My Neuroses

Mar8Because Cursing Is Like A Love Song To Charlie Sheen…#winning
Tonya

As I was driving up the FDR in the pouring rain on Monday, my road rage in full gear, it dawned on me that my cursing has gotten a bit out of control (and this from a gal who thinks ‘shit’ can and should be used in pretty much any context). My rampant potty mouth was later, more seriously, confirmed at the grocery store where my toddler, after standing in a very long line for a few minutes, screamed: “Jesus H. Christ, mommy, what we waiting for?” Out of the mouth of babes…I suppose. I mean, come on, the kid can’t seem to get the “to be” verb correct, or much less even acknowledge its existence, but he sure knows how to use the ‘choice’ words! I mean, come on, even Eminem says he doesn’t curse around his kids!

So, I’ve decided I’m going to use some Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to change this bad habit o’ mine. (I know CBT because I’ve thumbed through quite a few self-help books in my day thus bestowing upon my much-learned person a ‘Ph.D.’ in Psychotherapy of the Chicken Soup variety, it’s a very important degree). For those who don’t know, CBT involves recognizing the adverse reaction then setting up a healthier action in its place.  I’ve made a list of hypotheticals to help myself out in the future:

#1

Situation:

Some lady with a beer in one hand and a cell in the other driving a beat-up old car cuts me off on the BQE.

Immediate reaction:

Holy Shit, cunt! Watch where you’re going you Christina Aguilera drunk ass ho!

Adjusted action:

Pardon me, Miss party-in-a-hooptie, perhaps, you’d like me to phone you a taxi so you don’t have an accident in raptor mode?

#2

Situation:

Pharmacy tech can’t find my prescription because he’s too busy talking to his buddy.

Immediate reaction:

Look you sonofabitch I don’t give a flying fuck about what you dumbasses did last night, I just want my motherfuckin’ meds now or I’m gonna hop over this damn counter and cut your fucking balls off with a spork.

Adjusted action:

Excuse me, cooter brains, I don’t mean to interrupt this obviously very important epiphanot about last night’s huge party but could you hand me my medication? I will give you some money in return and no one will leave here walking funny. Win – win.

#3

Situation:

Businessman in a hurry pushes my toddler out of the way and steps on my foot.

Immediate reaction:

Motherfucker! What the hell is wrong with you? For fuck’s sake, assface, watch where the hell you’re going! I’ll tear you limb from motherfucking limb next time you touch my kid you fuckwad.

Adjusted action:

Oh kitten paws! Facepalm! That really hurt! Please watch where you’re going you twinkle monkey! Also, next time you touch my kid I will totally ninjiate you like a narwinkle!

Obviously, a key to keeping my cursing at a minimum is to find other ways to describe the folks and situations that upset me. So, I’ve compiled a list of some phrases that are currently in the running:

-cooter brains = dumbass

-epiphanot = stupid fucking idea

-facepalm = for fuck’s sake

-ninjiate = kill

-narwinkle = crazy animal

-raptor mode = very drunk

-twinkle monkey = man who likes to show his wealth

Anyone else have some ideas? God knows I’ll need some more…

Filed Under: Marshall Bruce Mathers III Eminem, My Neuroses
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21 Comments

 
Mar3I’m On a Highway to Where?
Paula

Well, hell apparently.  According to Angus Young of AC/DC anyway.  I’m usually not the superstitious type, but this upcoming move to New Jersey has me looking for meaning in absolutely everything.  The temperature is 42 degrees in Jersey and I really like that number. . . clearly moving is a good idea!  The train ride to our town is 29 minutes. . .  I met my husband when I was 29, we met on the 29th of January and our daughter was born on the 29th of February.  Obviously we were meant to live here!  All of our hopes and dreams will come true in New Jersey!  Our daughter will cure cancer and then become the first woman President!  This is how anxious I am about leaving my beloved borough of Brooklyn.  As of this month I’ve lived here 15 years.  During that time I’ve done some crazy things.  I had some bad haircuts, worn some terrible clothes and undeniably made some poor choices.  But Brooklyn is also where I grew up.  I eventually got a little bit wiser, started to make some better decisions, met my husband, got married, and some how ended up being someone’s mother.  Okay, you get it.  Conflict!  Moving is scary!  But today I decided I was going to face one of the scariest parts of this move.  I was going to get in our new car and drive it to the grocery store.  People in Brooklyn drive like maniacs, and it’s intimidating for a person who hasn’t been behind the wheel in five years.  I made it to the store without incident.  In fact, I actually in enjoyed it.  The ride back was even better because I was finally loosening up. . . so much that at a red light I decided to turn on the radio to the classic rock station.  What was playing?  HIGHWAY TO HELL by AC/DC.  Nice.  Am I on a highway to hell?  Maybe.  Maybe I am.  But for now I’m just going to roll down the window, turn up the volume and go for another drive.

This Subaru Forrester and I thought we were on our way to Fairway to buy groceries, but apparently we were on a “highway to hell.”

Oh, and yeah – how about you all make my day and click that fancy CIRCLE OF MOMS FAVORITE button over to the left?  It will take you to the place where you can vote for adhocMOM.  Seriously, please?  Yeah, I’m begging.

Filed Under: Fear, Insanity, My Neuroses
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6 Comments

 
Feb24And These Will Be The Days Of Our Lives?
Paula

The family and I drove out to Jersey last weekend to check out the town we will soon be living in.  It’s super cute and everyone was ridiculously pleasant to the point where I started to feel nervous.  What’s wrong with these people?  I chalked it all up to NYC cynicism and put it out of my head.  But yesterday as I was waiting at the allergists office, DAYS OF OUR LIVES was playing on the tv and it all became crystal clear.  I think I might actually be moving to the famed town of “SALEM!”  No, not the witch burning town. . . the soap opera town!  It all made sense.  Quaint and quiet streets, friendly neighbors (but they’re all really sick tickets once you get to know them).  This is the Salem that is home to “Bo and Hope” (aka Fancy Face), Marlena the prominent Psychiatrist who turned serial killer, and the wealthy but evil Stefano.  I started to get nervous.  People get poisoned here.  Babies are kidnapped like every single day.  You can get buried alive!  Houses burn down every five seconds!  Not to mention the basic stuff like blackmailing, murders, and double identities.  Who is John Black?  Who is he?????  However, the official Days of Our Lives website kindly points out some of the really unique things about living in Salem.  I’m going to detail some of them here in case any of you want to visit:

Notice how this woman is rendered totally unrecognizable by the wig.  Genius!

  • “You have an amazing wardrobe even though you don’t have a job.”
  • “You can drink scotch in the afternoon and not get drunk.”
  • “The average pregnancy only lasts a few weeks.”
  • “You can get killed and come back to life, but if you vacation in Europe, you’re gone for good.”
  • “Although it’s a small town, you have a university, an international airport, a teaching hospital, and an international shipping dock.”
  • “At Salem University, you can go from student to a gifted doctor in a matter of months.”
  • “In Salem, your children age twice as fast as you do.”
  • “Wearing a wig or glasses means nobody will recognize you.”
  • “If you DO get buried alive you will not need to use the bathroom.”

This is all kind of weird, but I have to say I’m getting really excited about our move!

Filed Under: Insanity, My Neuroses
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8 Comments

 
Feb15Let Them Eat Cake! No, Wait, Just Me. Let Me Eat Cake!
Tonya

I like cake. No Wait. Scratch That. I LOVE cake. I’m in a constant battle between my love of all things bready covered in frosting and my vanity, which we can also call my need to be healthy but, really, who am I kidding?

In my opinion a birthday without cake should result in serious jail time for any loved one who shows up with happy tidings but no sugar! Needless to say, don’t come to my house with gifts. I want cake. Lots and lots of cake.

I like cake so much I can’t even watch television shows that feature it on a regular basis. Certainly, Cake Boss is out, and forget watching any reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond, his mom always has some yummy confection she’s toting around, I even have to avoid The Closer, this one is the worst since Kyra Sedgwick is like a 00 but she still has a huge drawer full of ding dongs! Is this how coke heads feel about Two and A Half Men? Maybe I should try that therapy where I overindulge thus making me sick of it? What’s that called? An overdose? Or, perhaps, like Morgan Spurlock meets Julie & Julia, I could try and exist for 365 days on various kinds of cake?

I think the longest I’ve gone on a cake high is a couple of days. My spouse made me a cake and then had to go out of town (I might have made up an email and sent it to him saying he was needed in Chicago or something). So he left me Alone. With. The. Cake. Apparently, I have all the impulse control of a toddler because I ate it for breakfast, lunch and dinner, even after it made me sick, I kept right on eating. Finally, I summoned all my courage and threw what was left into the trash. But a few hours later I heard its tiny, sugar-coated voice calling to me and by that time my glucose had taken such a dip I was pretty sure it was Martha Stewart demanding that I eat it (You do NOT tell her no). I don’t think there’s a lower moment in life than when you have an out-of-body experience only to observe yourself greedily pulling cake remnants out of the trash can and quickly shoving them in your mouth.

I think there must be some genetic predisposition to cake-love because my 3 year old is just as enamored of frosted edibles. His attraction to it, like my own, knows no bounds. Before his birthday party this weekend he managed to stick many fingers in every layer of icing on his cake, climb onto the kitchen counter and get at both the bowl of frosting AND the cake batter, and apparently dodge any possibility of salmonella. The most concrete evidence of his sugary obsession, though, is when I caught him eating what was left of his birthday cake out of the trash.

Sure, he was wearing different clothes and he’s a lot shorter, but, for a moment, I could’ve sworn it was me.

Filed Under: Food, My Neuroses
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17 Comments

 
Feb10Sometimes I Should Actually Just Listen To My Husband
Paula

June and I like to reminisce.  We’ll sit back on the sofa, open up iphoto (because I’m a terrible mother and we have exactly ONE photo album that has about 15 real photos of her) and look at her baby pictures.  Today a photo of herself at just about age two and her dad on the subway was of particular interest.  I completely agreed with her that it was cute, until I remembered when I took it.  We were on our way to her friend Eli’s second birthday party, and June was at the awkward stage where she’s getting too heavy to be carried down the subway steps in a stroller, but still too little to walk more than 30 feet.  Peter thought we should try traveling without a stroller.  OUR SPASTIC TODDLER LOOSE ON THE SUBWAY?  I immediately envisioned a NY1 headline.  NEGLECTFUL MOTHER LOSES CHILD TO SATANIC CULT BECAUSE SHE TOOK HER TODDLER ON SUBWAY WITHOUT A STROLLER AND OF COURSE SHE RAN OUT OF THE TRAIN CAR THE SECOND THE DOORS OPENED AND WAS NEVER SEEN AGAIN.  WHAT DID THESE STUPID PEOPLE EXPECT?  I was about two seconds away from calling my primary care physician and begging for an emergency klonopin prescription before getting on the 2/3 train.  Anyone who knows us knows that Peter is the rational half of the pair.  He finally convinced me that literally hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers (really, that many???) take their children on the subway every single day without incident.  I demanded proof, but he said there wasn’t time, and it’s true that June was getting restless – which was ultimately just going to add danger to the trip.  Bottom line was we made it.  And he was right – in the end, everything was okay and it really did make a cute picture.

Several cocktails were consumed after this death defying act known as “riding the subway.”

Filed Under: Life Lessons, Milestones, My Neuroses, Worries
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7 Comments

 
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