Thursday, January 21, 2010

The Mouthy Mommy Goes To Lil Jon's Birthday Party.

In order to provide my readers with interesting content, I've started going to places I wouldn't normally go and working jobs that I'm completely unqualified for (ex-the gun show). Recently my husband, a district manager for a wine and spirits distributor, was invited to sponsor a Birthday party for rapper, Lil Jon at a ritzy night club in South Beach.
Though I rarely listen to rap music, I thought attending this event would get me in touch with celebrities that could help further my career or at least give me a story I could manipulate and use here.

It took some persuading to get my husband to allow me to tag along. Mainly because he wasn't buying that I wanted to go just to spend quality time with him. So eventually I had to tell the truth about my motives. I explained to Steve how exciting it would be to write a blog after rubbing elbows with celebs and how one run in with J-LO could change my life. I mean, all she would have to do is pull a Mouthy Mommy shirt over her fat ass and I would be a "SUPERSTAR." I wanted to go so badly, but it was instantly clear that after hearing my reasoning, Steve-o was going to say No-No. He's one of those obnoxious idiots who could give two-shits about famous people. We ate dinner next to Tommy Lee Jones one night and when I pulled out my cell phone to take a picture of him, Steve threatened to cut my hands off with a butter knife (true story). To get him to change his mind I decided to sweeten the deal and offer him something he normally only gets on his birthday; I would clean the master bathroom and remove all the hair from the drains without bitching our asking for assistance. (We're married, where did you think I was going with that?) I also had to promise not to stalk or push my website on anyone. With my fingers tightly crossed behind my back, I agreed to be on my best behavior and set off to make arrangements for my son to be taken care of.

We thought it would be nice to make a night out of the situation and sprung for dinner at a happening Cuban place not far from the club. I tried to dress trendy so that I would fit in, but the second we pulled up to the valet stand I was reminded of what an outcast I am in this world. The valet and I apparently both shop in the little boys department of the baby gap, because we were sporting matching white button down shirts, black vests and black pants. I couldn't help but think that this would never have happened if my track suit was deemed appropriate South Beach attire.

Luckily, we entered the restaurant without having to stop for me to park any cars. This was nice because, though I could use the extra cash, I was starving and ready to enjoy some dinner. Sadly, the food was small and awful, but I did have a good time with our waiter, who looked exactly like McLovin from Superbad. (I decided to refer to him as such for the duration of our dinner.)

Once we were finished eating, my husband tipped McLovin generously for enduring my taunting, and we made our way down the club. When we arrived the line to get in was wrapped half way around the building. This would have really sucked if we weren't able to walked right past all of them and sashay straight through to the velvet ropes. We were on "The List," so there was no waiting for this diva... As we walked through a small hallway to get inside, I took a quick look around. There were no celebrities, only skinny whores. Then suddenly in the distance I could see the entrance and a few short steps latter we were in the door way. Old school Micheal Jackson was booming loudly and people were packed in like sardines. Even my stick figure of a husband had to suck it in to get into the room, but I was willing to deal with these inconveniences to see some famous faces.

By the time we got to the back bar I had been molested, elbowed and stomped on. My anxiety had built so much from the crowd that instead of scoping for celebs I started looking for emergency exits. There was simply no way I was burning alive with all these idiots if God-forbid there was a fire. While I stood crowded into a corner, I kept one eye on the nearest exit and the other on Lil Jon. He was sitting in a booth not far from me and (for the record he is of average height, but I guess in his defense "average" is harder to butcher with slang than "little") there was no one remotely famous in his vicinity. At one point I thought I saw Moby, but it turned out to be just a bald, regular gay. I know bummer, right? I gave the lackluster party a few more minutes before throwing in the towel and begging to leave. Thankfully, my husband had enough too. Especially since the corner he was shoved in had a barely legal girl pelvic thrusting in gold lamet stretch pants, complete with camel toe. I have to say though, the girl could dance. She must have spent hours practicing those moves in front of her bedroom mirror, which judging by her outfit and rats nest of a hair do, was the only thing she does in front of it.

It took us 15 minutes to shove our way out and though I didn't get to see any celebrities other than Lil Jon and fake Moby, I did get to punch a few people and make it look like an accident. It's amazes me how uncalled for acts of violence can really turn a crummy night around. I hope the next party we go to leaves me with a more exciting story and I'm guessing it will. I hear Playboy people are a lot more interesting.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Project Help Haiti.

"Our world is nothing but 95% poverty-stricken, bloated-stomached babies and 5% money-grubbing pricks. In your lifetime, you've only met people from the latter category." -Walter T. Pratt

Since none of you live under a rock, I am going to assume that we all know what's going down in Haiti. It's horrific at best and after watching a segment about the Haitian orphans Sunday morning, I decided that crying and text messaging $10 from my wireless phone was simply not enough. I needed to think bigger. So, as most of you know I put a donation drive together, but that was not my original plan of action. I had something much grander in mind and for the first time in my life it was only 65% selfishly motivated.

As always this is a true story. Here's how the conversation went when I brought my first idea to my husband for approval.

Me: Steve, we need to adopt a Haitian orphan!

Him: What? Are you crazy? No!

Me: Oh, come on! You want another kid, I don't want to get fat, these kids need a home. It's a win-win and I bet you can get one on sale right now.

Him: I'm not even going to begin to address how many things were wrong with that statement. I'll just put it to you this way, you're not getting an orphan, a maid or a nanny. Stop asking me for ridiculous things that cost money. The answer will always be no. However, it was nice of you to think of someone other than yourself. I'm proud of you.

Me: Fine! I'll just find some other way to help and I'm not asking for permission next time.

Him: Do what you have to do. Just make sure what ever you find doesn't involve me supporting it financially.

Once my plan to bring home a big batch of orphans was crushed, I decided to brainstorm new ways to cash in on my new found humanitarian obsession. I knew that the first thing I needed to do was find an organization that would accept things other than money because as it was earlier stated to me by my cheap and often insensitive husband, I have no funds to give (heck, I'm one lost paycheck away from needing a telethon myself). So I came up with "Project Help Haiti." It's not big or fancy, but when you're helping people who have less than nothing, you realize that small and thrown together gets the job done too. Especially when you have readers as wonderful as mine. For those of you that feel this kind of charity is futile or unnecessary, I just want you to remember that life is full of small gestures that change the world. Why wouldn't you want to be a part of that?

Please take the time to pay it forward, no donation will be turned away. Here are all the details if you would like to join me in giving.

Donation Drive To Help Haiti

A drive is being held this Saturday 1/23/10 at Cornerstone Fellowship (13969 Orange Blvd West Palm Beach, 33419) from 9am to 2pm to help the earthquake victims of Haiti. All goods will be flown directly to those in need by Missionary Flights International or delivered through other missions. The items we need most are:

Baby gear (baby food, diaper, formula, wipes…)
Hygiene products (toilet paper, tooth brushes, sanitary napkins, soap…)
Food (canned food with pop top lids, cereal bars, rice…)
Clothing, Shoes, Pots, Pans and Cutlery are also needed.

**We ask that no water be donated at this time.

If you would like to make a monetary donation to help keep the planes fueled so that they can continue to make their daily trips to Haiti you can visit ... Every little bit helps! We hope to see you there.

The Mouthy Mavens
Cornerstone Fellowship
Missionary Flights international

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

4 Steps To Keeping Your Dignity In The Great Beyond

"Here's what happens when you die: The blood stops flowing into your brain, and you have a few last flickering thoughts, then you stop thinking all together. The synapses in your brain stop firing, and your personality and thoughts cease to exist. Your body decays. Grubs and boll weevils burrow into your head. Worms crawl in and out of your eye sockets. Maggots feed on your brain. Oh, wait. I'm getting it all wrong. Actually you go to a country club-type place and hang out with Jesus, Mark Twain, and all your long-lost relatives. What was I thinking?" -Walter T. Pratt

Well, now that we know what happens physically when you die it's time to talk about what your no good relatives are going to be doing after they've had a moment to celebrate your passing. If you have children or are a person who prepares for the inevitable, chances are you have purchased life insurance and wrote out a will. Your beneficiary is set and you have specified who gets your "Pretty Kitty" plate collection and those baseball cards (in terrible condition) that you have been hording since you were a small child. But as for all the day to day nonsense, the furniture, clothing and whatnot's, someone or many someones will be entering your place of residence to rifle through it and you can rest assured that they will be carting away anything that isn't nailed down. I guess when you think about it in the grand scheme of things it doesn't seem like a big deal, because after all, you are dead. Right?

I get why some of you may feel that way. In fact, I at one point felt that way too. That was until I had to clean out my mother's house and ran into a few things that no child should ever have to see. It was a real eye opener and it occurred to me then that EVERYONE has stuff tucked away in closets and drawers that they are not particularly proud of. Things that even in death, are majorly embarrassing and will no doubt, tarnish their legacy. But what can you do to keep this from happening? Funny you should ask, because as always, I had a few ideas.

4 Steps To Keeping Your Dignity In The Great Beyond.

Step 1- Get yourself a bag or box of a specific color
This is as easy as it sounds. Look at the things you own that need to be chucked after your departure and buy something to keep them in. I say pick a color so that the buddy you pick in step two, can identify it easily.

NOTE: Shoe boxes tend to blend with the scenery and will need to be spruced up or decoupaged. You need it to scream "Here I am! Burn me!"

Step 2-Use the "Buddy System"
Figure out who the one person is that you trust to dispose of your smut. It can be a cousin or sibling. I personally have chosen my best friend, The Perpetual Bridesmaid. Not only is she a kook like me, but she's also very discrete. Which is exactly what you'll need for this task.

Note: Your "Buddy" should be someone off balance and trust worthy. You need this someone to retrieve the colored bag of filth from your secrete hiding place and do so without being compelled to tell anyone what's inside or meet you at the pearly gates due to shock.

Step 3-Make a game plan

Though when and how you will expire is a mystery, your buddy must always be ready. Make Sure they know the three "W's"; when to pick up the stuff, where it is, and what to say to the greedy family members who will no doubt, want a piece of what's in the bag.

Note: Keep the plan simple and straight forward. Your buddy is throwing out a bag of dildo's not accepting a case for Mission Impossible.

Step 4-Figure out what is bag/box worthy and waste no time putting them away
Anything that cannot be openly displayed on a coffee table when your mother's around belongs is this special place. This includes, but is not limited to:

~Dirty Magazines (Especially those that contain tranny midgets and farm animals)

~Sex toys (No one wants to handle your "personal massager" collection. We all know what they are really used for. It's gross...Put it in the bag!)

~Old journals ( This strictly depends on content. If you wrote a nice memoir by all means leave it accessible. However, if you are anything like the Mouthy Mommy and have chosen to write a graphic novel about your life, for reasons unbeknownst to even you, it's best that you rip out the gory stuff or scrap the entire book. Remember, even if your family thinks you're a whore, they don't need the evidence spelled out in your own handwriting.)

~Drugs or Paraphernalia(Though you started doing drugs to ease the pain your family has caused you, it's none of their business how you choose to self medicate to get through the day. Hide your stash or risk leaving a legacy that says you're a junkie. It may not be true, but those nut jobs you're related to will need something to blame for your demise and I can guarantee it won't be themselves.)

~Photos or video of you naked, in drag, or copulating ( Yikes! If you have this stuff save your buddy the trouble and burn it now. You guys are close, that's why you chose him/her, but there's a limit and pictures of you getting "it on" in drag is it...Trust me on this one.)

** All embarrassing material must go to the bag ASAP. It may be taken out, used or reviewed, but always returned promptly when finished.

Note: There may be things that are not linked to your sexual deviance that belong in this bag. Since I only own the latter, I can't think of any examples, but please feel free to leave some in the comment section if you can.

Once you have your bag in order and your "Buddy" on standby, your bucket is ready to be kicked. I can't promise that it will all work out according to plan. Who knows, maybe your buddy will die with or before you. Or worse, they could get Alzheimer's and forget where you hid your stash. I wouldn't waste time worrying about that much though. You've got bigger problems. Including how hard it's going to be for you to get into heaven. God sees all you know, even what's in the bag.

Friday, January 8, 2010

The Mouthy Mommy Leaks A Book Chapter...To Bad It's Not One She Is Using.

The Mouthy Mommy has had an exceptionally long day of chasing after a toddler and helping someone else's nightmare, I mean child, with their homework. Because of this I did not take the time to research anything and my mind is way too tired to dig up any shenanigans. Sorry, I'll try harder next week. Luckily, I did manage to find a book chapter I wrote that I refuse to use because well...It's terrible. Not terrible like a monkey wrote it, but it's not my best. I thought about just deleting it, but I found it wasteful to throw out something that seemed to be coherent. So I'm sticking it here. Read it if you want. It's not that funny and I didn't end it strong. Truthfully, you may be better off printing it out and using it as toilet paper. That's what I'm doing.


At the end of a long and challenging day, I crawled up on to the bed in a daze as I had every night for the last two years. It was finally bed time and the house was quiet. These days I had a routine for everything so before I could lie down, I took some time to build myself a comfy pillow fort, one behind me to support my aching back, one under my feet to ease the swelling, and two under my head for maximum comfort. Then a few more seconds to check the baby monitor volume, shut off the television and snuggle in. Beyond exhausted, I threw myself down and shut my eyes. Darkness closed in quickly and my mind went blank. Every muscle in my body started relaxing and I slipped gently into oblivion.

Suddenly a shriek tore through the qiuet darkness. “MAMA!” My eyes popped open and struggled to focus on the laser red numbers of the alarm clock. It was 12:30 in the morning. My son two-year-old, Carter, had only been a sleep for two and a half hours, and now he was ready to abandon his Sponge Bob clad room, that I had spent a small fortune decorating, and join me in mine.

I sat up and glared quickly at my husband on the right of me. I could see that he was fast asleep and I silently cursed him for that. He was such a sound sleeper that he never heard Carter screaming into the monitor, or at least that’s what he always told me. In our house, I am queen of the night time patrol. When Carter begins to howl, it is my job to pacify him. I threw my feet on the floor and marched huffing and disoriented through the house to fulfill my mommy duties. The house was dark and big enough that I had to walk through the living room and family room to get to him. I didn’t get far before I tripped over some fake plastic keys and flew into the coffee table. My fall sent various cardboard books and dinosaurs scattering noisily to the floor. Even in the day time I lack grace, so at night in the dark I am doomed. “Damn it Carter,” I whispered to myself, my knee throbbing. Carter was still screaming and now with the added noise of my fall, the dog was beginning to bark. “Watlie, shut up or you’re going to the pound, and I’m sending your buddy Carter with you!” She scampered off with a huff. By now our old Sheppard mix was used to these nightly shenanigans, which is why she spent most of her nights sleeping in the hall by the baby’s room. This allowed her to avoid becoming a speed bump as I stomped through the house. With a small limp, I rounded the corner to greet Carter at the gate in his doorway.

“Mama yet me out! I go night-night your room?” he said, tears streaming down his red cheeks. He had a blanket in one hand and a sippy cup in the other. His blue pacifier was laced with snot. “No, you’re a big boy. Now get in your bed,” I whispered at him lovingly, but annoyed. As I opened the gate, he ran for his Sponge Bob refuge.

“Come on buddy,” I said with a smile as I tossed him over the guard rail into his twin-sized bed. “Mama loves you but its night-night time. You are a big boy, and you don’t need to sleep with me. I will see you in the morning.” I kissed his forehead and covered him with a small throw blanket. “See you in the morning!” I called to him one last time before I exited the gate.

I stumbled back to my room, this time thankfully without any casualties. The time was now 1:15 a.m., and I was confident I could squeeze in about four and a half solid hours of sleep if I drifted off now. I crawled back into bed, re-adjusted my pillow fort and closed my eyes. Fifteen minutes later, I was out cold and he was up again. I threw the covers off of myself and punched my husband’s arm. He didn’t even budge. “Ass!” I muttered loudly as I jumped from the bed. “Coming Carter!” I called as I carefully walked through the house again. The dog was now sleeping on the couch and didn’t even look up as I swished by.

When I got to the gate this time my tone was less than loving. “WHAT?!” I shrieked. “Mama, I go night-night your room!?” The boogers and tears were still flowing only this time he was sobbing. “Fine!” I said in a rough tone. “Let’s go!” I grabbed him under his arms and hoisted him over the gate. The second he was close to me there was silence.

Carter always knows exactly how to push my buttons. I am his personal slot machine. He will keep playing me until I pay out what he wants, and it doesn’t matter to him how long it’s going to take. He has all the time in the world and he always wins.

When we got to my room, I laid Carter into the center of the king-sized bed, shoving him a little closer to my husband than to me. I climbed in behind him and laid down, finally able to get some sleep. My pillow fort was in shambles now so I just grabbed a few and stacked them under my head. Defeated and tired I took one last glance at my boys and passed out. Around 2:30 a.m., I awoke again with shooting pain running up and down my spine. Carter had managed to wedge his head up against my back and push me so close to the edge of the bed that now my head was resting on the night stand instead of my stack of pillows. I lifted my body with one arm and pushed him with the other behind my back. “Scoot over, Carter,” I said in an irritated hiss, while I rolled him back toward my husband, Steve. It didn’t take but a second for him to start rolling back toward me. I was still irritated, but I had to giggle to myself. Does this kid have some kind of magnetic force that’s attracted just to me? I gave him two more shoves, and he settled inches away from my face. Though he wasn’t too far from me it gave me enough space to lay my head back down on one pillow and ease myself away from the bed’s edge. I shut my eyes for what I hoped would be the last time until morning.

A few short hours later the sun rose and so did mine. Both were fresh and ready to start the day. I rolled over and noticed Steve staring at me from the bathroom doorway. “What time did you bring him to bed?” he asked in a curious and judgmental voice.

“Um, about 4:30 this morning,” I said back quietly as I turned on some morning cartoons. I knew that 4:30 was a complete lie but I had promised him I wouldn’t allow Carter to sleep with us all night anymore. Steve insisted we were creating bad bed time habits for him, and if we didn’t stop now he would be driving home from college to curl up with his mommy. “I thought you were going to make him stay in his room until 7 a.m.? What happened?” he asked me still carrying the same judgmental tone.

I felt my blood begin to boil. Who was he to judge me when I am the one hauling my ass out of bed 50 times a night to take care of the baby while he sleeps peacefully? All I wanted was a few hours’ rest uninterrupted. I tossed a few choice phrases around in my head before settling on something I knew he couldn’t argue with. “Carter felt a little warm and because it was already 4:30 and so close to morning I thought I would bring him to bed with me so that I could monitor his temperature.” Steve looked at me with one eyebrow raised. I had a sinking feeling he wasn’t buying it, but he was late for work so he didn’t have time to argue.

“OK, well, I got to get going. You two have a fun day.” He kissed us both and walked from the bedroom and out the front door, lightly slamming it behind him. I looked over at Carter, his hazel eyes beaming at me. I smiled and kissed his cheek. “Good morning, baby. Do you want mommy to get you some milk?” The words no sooner left my mouth when he broke into a loud sob. “No! I want my daddy come back!” Giant tears began rolling down his face. Angry and exhausted I clenched my teeth and snarled to him, “Oh yea, well daddy is busy working. Maybe you should have spent quality time with him last night instead of torturing me if he’s so great.” I couldn’t believe the nerve of this kid. If it wasn’t for me rescuing him he would have been stuck behind bars crying his eyes out all night and now he wants his daddy? I’ll never understand how kids are programmed. How they punish their primary caregiver and perceive the one that abandons them all day as a superhero. I let the thought exit my mind as quickly as it came. There was no way I could explain this to a toddler. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and moved toward the kitchen to fetch his cup of milk. It was now 8:15 a.m. Time for the day to begin.

Our days were always filled with routines and surprises. There were bills to pay and clothes to clean. Carter would do his best to break me throughout the day so it was time to put my game face on and plan our activities. I poured myself a giant cup of coffee with extra sugar, took a giant swig and brought Carter his cup. He was quiet now and enjoying his morning programming. “Here’s your milk buddy.” I said while slipping the cup into his little hand. He never broke his gaze from the TV. Wanting to cash in on his attentiveness on something other than myself, I walked quietly into the bathroom. I stood there for a few short minutes examining my face in the mirror. It was amazing to me how in two short years I managed to age ten. I could hear Carter in the distance shuffling to get down of the bed. I took a deep breath and quietly chanted “I love being a mom, I’ll survive this.” I was hopeful that saying the words out loud would ease my frustration. Seconds later, the door flew open and behind me a small figure came running in, arms spread shouting “Mommeeeee.” I turned to see his smiling face beaming up at me and suddenly nothing else mattered.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Ask The Mouthy Mommy..

I thought it would be fun to open the new year by trying something different. Every week I write about topics that I have acquired through the Internet, real life or my own personal brand of crazy. Never before have I taken the time to open the lines of communication and answer questions for my readers. Forget asking, what would Jesus do, today we're going to find out what the Mouthy Mommy would do and hopefully you'll get some incite into who I am and what I can do to help you.

The questions I will be answering today were submitted through the Mouthy Mavens Facebook fan page, e-mails, conversation and text messages. Though, there were many questions submitted I only had room for five. Sorry, if your question didn't get an answer this time. I only have so much time...

* Mouthy Mommy,
How do I make a really good impression on a first date? -Jeremy, 26 KS

Hi Jeremy from Kansas! What a great question. I'm guessing that since you decided to ask someone other than your co-worker at the Piggly Wiggly that you A) have a lot of first dates that don't work out or B) and the most probable, you've not had a date with anyone other than a second cousin since little Suzy pulled you behind the jungle gym and asked you to play doctor in the first grade . Either way, I think I can help!

The first thing you want to do is bathe, deodorize and man scape. There is nothing that ruins a first date faster than a harry man that smells like feet and Frito's. I would also advise against wearing any cologne that has "Designer Impostor" in the title. Trust me, you will be fooling no one. Once you are clean, shaved and smelling right, it's time to throw on your Sunday best. No t-shirts or tattered jeans. You want her to think you've got it together, not living out of the back of your 57 Chevy pick-up. Looking good is important, no matter what anyone says. "It's what's on the inside that counts" is a slogan meant only for the blind.

Before you pick up your lady friend, make sure you have enough cash in your wallet to pay for that classy dinner you planed at The Sizzler. I suggest you take out about $20 in ones and wrap a $50 bill around it to give the illusion that you're "living large." Girls like a man that is financially stable. Which leads me to the most important thing you must know and practice during this date. Because it's the first, there is absolutely no reason to be yourself. You can be you after she's impressed and you've slept with her. The best thing for you to do is let her meet, what I like to call "your representative". It's still you, but better because the crazy is hidden. And how do you hide it? Don't let her know you're broke. Don't tell her you live with your "momma" and never under any circumstance tell her you've not been on a date in "a long time". These are all red flags that scream "There's something wrong with this guy. RUN!" At least to any self respecting woman. Think about it would you want to date the real you? If the answer is NO,(which I'm sure it is or why would you need my advice) then why would she. Fake it until you bone her or challenge yourself and keep the facade going until she's in love. Remember good impressions are based on two L'S; Looks and Lies. Go get her and good luck! Let me know how it works out.- MM

* Mouthy Mommy,
How do you find time to write your hysterical blogs with a little one running around? Jennifer, 26 FL

Jennifer, it is not easy! It requires two very important things; insomnia and Dedication. Oh, and sometimes a closet to hide in. Let me explain... It is rare that I have time during the day to sit and write. As I'm sure you are aware, a two-year-old requires attention at all times. It is absolutely astounding how suicidal they can be when they are awake and it's absolutely ridiculous how much time it takes me to write, brainstorm, research, and in my case as a writer, super spell check to get a blog ready to be posted. So, because I was not willing to give up taking care of my kid or pursuing my dreams of becoming a writer, a terrible case of insomnia kicked in to help me out. It sounds crummy, but it's really been like a gift from God.

Now, let me tell you about my process...On Tuesday and Thursday nights (after 10pm)I sort through my thoughts and note books. Then I take what I have and mold it into what you read the following day. I usually have the content finished by 2 or 3am. When I have finished typing it up, I go to bed. I then run through what I wrote for about an hour, changing sentences and adding one liners (all in my head). Usually by 4am I'm sleeping.

At 7 am the next morning I toss my toddler in front of the TV and lock myself in the closest closet, so that I may revise what I have written 8 to 10 more times in silence. It is then that I throw in the changes and one-liners that I mind-wrote right before I passed out from exhaustion at 4am. This process takes about an hour, so I have to make sure the kid is busy with a movie or gated in somewhere safe. After the revisions are done and I am as disgusted and frustrated with my writing a humanly possible, I say fuck it and click the post button. Then I'm free to do my mommy chores! It's not glamorous, I'm always tired and sometimes I wonder what exactly it is I think I'm doing. But then I remember that everyone has got to start some where and it's best that the journey be Oprah friendly. Hope this answered your question. -MM (P.S- Thanks for the compliment. I've never been called hysterical before. I like it!)

* Mouthy Mommy,
How do you write blogs/post and not feel bad about pissing someone off? Brittany 26, FL

Brittany, the answer to your question is this... When you are a person of mouthy nature, you tend to be a loner. Though I don't set out to intentionally offend or upset anyone in my line of work, it is common. Which is why I decided early on that this endeavor was not about making friends. I feel that if I write something that upsets some they have two options one) they can talk to me about it, I am more than happy to agree to disagree or apologize when I am wrong or two) they can slam me and gather their pitch forks, in which case they can SUCK IT! ( I will not be bullied) I realize that not everyone sees the world the way I do and honestly, thank God for that. I don't come here and step on baby kitties... I come here and try to make people laugh and on rare occasion make them think too. There is absolutely no reason for me to feel bad for saying what's on my mind and being myself. As long as my fans get it, even if there is only one, that's all that I care about and that's all that I'm here for.-MM

*Why do you constantly poke fun of your husband? I mean really, what did he do to deserve this public humiliation? Steve -the husband

Oh, Steve... Stop being so dramatic. You are looking at this the wrong way. Da Vinci didn't paint the Mona Lisa to humiliate her. She was his muse, as you are mine. The stupid shit you do around the house inspires me to write and I must say, it is some of my best work. So please, learn to laugh at yourself and while you're at it take out the trash. Because you slacking on chores, is exactly what you did to deserve this. Love ya!-MM

*Why can't I see the question I posted to you on Facebook? You know, you have that fan page set up so stupid. That's probably why you have so few interactions. The comment section on your website sucks too. You need to find away to make it easy for people to reach you or I don't see the point to any of this.- The Mouthy Mommy's Dad, Jeff

Well Dad, I have to say that it amazes me how you managed to post comments on the fan page just fine when there was a photo of 5 gay guys wearing Christmas sweaters and you were able to win a prize. Yet, now when you want to contribute something useful that wont earn you anything you can't figure it out. My favorite part of your question though, is where you blame me, Facebook and for your incompetence. I'll tell you what dad, since you are the only one with issues, because everyone else is doing just fine stop kidding yourself, I am going to set up a P.O Box just for you. This way you can work with the technology you are familiar with ex) pen, paper, stamps, Postmen. I don't need you catching a stroke every time you want to post something on my Facebook wall. You're the only parent I have left! Maybe for your birthday my sisters and I will pitch in and get you a trained pigeon. Then any time you want to tell us something you can just jot it down on a tiny scroll, tie it to his little leg and toss the Goddamn thing out the window. I know you're only 47 dad but, if you keep it up you're going to a home. Shit, even grandma can work Facebook. Smooches!-MM

Thanks to everyone that sent in a question. Sorry, I didn't get to all of them. Depending on the feedback I may make the "ASK THE MOUTHY MOMMY" a regular thing and if I do I will answer the questions that didn't make it today... Happy new year and love to all my readers!