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.

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 http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1919910,00.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!

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.

"Mug-gellan"

"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.

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

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!

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 MouthyMommy.com 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!