alter ego lets me play by my own rules and empty my life-it's disappointments, struggles and joys- here where it can be dusted off and put to use in some small way, even if that way is just a small chuckle from someone at their desk when the work day has dragged on too long. Everyone should be so lucky to have this chance.

Recently the validity of what I'm doing here has been called into question by someone very close to me. If I was just a silly blog writer dumping my daily grind, I wouldn't think twice about someone doubting whether or not this was a career defining hobby. The problem is- that for me- this has become my world and I don't need a fat pay check or a book deal to know that it's worth doing. Some people around me seem to think that this is the way that success is measured and have questioned the time it is taking to attain it. I think that things that come easily are short lived and go unappreciated. Stick figures do not hang in museums of art, yet Da Vinci spent more than four years painting Mona Lisa's smile alone and it is priceless. I'm not comparing myself to this legendary painter, I'm just saying that good things-things that are worth remembering- take time to build and sometimes they may only pay off long after we are gone. For those who cannot understand how I stay driven without instant reward, I have to say that I'm sorry that you have never had the opportunity to love something unconditionally.

I realize that sometimes we fight battles we know we can't win and have dreams that are unattainable and out of our league. Sometimes we lose at things we should have won- easy stuff, like walking without tripping over our own feet. Though we may be defeated at anything, we must always try- knowing that there may be an off chance, that one day our luck may change. I can't say that what I write is Pulitzer Prize worthy or that I'll ever make any money doing it. I am aware that most of this stuff is just a meaningless view of my own meandering experiences. But what if..?

I'm not expecting to be a super star. I just want the opportunity to make something of myself. Something I'm proud of. I think everyone can relate to that on some level. Who wouldn't want the chance to shine at something they are good at? And who's to say there isn't a chance that we may be lucky enough to win the battle with ourselves and those that doubt us? Real failure would be to never try at all. So, support or discouragement-fame or failure- with or without you- I will continue. And now you know...

Thanks for letting me vent! I'll bring the funny next week...I promise :)

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

This Is Why Nobody Likes Me.. :(

While most people enjoy my over- the- top sense of humor, the one person who doesn’t seem to get me is my husband. This at times presents a problem considering he is one of my favorite muses. For the record my husband is not a super funny guy. He’s very private, peaceful, and charming, but not at all a crack up. There are moments when he feels the need to be hilarious and when he does I can always count on him to find a way to bust out this gem; “Once you go Jew, you’re stuck like glue.” I cannot begin to express how much I’ve come to hate his go to line. It’s not funny and I absolutely loathe it. It irks me so much that now every time I hear it, I have a visceral response. I equate it to what someone from PETA would feel if they saw a deer hunter step on a small bag of kittens while eating a bacon cheese burger. Yes, it bothers me that much… But that’s who he is, and when I decided to marry him, I made the conscious decision take him as is-missing funny bone and all.

This brings me to the issue at hand. I live my life searching for the funny in everything. To me nothing is off limits and there is no room for sensitivity. When my mother died and people were feeling sorry for me, I jumped on the opportunity to cash in. I would bate innocent victims into rounds of “Yo momma” just so I could stun them with a response of “My mother’s dead!” I don’t fight fair, I’m a terrible liar-so it’s not even worth the effort for me to try, and there is nothing about my life that I can’t look at from another angle to exploit for a laugh. My husband hates these things about me and since our very first fight he has always insisted that “This is why nobody likes” me.

The longer we’re together the more I find out what “This” entails. Last week it was a small inaccuracy in a blog that set him off. When I explained that sometimes I cut and paste the good parts to make him seem funnier, he didn’t have much to say, but when the conversation had reach its end and all was close to well, I through in a “You’re welcome.” It was obvious that my sarcastic attack on his sense of humor pushed him back over the edge and he stormed out of the room like a 7 year old girl, barking out that “This is exactly why nobody likes” me.

To pay homage to my husband and the many others who according to him “dislike me” I thought I would write down some of the things or the “this”- if you will- that got me on this shit list my husband totes around. (Note: These are all reasons my husband has compiled. I really doubt he did an actual pole… Though I could be wrong, he does seem very sure of himself on this matter.)

Feel free to end each sentence with “This is why nobody likes you.” That’s what my husband does.

• I named my sons new fish “murder face.” I did this because every time I see his face, I want to flush my new responsibility down the toilet..

• I don’t see an issue with not flushing the toilet in the middle of the night

• “Fuck” is my favorite word. I use it as if my life depends on it

• I drink from the carton while standing inside the open refrigerator

• I read the twilight saga over and over and while doing so, I ignore everyone around me

• After I married my husband I gave all of his furniture away to Goodwill and replaced it with my stuff or bought new. I did most of this without asking permission.

• I incessantly Facebook and Twitter from my phone. I status up dated during Passover dinner, at a funeral and once during an argument with my husband about Facebook and Twittering.

• I wear my maternity underwear from three years ago around the house. I do this while the blinds are open and most of the time I'm topless. (sorry neighbors!)

• I once made a comment to my in-laws friends about the “$3 shit wine” my father-in-law served them. It turns out the friends brought the wine. They told me so.

• I don’t hide disappointment well. When I get a bad gift I make “a face” that gives me away instantly. My husband has seen this face more than most people.

• When Perpetual Bridesmaid comes to visit for the weekend I make my husband sleep on the couch so that she and I can share the king sized bed.

• I blog about all my family members. I use family gatherings as a way to stock up on material. No one is safe. Instead of a hug good bye, people ask me not to write about them. My husband thinks I should honor their request. I disagree.

• When I think something is super ugly, I compliment the people that own it because I just have to say something. This goes for jewelry, home furnishings, haircuts and babies. I then spend twenty minutes describing my disgust to my husband once we are out of hearing range.

• I'm a bitch...And I'm ok with that.

• When I’m told that this is why nobody likes me, I smile.. Why? Because I know that this is exactly why everybody reads me…:)

So there you have it, folks. This is why nobody likes me. Can you think of some reasons nobody likes you? If you need help I'm sure my husband could give you a hand..Feel free to submit what makes you dislikable or something my husband missed on his list for me... The comment section is waiting.....

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

I Would Like To File A Complaint!

Since life has decided to bend me over and make me it bitch for the last few days, I have decided to write a formal complaint. The problem here is that life- unlike some of the other assholes I've had the displeasure of working with- lacks a customer service department to send my complaint to. This has now left me with one option- to go fuck myself...With that in mind, I have decided to air my grievances here and hope that someone out there can relate to my pain, laugh at it or supply me with a working firearm.

To Life or whomever it may concern,

There have been some issues in the last few weeks that have begun to concern me. It seems as though you no longer value our relationship and have chosen to produce steaming piles of garbage, instead of the rainbows and sunshine I was once promised. I would like to take a moment to bring some of these piles to your attention. While you look over this list of grievances please take the time to account for all the ways you have failed me. I realize that I too have had a part in some of this however; I can't help but feel like this is partially, if not entirely all your fault.

March 20-
I receive a phone call that an old friend has passed away. Said Friend has died in a similar fashion to my mother and now I am forced to relive the experience again. I end up driving to a funeral hours away and endure 3 long hours with my ex-boyfriend and his goody-two-shoes wife. There is a small upside when I realize that I am not only thinner than she is, but have better judgment when it comes to picking a life partner. That fuzzy feeling is quickly squashed when I excuse myself to use the restroom and urinate on the back of my pants while trying to hover over the Applebees toilet at our post funeral dinner party.

March 23-
Trying to be a good mom I allowed my child to help me cook his dinner. After 3 minutes he picked a fight with me over the proper way to flip a grilled cheese. When I refused to follow his direction, he took to beating me with a butter covered spatula. When I threatened to remove the spatula from his tiny hands and throw it in the garbage, he offered to give me a punch in the face. I then found myself completely disgusted with him and my parenting skills. Was there a reason I chose to procreate instead of buy a cute little puppy?

March 24-
I go to Walmart and receive parenting advice from three strangers that look like they may be straight off the "most wanted" list. I also deal with 2 monstrous temper tantrums from my three year old-that I eventually give in to, sparking yet another round of parenting advice from 1 more toothless stranger. After a final fit at the checkout, I start to contemplate whether or not my husband would be upset if I left our obnoxious kid at a fire station drop off. I feel guilty for my moment of weakness and leave the Walmart compound. To ease my frustration I take a few minutes to bang my head- until I feel a black out approaching- against the steering wheel of my car before driving home.

March 25-
I send my ill husband to the doctor (by himself). He returns with a filled prescription and states that he was over charged for his visit. I asked him if he explained our co-pay and showed his insurance card at the time of check out. He replies that he did, but did not feel like arguing. I ask him if he likes throwing his money away to shiesty doctors and pimple faced Latin receptionist. He shrugs apathetically and offers to give me the number to the office so that I may "duke it out" with doc-in-the-box. After explaining that this really is his problem and not mine, he gives me the finger and plops down to play Playstation 3. I start questioning if I was right about making better choices than other people when it comes to picking a life partner.

March 28-
Turn on car and find engine light shining and loud squealing coming from under the hood. I alert my husband to the issue and he chalks it up to my inability to take the car for routine oil changes. After a 20 minute lecture on car maintenance, I leave and bring the car to a local mechanic. Upon hearing that I was 15,000 over due for the fluid change he proceeds to start the maintenance lecture where my husband left off. During his speech I daydream about taking the car and driving it off a bridge with both him and my husband in the trunk.

March 29-
It's pouring rain and the car must be towed to the dealer. In the middle of changing a shitty diaper the Tow-truck man rings the door bell. I launch myself out of my sons room and sprint down the tiled hallway. I come to a few second later face down on the floor-knee and hand throbbing- wondering why the fucking floor was wet in the hall and how I managed to miss this fact on my entrance earlier. I pull myself together, though my son is still laughing at my lack of equilibrium and answer the door. I do so without further destruction of my body and ego. I escort Tow-truck man to the car and take a mental note of its contents. Inside the center console- $7 in ones,in the cup holder- a handful of silver change and pennies and in the storage compartment under the radio- 2 purple Dr.Grip pens. Tow-truck man leaves with my car and valuables, while I am left to nurse my wounds with a Spiderman icepack and a stir crazy toddler.

March 30-
Grandma kindly offers to drive me to Gunther Mazda to retrieve my car. A 10 minute drive turns into an hour and 15 minute drive when grandma decides to drive 15 miles out of the way to save 10 cents a gallon on gas at "her" Hess station. We stop at every yellow light on our voyage and I contemplate petitioning my local government to revoke senior driving privileges. Thanks to God, Moses and Satan- we arrive at Gunther Mazda before my toddler's college graduation. When I receive my car and drive away, I survey the interior. I find that all the contents I mentally noted on March 29th are missing. I have a moment of clarity that is quickly cut short by my pettiness and love of purple Dr.Grip pens. I call Gunther and inform him of my stolen goods. He seems less concerned about my pens than I feel he should, but kindly offers to keep his "eyes peeled for them." As most managers are, he is more concerned about my missing money. He extends a peace offering and tells me to bring my car in for a free oil change the next time I'm due. I tell him that I'm not interested in being robbed twice and ask him to send me a check for $7.87 and a additional $12 for my stolen pens. He laughs and tells me to come in when I'm ready for an oil change. The phone then goes dead...

I hope that by putting this in black and white you are able to see the error of your ways. No need to apologise, just try not to let it happen again. However, if you insist on making it up to me, a check for $12 or 2 Dr.Grip pens (purple) would be wonderful. I really doubt Gunther was serious when he said he would look for them.

Take care,
Jennie Nadler Milechman

***Have a grievance? Share it with me! Post it here in the comment section or on the Mouthy Mavens Facebook fan page....

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Crazy Tree.

About three weeks ago I was feeling like crap and begged my father to fill in for me at He thinks blogging is ridiculous, but quickly agreed to pitch in. Though he will deny this, it was not out of the goodness of his heart that he decided to fill in for me, my father did it because he would never miss an opportunity to one up me at something he clearly feels he's more qualified to do; in this case writing. With this type of motivation I was positive that he would come through for me. Dad seemed confident and ready to blog, but he refused to agree to a deadline. (That should have been my first red flag.) I tried not to harass him to much about getting something to me in writing, but when Wednesday came and went I started to wonder what his problem was. When a week passed and nothing came I called him to check on his writing process. He assured me that there was no problem. In fact he told me he wrote three in one evening, but one was too harsh, the other was funny but not enough and I forget what the problem with the last one was. Long story short, it was all bullshit...

I ended up having to skip a week of blogging because his idea of a deadline is finishing something before they start shoveling dirt on your casket. So now three weeks have passed and I decided to ask my father-one last time- if he plans on getting a blog to me before I reach menopause. He quickly reminds me that he could write a blog "in his sleep"and adds that he wrote one at work after a customer pissed him off. He also gloats that it only took him 15 minutes to write it. It becomes instantly clear that he used this statement as proof that blogging is too easy and that he's a better writer (we'll see about that). For the record, it normally takes me hours to have something post-worthy.

After 10 minutes of dad laughing uncontrollably at his own description of said blog, I ask if he would like to send it to me to read. While my father searches for the contents in his email, he warns me that the "F" word is used quite a bit and he's concerned that it may be too obscene for me to use on I remind him of the Mouthy Mavens company handbook and every other blog I've posted in the last 6 months, yet he continues to insist that the language may be a bit much for my readers. I am a little put off by his concern, but then I remember that this is the same man that corrects my potty mouth by telling me that I "sound like a fucking moron." My anxiety fades and I decide that unless he just wrote 4 paragraphs with nothing, but the "F" word, there is no reason that I'm not going to post it. I then sit quietly and wait for him to send the email.

When American Idol starts and my father has no more use for me, he decides to hang up. With great anticipation I jump on my IPhone and check my email. After enjoying his first attempt at blog writing I decide it is post worthy and text him with the news. He quickly replies back to me that he would like to remain anonymous. I remind him that he should have thought of that before I read it and decide to compromise by allowing him to use the pen name "Poppa Poop deck"- (you'll see why in a moment). He is not pleased with my name choice for his alter ego and insists I sign it "Grumpa"- the name my son and nephews use for him (again, you'll see why in a moment).

Now that you've got the back story, it's time to enjoy a rant from the dysfunctional, ring-leader of my family. He kindly decided to go above and beyond for this task ( he should considering how long it took him) and included a picture to accompany his masterpiece... I hope you enjoy reading it as much as my father did! Feel free to comment when you're done. We would both love to hear what you think.

I'm writing this to all the uptight, sensitive, hypocritical, politically correct, tight asses.
I'm sick and tired of sugar coating all my words to please your big, ugly, virgin ears, and yes I already know what you are going to say..."People that curse all the time are lacking intelligence and obviously don't have a command of the English language...You know what I say to that?...Fuck You!

There are times when cursing is completely unavoidable, and in fact down right acceptable. Lets just imagine that you bought a new car. You are driving off the car lot and get down about a block when someone smashes you from behind. Why did he hit you??? Because this asshole was texting his drug dealer while steering his piece of shit, 1975 Pacer with his knees. So what do we have here.... If not an asshole what would you call this guy??? Is there another name for a 75 pacer other than a piece of shit??? And as for the damage to your car, would you say "damn that stinks" or would you go on a tirade ranting that "some asshole driving a piece of shit just fucked up your car." Of course you would pick the tirade!

One more thing, I use the word gay to describe people and situations.

No I don't think its inappropriate. Yeah, yeah, I know how you all want to save the whales, the homeless, the orphans and the gays..You know what I say to that....Bullshit, that is so gay.
By the way did you watch dancing with the stars last night??? That's gay...Ever hold your wife's purse while shes shopping???That's gay... Cry at movies...Gay... My point is that you don't have to take it in the ass or strap one on to be gay or do something gay.. So enough with the sensitive bullshit!

Today I decided to just scratch the surface on these subjects. In part because I'm lazy and mostly because its gay to write a blog. So remember the next time someone calls you gay- and you know it will happen-just tell them to calm the fuck down....And please try not to dwell on the fact that they are probably right in their assumption.


{Dad, I'm sure this means war. I'll be ready!}

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Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Grocery Awareness

"Those old ladies at the grocery store who hand out free samples of pizza rolls are wiping their asses with those things before they hand them out"- Walter T. Pratt

There are a lot of things that suck about being an adult. It's really a shame too considering how badly I wanted to be one. To be honest, I feel like it was only yesterday that I was throwing my feet over the side of my twin sized bed, slapping on some Covergirl and tossing a messenger bag over my shoulder to get to high school. Looking back now- had I realized what was waiting for me- I might have tried to slow down and absorb more of my carefree childhood. But what does this have to do with old ladies using pizza rolls as toilet paper? Nothing really, but it's my blog and sometimes I like to be a little self indulgent when getting to the point.

The meat and potatoes of it is this; when your an adult you get stuck doing mundane and time consuming chores like laundry and cooking. You have to pay the bills and buy the groceries, all while maintaining a budget and stretching a dollar. When I set off on my own and had to start setting limits for my finances, the one thing I never cut corners on were groceries (and shoes). I don't know why, but I have always felt that food (and shoes) cost what it cost and if your working your ass off you deserve to at least eat what you want (and rock a bad ass pair of Steve Maddens)...Right?

Well, after a few years of throwing good money away at my local grocer, I had a kid and made some bargain savvy mom friends. These woman opened my eyes to a new world of food shopping corner cutting that has allowed me to still buy the things I love to eat without having to sacrifice that extra pair of patent leather pumps I'd been eyeing at the mall. Normally I'm not one to hit up the local Walmart for anything other than underwear, but these ladies have shown me what fist fighting white trash for a carton of eggs could do to help my budget and truthfully, it's worth it. Frozen foods, cereal, milk, and other household staples are dollars cheaper than the chain grocery store and that's just on the name brand stuff. If you want a real deal check out their store brand food.

Now before you turn your nose up at store brand food- as I always did until recently - hear me out. I did a little research and found that a lot of the things that are labeled store brand are actually the real deal with an uglier label. It wasn't easy to find the truth. In fact, Walmart was the only one remotely willing to admit to what they were using and it still took me a few hours of digging to come up with the few items I found. I guess it's some kind of conspiracy. That in mind, you may want to get your foil helmets out before you take a look at this list of products.

The Bargain List-Store Brands and Their Makers

FACT- "60% of name brand manufacturers produce store brands"-Private Label Association

Natures Own bread= Walmart brand ( the only difference is that they use a thinner bag for the store brand)

Hidden Valley makes all the oil and salad dressing for Target, Walmart and Winn Dixie

McCormick= all store brand spices

Pampers = Target brand diapers

All of the following are Walmart brands

Canned beans= Con Agra

Ketchup= Delmont

Canned veggies= Allen

Sugar= Imperial

Flour= Gold Medal

Ice Cream= Blue Bell

Frozen potatoes (french fries)= Orieda

Frozen veggies= Pictsweet

Pickles= Best Maid

Thick sliced bacon= Tyson

Worcestershire sauce= Lea & Parris

Tuna= Star Kist

Can ham= Hormel

Non-stick spray= Pam

Can tomatoes= Hunts

Chili sauce= Heinz

Vienna sausages= Armour

Pudding cups= Snak Pak

Popcorn= Pop Weaver

Yogurt= Yoplait

Coffee creamer= Nestle

P-nut butter= Peter Pan

Refrigerated biscuits and rolls= Kraft

Cookie dough= Nestle

Pot Pies= Banquet

Chocolate syrup= Nestle

Hot chocolate packets= Swiss Miss

Tea bags= Luizianne

**I want you all to know that during my research I did take a moment to check around and make sure that these store brands were not just retarded second cousins of the real deal. It turns out that not only are they from the same factory, but they also contain the same ingredients and quality. Like my mom friend told me; "It's not like they have strange little Mexicans growing tomatoes in their bathroom, so that Walmart can have cheaper ketchup." And she right, but you don't have to take my word for it. Go out and see for yourself and if you find some brands along the way that I missed, please add them in the comment section below.