in Paperback and on Kindle! 

"If Mama ain't happy...nobodies happy" so come on, join my happiness project. Pull your party pants on get ready to dance. 
Seems no one has enough money, time or things to remain constantly happy these days, so why not forget about all that? Why not pull your happy from within?

"Drop Your Parachute, 

                       Not Your Party Pants!" 
...is THE little book that could. Find out how you can be happy with exactly what you have now. Jump off the 'more' treadmill immediately so you can appreciate who you are and where you are right now in your life!



(for the Kindle Version there is also a companion WORKBOOK available) 



Don't miss a minute of this one.

You'll laugh till you pee your pants!


Perfect Summer Beach Book!

"Brown has been hailed as the 21st Century's 

Erma Bombeck!" 


Customer Reviews

(5Stars)Jacqui Brown is Hilarious! June 18, 2012
Jacqui Brown is smart, funny and witty! Once I started reading this book I couldn't put it down! It made my day!(5Stars)absolutely hysterical June 11, 2012 By Monique Roosevelt "Erma Bombeck is probably sitting in heaven thinking, `What a delight that someone picked up where I left off' only with a 21st century take on life. Each story is hilarious and when retold with Brown's stand-up humor, well, you just have to read it for yourself! Absolutely hilarious!" 

OMG - She said What? LOL!June 25, 2012 By 

Nilo Moller - See all my reviews

5.0 out of 5 stars
This review is from: BITCH PLEASE (Kindle Edition)
Some of us recall finding open cartons of milk inexplicably placed in pantries by our mamas, the same mamas whose pinched-looking red faces beaded with sweat taking time-outs with their heads stuck into open freezers hoping for a quick cool down fix. How it was explained then was, "Your mom's going through The Change." The Change. Someday we as middle aged women would know The Change ourselves. And we would commiserate with our girlfriends who were our sisters in that menopausal madness that we kept among ourselves and our favourite "woman's doctor".

Well, Jacqui Brown rips the crocheted shawl off the shush-you-can't-say-that explanation of our common experience of womenhood and no holds barred dissects the shit out of our bodily functions and makes us laugh (and - I'm sure - some blush). This is a really, really funny book. And I mean non-stop funny. Nothing is sacred. Not the vagina. Not the husband. Not the insanity. Without giving too much away, I will say that menopause is just one aspect of the very, very interesting life (and recovery of events therein) of a former small-town girl from Ontario who took a leap of faith in her youth to move to California and about which she has written in this and previous books. I give "Bitch Please" 2 sagging buttcheeks up!

           "RECOVERY'S A BITCH"



The sequel to "Dancing With The Devil" is a humorous look at  repairing what's left of your mind, that is, if there's anything left to repair. 

"Recovery's A Bitch"... AS IF MENOPAUSE ALONE WASN'T BAD ENOUGHis about filling up the big black void left in the wake of recovery. It doesn't matter what you're recovering from, you have to learn new tricks to move forward into a more peaceful existence.

Never in my life did I feel so undone by what was left of my sanity after my daughter got sober. Sounds foolish and crazy I know, but the brain is a trickster and motherhood--well that can be a real bitch too!

The humor, sometimes satirical and warped, details how you must learn to bust outside the box you've been in. You have to learn to let go of old habits [like waiting for the next shoe to drop], because once the closet is full you're done. It's also about getting your balls back so you don't have to walk on eggshells for the rest of your life.

Having read nearly all the self-help books on the market, I decided to compile all the things I've learned from them in this book. Yes, some of it is serious but mostly, it's about learning to look at things you don't like in a whole new way in order for them to look different and doable.

"When your belly begins to resemble the Bermuda Triangle, and you discover that your boobs have found a comfortable home in the front pocket of your jeans, AND you no longer have to worry about shaving the back of your legs because your butt has moved South, then you really need to take a good look at your sorry ass self and decide that change must be imminent." 


                  READ AN EXCERPT BELOW!

To buy this book click here: http://www.amazon.com/Recoverys-Bitch-menopause-enough-ebook/dp/B005233UDY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1359647735&sr=1-1&keywords=recovery%27s+a+bitch


5.0 out of 5 stars GET A KICK OUT OF LIFE & LAUGH FOR A WHILEJune 4, 2011

"Get your day off to a laugh, a most keen sense of humor and craziness. I love this girl, this author, she's, THE REAL DEAL. You can bet on that.. take it to the bank. And buy it!"  

Tammy Abbott

5.0 out of 5 stars Life is so damn funny ... except for when it's not.February 20, 2012
"How would you react if your daughter was recovering from drug addiction while you were sweating with the oldies every night - and during the day too? Only the oft-hilarious Ms. Brown can find humour in life's darkest moments. This true story will bring you to tears - both kinds - joy and pain. Which is truly the story of life, isn't it? In Recovery's A Bitch this madcap author captures it all with honesty, poignancy and that twisted wit exclusive to stand-up comics. What a ride!" Vickie van Dyke, Author of Eat, Cheat, And Be Happy!

5.0 out of 5 stars Drug Recovery? Rescue me, Lord! Jacqui Brown embodies the "Super Mom" on a rollercoster journey. PricelessFebruary 22, 2012
Thomas M. Brady "tmb" (los angeles) 
Jacqui Brown shares a very personal journey as she combats a painful subject - drug dependency. She sets out to conquer her demons, plays the leading role as "Super Mom" and holds everything together in this poignant, cathartic tale. Those seeking guidance and solace will immediately connect with the author's wit and ten year roller coaster ride towards inner peace. "Recovery's A Bitch" is a moving, highly charged book, rapt with gut-splitting humor. You cannot put this priceless book down. Bravo Jacqui Brown!! Thomas M. Brady

5.0 out of 5 stars AmenJune 13, 2012
"Need a laugh? How about a good cry? Not sure? This should do it.
If you're a woman over the age of consent, read it - someday this stuff is coming your way.
If you're a man who knows a woman - this is information that is essential.
If you have no idea what to think, do or say about life after reality sets in - - read this! No doubt you will feel better and perhaps a glimmer of understanding might leak through, but it's not just you and this is one big boat that we are all in."

"To all of my girl friends that are going through this, get this book now!! Jacqui tells it like it is, guarantee you will relate to this and laugh all the way through! This book is truly the truth...all will love it. Menopause WTF!!! We will survive." 


"Your words gave me encouragement and strength!  I cried, laughed, and did a lot of thinking.  The way that you write is special. You really send a strong message with humor and caring from your heart! In your "recovery's a bitch" you talk about that book that you felt was your bible.  Well I have highlighted many of the words you wrote and reread them several times almost as if I have found my bible!" 



Forget the Shock Jock. Meet Shock Mom.

Embracing “Shock” Therapy to Bring Healing to Families of Addicts

By Chris Bertrand

Jacqui Brown wants to break down barriers, bulldoze the walls of silence, relegating that game face of “I’m OK; You’re OK” back to the closet. To that end, Brown, author of Recovery’s a Bitch. as if Menopause Alone Wasn’t Bad Enough! brings her raw, in your face and purposely unnerving style to your nearby Kindle, paperback and blog. By page three, she she has you asking yourself, “What the..?”

Then, you find you’re committed. Envision picking glass shards from your body after an explosion. You’re horrified. You can’t stop, but neither can you look away. It’s also unclear if leaving the shards in or taking them out will cause more pain, or even death. So you keep reading.

Yet, when all the bloody pieces are laid on the table, and the catharsis is done, you’re the better for it. Her nonstop rant has accomplished its goal. Brown has shouted and sworn all those words and the previously whispered behind the door concepts of teenage addiction, rehab and relapse out loud for long enough, that the inability to speak of it disappears.

A few years back, Brown, a stay at home mom with two children and a music producer husband, Paul Brown, were living a privileged So Cal life.  Then the “devil” took up residence. Their teenage daughter became addicted to drugs.

Gallows humor and a game face sufficed for a while, as she made offhanded remarks to friends in carpool and at Starbucks about the latest extrication of their daughter from a nearby drug house and near death experiences.

When full blown menopause met the tornado of her daughter’s addiction, the Jacqui Brown perfect storm hit. The gloves came off. The game face was shoved in the closet, but thankfully the humor stayed.

Her critical message is that in order to recover, one must be willing to change. The Encarta Dictionary defines “recover” as “to regain something, to get back something previously lost” but also to “control or correct yourself, to return to a composed state.”

Brown decided she could change her life, and recover in both definitions of the word, from menopause, and from her daughter’s addiction. From the wild highs, lows and hormonal fluctuations of menopause, and from being completely and utterly responsible for her daughter’s every move, error, her ultimate happiness or unhappiness, even of her existence.

Jacqui Brown’s path to her own recovery involves an unfiltered, gut wrenching, guffaw-filled intimate look inside. The pain, the laughs, the sagging neckline and drooping breasts can be felt right through the pages written as though the reader were on the other end of a longwinded telephone conversation.

The result is feeling like you’ve lived it, and can perhaps learn from her journey. Brown’s passionate stream of consciousness book performs “shock” therapy without a medical license, but in full control of the ultimate trump
card, motherhood. The taboo topic of surviving a family member’s addiction has just been thrust into everyday conversation, brought into the bright light. by a mom. Thanks, mom!


                         Now In Paperback, Kindle



                                                                      Available on AMAZON.com           

                       "In motherhood 

                        We are invincible 

    Except for that which touches our children

                                We fall 

                            We fall hard 

                 And sometimes we shatter"

Drugs don't just kill the addict, they kill the soul of those who must bear witness to their demise.

No one knows the pain better than a parent who watches a child slowly fade away due to his or her drug addiction. It steals the joy from every breath, every heartbeat, and every thought. It keeps you awake at night waiting and wondering if they will make it home intact. 

Far too often you find yourself preparing for the call - the one that will change your life irrevocably - the call that bespeaks that the devil has always been one step ahead of you and the game is finally over.

But you hang in there and do whatever you can to save them until that day comes - if it comes. You force yourself to hold on, to be strong enough for both of you, to survive no matter what the cost. 

The collateral damage it causes is unbearable at times but you learn to persevere. 

Whether you're a mother,  father, brother or sister, the rules are the same. You have to find that one tiny shred of hope and cling to it like a life raft because without you - there will be no saving. 


Dancing With The Devil details with such clarity the collateral damage incurred by anyone who has been touched by addiction. Jacqueline Brown’s powerful debut novel gives you an in-depth look at how debilitating, frightening, and exhausting it is to raise a child under the influence. It is a tale of hope, faith, and finally salvation.

From page one of this uniquely written dialogue you will be captivated by the lyrical conversations between the author and the angel sent to watch over her. You will come to understand that the unconditional love of a parent can be so binding, so intensely powerful, so completely absorbing they become willing to lose all of themselves to save an addicted child from                                                   Dancing With The Devil.  


"Just got it delivered....read the first sonata and was so moved, blown away I had to put it down.......we know the truth when we see it. The book has left me speechless; it is so brave, profound and poignant;  a glorious meditation. I pray you have huge success with this, it is a masterpiece." 

"I just finished reading your book.  On a scale from 1 to 5, it is a 10.  It is written beautifully and with an honesty that punched me in the gut.  I can't stop thinking about it.  It's heart wrenching and filled with feeling.  Every parent should read it and it should be read by any person in recovery." 

"It's chilling...raw...a must read."


"Wow...That is strong stuff. Hard to recommend for a couple of days. I'd have to explain my haggard look by saying I'd read a book that, literally, I could not put down and sat with until dawn."


"There are plenty of books out there from recovered addicts, but Browns novel is so powerful, so intimately detailed, so honest and brave, it will take your breath away. It will show you that if you can be strong enough for two then salvation is possible!" 


I want to send out a big thanks to all my new fans and readers. The Los Angeles Times Festival of Books signing was a huge success! My apologies to those who did not get a book because they went very quickly. 

Please feel free to e-mail me your comments about the book or just to say hello. I would be more than happy to talk with those who are going down the same path with their children. Support in getting through a rough patch can be extremely helpful so don't hesitate to contact me. I would be happy to speak with you! 

If you read the book, if you learned something, or if the book helped you in any way, please feel free to write a review on Amazon.com. and don't forget to hit the like button!



                                CHECK OUT "THE BOOK I'M WRITING ON LINE" AT: 



 Addiction is a terrible thing

 Reader Rating 

Posted February 19, 2009, 11:55 AM EST: It seems like an impossible life when you're raising a child addicted to drugs. Brown seems to have found the one link that kept her going during the years she spent trying to keep her child alive. It ends with hope in the air and proves that tenacity is stronger than outside influences.

4.0 out of 5 stars Couldn't put it down!March 20, 2009
By Jacklyn Curry (Los Angeles, CA United States)

This is an intense read; emotionally like looking through a peep-hole at an open-heart surgery. But raw anguish and confusion are relieved by the shreds of hope and glimpses of understanding provided by an "angel" (real or imagined??) who helps this mother-at-the-end-of-her-rope to tie a knot and hang on. Reads like a very personal journal: as if both the mother and her daughter's very survival depended upon her accurately and immediately recording every nuance on whatever scraps of paper were at hand. But this mother is no saint either...coping with her own self-destruction tendencies are part of the dance. Recommended to anyone battling substance addiction.


Both my daughter and I have moved on to a different chapter in our lives, and as she turns her life around through sobriety (more than 3 years now), she is discovering all that she has missed. She has found her passion and is at long last happy to be in her life! 

I too am finding a new place to begin and believe me - it's a far more peaceful and ordinary life.



"Sometimes when I cry, the tears run down my leg!"

I am also working on a new stand-up comedy routine, a hilarious screenplay, and a memoir writing business. 








My Heart Be Still...

Each turn—each twist, do I go deeper, enter the pain, let it absorb me in order to let go 

Too many questions to each beat as my heart races seeking answers

Where are you I scream silent

No one can know the dilemma of my life, the secret held close, the bottle that my hand so precariously wraps around as each day passes 

It was meant to heal, but instead it hides, only hides

It is evil like the rest that comes through my door

But, too much façade painstakingly put in place may break under pressure,where too many lies run like water under the bridge 

I am calm, normal, undeniable sane on the outside 

I am immortal in the eyes of the innocent, the fruit of my loin who hang on my words 

I am the mother Goddess crowned in glory as each spewed into life- my blood as protection 

It was a promise, trust me—trust me 

Lying protected in my arms, trust me—I will do no harm 

But failure lurks 

The devil has a spotter 

A blink of the eye, a turn of the cheek 

One second in time, I fall, I break, I fail you 

Heaven at a distance, hell on your doorstep 

A promise unfolds like dirty laundry 

A heart shatters as the darkness of her world unfolds 

Collateral damage is imminent 

Let me hold you forever I call out to the woman child 

My blood is yours if it will save you 

My eyes are yours if they will make you see 

My legs are yours if they will bring you back to me

Oh innocence so lost, irrevocably changed, by time—by choice—by madness 

It shatters me, every bone—every nerve, every breath I take 

I’m falling as you are, I am too weak to battle 

I am at your side, with you in silence, with you in your pain 

Will it end in death—not life, my heart cries out to know 

Oh sweet angel dark and velvet surrounded in light 

Help me—I’m begging 

Come show me the way to reach a soul on its way to dying 

Not mine I fear—but hers 

Will me your strength to hold on my angel 

Give me the words to save a girl lost—so lost 

Sweet youth drifting away on a journey 


It is fearful here 

Speak into the wind and fill me so that I might breathe towards her ears, on a chance she is listening, on a chance she will feel it against her skin 

Oh angel, save me so I may save a girl like her 

The one who on my breast dreamed of pureness and wonder, of life not death, of a future not darkness 

Hold tight, hold tight, you are divine and will rise, you whisper in the quiet to assure my heart opened wide like a wound 

I feel it on the breeze on a night still as stone 

You are here beside me holding my pain 

Your words rise in my heart

Why did I doubt 

Forgive me my foibles, I live in fear that the devil can outrun me to her soul 


KNOWING THERE WAS A GOOD possibility that I might just actually lose my mind without some kind of intervention, I started looking outside the box for things I could do to try to resolve some of the issues I was experiencing.

As much as I wanted to feel elated, to feel some kind of relief, I simply couldn’t. I was tired, angry, frustrated, unhappy, unhip, relentlessly sad, chronically depressed, overwhelmed, anxious, foggy-brained, under stimulated, and way over my head emotionally.

One of the best moves I made was to get my hormones checked.

[Yes—those fucking hormones again]

For someone in, let’s just say the prime of my life, I knew that all the misery I was feeling [self induced or not] could not possibly all be blamed on circumstance. I kept looking for something else—for an easy solution that would resolve some of the crap floating around in what was left of my once vibrant mind.

Note to self:

Flush the mental toilet after every meltdown as to eliminate any discernable or indiscernible clogs. This is not the time to go with the adage of “if it’s yellow-let it mellow”.

Menopause does not discriminate on the basis of race, religion, sexual preference, or political beliefs when it comes to screwing you physically or mentally. It does not care whether you’re a complete schmuck or the perfect angel.

Once your hormones are altered there’s no going back, at least not without some kind of medical intervention. A simple blood test [which I’ve been doing every year since I hit fifty] revealed that there was no, none, nada, estrogen left in my body.

Holy shit!  I’d finally caught a break!

My gynecologist’s office called me just a few hours after they tested my blood and told me I should come in immediately so they could give me some gel to rub on my arm; gel that would replace my depleted hormone system and hopefully bring back some of my long lost pleasure.

Halaluliah! Praise be to whoever!

There was finally something I could do to change the path I was on.

I had no body fluids left that would maintain my happiness factor. It wasn’t entirely my fault or my daughters fault that I was so bloody miserable!

Not that this was the best news though. It also meant that I was on the other side of the fence gliding slowly towards old age; but, at least it was a good place to start.

The simple fact is this: I’m a woman, and this shit happens. Women have been graced with so many breakable parts it’s no wonder we start losing our minds as we enter mid-life. It feels like there’s no rhyme or reason to this portion of our journey with the exception of this—

Everything fucking changes!

Just when we think it’s safe to go back into the water there’s another great white shark hovering just below the surface waiting to take yet another bite out of our ass—ala—lack of these much needed  hormones.

Now, l love, love, love my medical doctors to death, but my brain kept screaming for a more natural solution. I’d heard all the news about hormone replacement and their ugly statistics, which were good, bad, and ugly. I had to decide whether I was willing to take the chance of developing some horrendous heart problem, or developing an ugly case of breast cancer, or any other cancer for that matter. Statistics are statistics and my breasts are lumpy enough as it is. [Thank-you very much mom!]

So, I did what I do best. I started talking to other women to see what route they chose, who their doctor’s were, and based my decision on those results.

I chose bio-identical hormone replacement because it felt like the right thing to do. My gynecologist thinks bio-identical hormones are a crock because of the inexactness of the compounding formula’s, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t wait to get on board.

On the recommendation of several very intelligent women friends, I sought out one particular doctor because this was her specialty and they all swore by her.

I was of course shocked and disappointed that I’d have to wait nearly two months to see her, but at least I had a plan.  There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and this time it wasn’t a train barreling down on me!

When I finally did see her we talked, she wrote shit down, she asked me a million questions, and wrote more shit down. By the end of the hour [which cost somewhere in the area of $350 bucks but worth every penny] I started feeling human again, even hopeful, because she said that all women go through this period in their life. I was not unusual, or special, and I was also not doing this to myself...I was without a doubt now—hormonally imbalanced.

As an added bonus she threw in testosterone to help boost my libido, which had also fallen prey to the dying off, getting old, deterioration process as well.

She said many women had regained their desire for sex by adding this to their therapy but then, she also warned me that many women she talked to after they’d been on testosterone for a while, and were indeed feeling sexy again, said they wanted to screw anyone except their husbands. Hmm…I thought to myself. That could be interesting!

This of course peaked my curiosity a tad because I had long since stopped looking at other men as sexual objects. They seemed more like unnecessary calories. I was, let’s just say, dead in the water. The thought of men becoming eye-candy once again was intriguing to say the least! Not that I was going to go there, but having the option available was not such a bad thing.

I watched for the mailman every day after my appointment with her because the compounding lab was located in Arizona and they’d be shipping my bottled happiness directly to me.

Could it get any simpler?

When I saw him approaching my mailbox a few days later with a little white box in his hands, my feet hit the ground running. When he saw me and realized I looked out of my mind and was heading straight for him, he tried to beat me to the mailbox, to get whatever was in his hands out of his hands.

I guess the crazed look on my face warned him that whatever was in that neatly wrapped little package was uber-important and he was not willing to risk getting injured in the line of duty. I got to within two feet of him and hissed out the words “give it to me now or die”! He tossed the box at me along with the other mail, then hightailed it back to his truck.

Well—okay—it didn’t exactly go down like that [except in my mind] but when I got my hands on that neatly wrapped box, I turned into one of those ugly animals that can rip anything apart with their teeth. I shredded the packaging until I found the prize, and—there they were—two adorable little brown bottles with dropper tops. I wanted to put them on a shrine, pay my respects to them, but of course I didn’t. I knew the quicker these suckers hit my blood stream, the quicker I’d feel better.

I knew the mailman was still sitting there in his truck, most likely with his finger on the trigger of his pepper spray. I knew he’d be shaken from my outburst. I smiled at him, to reassure him I was okay, and that he would be okay, then casually turned and walked back towards my house as though nothing happened. Poor bastard!

Note to self:

Remember to include big tip this Christmas to make ammends for this assault!

“Two drops of estrogen under the tongue in the morning and two drops at night. One drop of testosterone in the morning and nothing at night”—those were my instructions.

Nothing more-nothing less!

Well, I cracked open the testosterone first and watched carefully in the mirror as the white liquid fell from the dropper to the spot inside my mouth right under my tongue. I closed my eyes and waited. Then I waited some more. I was expecting that at any moment it was going to kick in and I’d probably have to rub my own nipples when the wave of horniness hit, but, that never happened.

What the?

I can be very patient when I need to be, but this was pushing my patience button. I wanted some kind of magic to happen, some kind of immediate reaction, but there was nothing. No tingling groin, no immediate need for a hug—nothing!

I looked at myself in the mirror expecting to see some kind of transformation, a softening of the lines around my eyes, a soft tangle forming in my hair giving me that come hither look you get right after a tumble in bed, but nothing changed.

I still looked pissed off and frenzied.

Where was my horny?

I stood there trying to reason with myself and figure out why nothing was happening. Maybe I’d screwed up. Maybe I was supposed to take the estrogen first, you know, so I’d be calm and happy before the juices started flowing. You know, before that tingle down there started to rise like the beast I was trying to conjure up.

Maybe I should have just rubbed my nipples for luck anyway.

Maybe, just maybe, I’d gone about the whole process all wrong. So, I cracked open the other bottle and put two drops under my tongue in the same fashion. Again, I closed my eyes and waited, and waited, and waited, but I still didn’t feel anything.

Had I trained my brain so well nothing would crack open the happiness vault?

Was I subconsciously holding on to the past because it had become my comfort zone?

I looked down at the tattered box and that’s when I saw a little sheet of paper tucked neatly inside the part I hadn’t shredded. I picked it up and read the short little paragraph that explained that it would take up to three weeks for the hormones to really kick in.


I wanted to feel something now. Something that would make me feel—at the very least—hopeful, horny, and at ease.

How is it that we live in such a fast paced world where we can obtain just about anything immediately, but when it comes to mental relief or possibly a mind fucking, toe curling orgasm, we have to wait? We always have to fucking wait.

“Bide your time young lady”.

God! I can almost hear my mother saying that out loud. “Good things come to those who wait”.

Hell I didn’t want to wait—

I wanted to come!

Why do we have to suffer like that?

We can send a man to the moon in one day, but we can’t pump up our hormones without a delayed reaction.

The one thing I wanted the most to have, immediate gratification, was not going to happen. Believe me, I tried to trick my brain for the next hour but alas, it was not going to be fooled this time. I guess the reality was, I was actually going to have to bide my time.


Yeah I know. Listen to your mother.

Good things come to those who wait, good things come...! Blah, blah, blah…

Fucking hormones!

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