Apparently my last posting was too “aggressive” and “violated” some stupid agreement I had made with both my parole officer and anger management therapist. So I ended up back at the smelly hippie “anger management” camp yet again.
And it was worse than last time. We had to hold hands and SING what we were grateful for every morning noon and night. We endured drum circles, talking sticks, rain sticks and regular old stick sticks. Those hippies love their sticks. I had to listen to too many self-indulgent bleeding hearts talk about their FEELINGS. Their stupid, stupid feelings. And I had to eat tofu NOTdogs, which taste like crayons dipped in butt hole.
But now I’m back.
First, I’d like to point out that all you Tribeca mommies sent me plenty of nasty-nasty e-mail. E-mail that is far worse than my last post. Your e-mail was so nasty that I can’t even post it or I’ll be sent back to smelly hippie anger management camp for violating my agreement yet again.
I can say this, however, in response to the e-mail I got from “VintageMommy.”
VintageMommy, at fifty-four years of age you are too old to be breastfeeding. You are not a "miracle of science." You are yucky. Your e-mail name should be DisgustoOldMommyWithAncientLeakySaggyBoobies. You’re going to break your old calcium-deficient hip when you trip on hideous, plastic baby toys. Nobody likes you. Not your husband, not the other Tribeca Mommies, not even your children. Your Franken-Babies are going to grow up, squander your money on charity and join the peace corp. You will have no retirement money left and you will have to go live with them up at their smelly hippie anger management camp.
And I will laugh and laugh and laugh.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Anger Management
For the past four weeks I’ve had the sheer pleasure of attending a sleep-away camp for anger management. Yes, I was packed off into the woods by a bunch of smelly hippies who were trying to help me get in touch with my “Inner Peace Maker.”
I can tell you why I’m not in touch with my “Inner Peace Maker” on a regular basis. Because people are idiots. They are stupid, rude and they have no sense of personal space. The worst offenders are people with young children. They don’t train their children properly and their hateful spawn are taking over the country. To add insult to injury these “parents” all have dogs. And they don’t clean up after their dogs. In general, these people are tremendous assholes.
(Yes. I’m using curse words. I’ll throw a fiver in the curse jar so the swearword police don’t come after me.)
My offending incident involved asking for a plastic bag at the Whole Foods in Tribeca. I know plastic is bad. I get it. Really. I really do. I usually bring my own bag, I recycle and reuse, all that. But one rainy day in New York City I dashed into Whole Foods and purchased some produce. I don’t travel with my grocery bag at every moment in my existence and I wanted to take my vinegar, lemons and arugula home in a bag that could withstand the rain –- with full plans to use the bag in the future to scoop cat poop into. But while checking out, the cashier at Whole Foods (which should be called Whole Paycheck because it’s so stupidly expensive) asked me, “Paper or plastic?” and I replied, “Plastic.”
A hush descended upon the checkout line as if I had asked for a baby-skin lampshade.
Uber-wealthy, Tribeca, fifty-year-old mommies with toddlers in strollers gasped. Their devil-spawn, designer twins pointed at me in contempt as they drooled onto their five-hundred-dollar matching hemp bibs. I was immediately branded “The Bad Lady Who Wanted Plastic.”
And you know what I did? I told everyone to fuck off. Yes. I know. I violated my parole and my own resolution to curb my use of offensive and aggressive language. But I did it anyway.
I went on a rant about the carbon footprint of designer invitro babies. I did it. I went there.
Did you know that no matter how teensy-tiny your own carbon footprint is your child’s carbon footprint is SIX TIMES BIGGER?! And that’s just one child, not the two you get for the price of one when you let your doctor play GOD.
So fuck you all you rich bitches who are having Five-Hundred-Thousand dollar TWINS while I use my plastic bag for cat shit.
I said all this out loud. And for this public expression of contempt and TRUTH I got a fine from the police for creating a public disturbance.
What about the disturbance of your double wide baby stroller and the shit from your Labradoodle that you don’t pick up?! What about that? No fine for that? WELL, THERE SHOULD BE.
No, Sandra O’Day was the one who had to spend four weeks with stinky hippies in an anger management camp where I had to eat tofu “hot dogs” that tasted like crayons.
Fuck you Tribeca Mommies. I hate you and I want to punch your toddlers in the face. And I’m not alone.
I can tell you why I’m not in touch with my “Inner Peace Maker” on a regular basis. Because people are idiots. They are stupid, rude and they have no sense of personal space. The worst offenders are people with young children. They don’t train their children properly and their hateful spawn are taking over the country. To add insult to injury these “parents” all have dogs. And they don’t clean up after their dogs. In general, these people are tremendous assholes.
(Yes. I’m using curse words. I’ll throw a fiver in the curse jar so the swearword police don’t come after me.)
My offending incident involved asking for a plastic bag at the Whole Foods in Tribeca. I know plastic is bad. I get it. Really. I really do. I usually bring my own bag, I recycle and reuse, all that. But one rainy day in New York City I dashed into Whole Foods and purchased some produce. I don’t travel with my grocery bag at every moment in my existence and I wanted to take my vinegar, lemons and arugula home in a bag that could withstand the rain –- with full plans to use the bag in the future to scoop cat poop into. But while checking out, the cashier at Whole Foods (which should be called Whole Paycheck because it’s so stupidly expensive) asked me, “Paper or plastic?” and I replied, “Plastic.”
A hush descended upon the checkout line as if I had asked for a baby-skin lampshade.
Uber-wealthy, Tribeca, fifty-year-old mommies with toddlers in strollers gasped. Their devil-spawn, designer twins pointed at me in contempt as they drooled onto their five-hundred-dollar matching hemp bibs. I was immediately branded “The Bad Lady Who Wanted Plastic.”
And you know what I did? I told everyone to fuck off. Yes. I know. I violated my parole and my own resolution to curb my use of offensive and aggressive language. But I did it anyway.
I went on a rant about the carbon footprint of designer invitro babies. I did it. I went there.
Did you know that no matter how teensy-tiny your own carbon footprint is your child’s carbon footprint is SIX TIMES BIGGER?! And that’s just one child, not the two you get for the price of one when you let your doctor play GOD.
So fuck you all you rich bitches who are having Five-Hundred-Thousand dollar TWINS while I use my plastic bag for cat shit.
I said all this out loud. And for this public expression of contempt and TRUTH I got a fine from the police for creating a public disturbance.
What about the disturbance of your double wide baby stroller and the shit from your Labradoodle that you don’t pick up?! What about that? No fine for that? WELL, THERE SHOULD BE.
No, Sandra O’Day was the one who had to spend four weeks with stinky hippies in an anger management camp where I had to eat tofu “hot dogs” that tasted like crayons.
Fuck you Tribeca Mommies. I hate you and I want to punch your toddlers in the face. And I’m not alone.
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