My Life as a Teenager (as told through The Sopranos) by Carolyn Busa

I was a lazy piece of shit...

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...who had most conversations with my parents while still in bed.

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Our family drank way too much soda...

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...so we made the switch to Snapple and pretended that was healthier. 

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We had an uncle that refused to get with the times.

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When my dad wasn't cleaning his car he 'happily' drove me everywhere.

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But he hated my music.

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I bought a DVD of a movie I wanted for MY mom's birthday.*

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Because I thought I was hot shit (Especially after I PErfected wrapping my hair in a towel).

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When I left for college my parents made me take that stupid 'husband' pillow.

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But whatever they'd still pay for dinner when I went back home. 

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Which was great cause I ate like shit at school. 

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And I always kinda hated going back.

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Cause no matter how cool 'the real world' was, I loved being home.

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*I bought my mom Two Weeks Notice and The Ring.

Can we please skip fireworks this year? Notes from a dog with more anxiety than you by Carolyn Busa

Hey America. Can we please skip fireworks this year? I know this sounds like a selfish ask. “It’s once a year! You don’t get it. You’re just a dog!” But do we really need big, scary, loud fire in the sky this year? Can we admit there’s been enough big, scary, loud fire in our world to last us a few Independence Day celebrations?

My owner thinks she’s doing me a favor streaming WNYC for me all day while she’s at work. As if when she steps out the door, I hear BBC Newshour and think “Oh. This is comforting.” I’m not an idiot. Believe me, she sounds nothing like Brian Lehrer and even if I could call in on Fridays and ask the mayor what he plans on doing about that cat outside the window who I’m pretty sure is in constant heat, I can’t talk. It sucks.

But there is one nugget of comfort that has come from being forced to listen to stories about this screwed up little world of yours: You are all freaking out. From what I gathered, things are bad. Everyone is panicking. And I’m sorry but it’s, like, about time. Finally, humans of the world are getting on my level of anxiety. You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach when you hear anything in the news about Trump and the border and guns and the Supreme Court and the world in general? That’s my entire life. You’re scared of nuclear war? I’m scared of my owner’s feet. 

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You’re scared of nuclear war?

I’m scared of my owner’s feet. 

The world is so scary! When I hear that rolling gate go down in front of the barber shop. Or when the loud buzz noise goes off in our apartment. I think, “This is it. Goodbye cruel world.” And so I bark and bark and bark but then it’s just a bookshelf my owner ordered or if I’m lucky, a pizza. And I love pizza! But at that point my anxiety is through the roof. I’m pacing. I’m out of breath. I need water. I have to pee and she’s just there singing her dumb pizza song: “I love pizza yes I do, I love pizza, I love you!” At the ‘you’ she’ll pat my nose, which I do appreciate, but what I’d appreciate more is a stress-free existence.

You humans have been lucky. For the most part, you know where your ‘loud noises’ come from. You can pinpoint your anxiety and make sense of it. And those of you that can’t, apparently pay these other 'therapist' humans to pinpoint it for you. Well, imagine if your therapist took the week off and told you to wear a Thundershirt. “I know you’re struggling with your mom’s inability to connect with you on a human level but here. Wear this. It’s velcro.”

I’m not celebrating that you all are miserable, but I am asking you to take advantage of your ability to comprehend. Comprehending the bad, scary things in this world is a blessing. Because not only do you understand it, you can do something about it! You can work to change it. What can I do? I’m an 8-year old brachycephalic French Bulldog that can’t stand the heat or clean my own junk.

Now that you humans are finally walking around in a familiar state of panic, I’m begging you to help make the over 400,000 of us in this city feel safe. If we truly are your best friends, deciding which rooftop party you’ll attend on the 4th should be an easy decision. None. Skip the fireworks and stay home with me. Rub my belly. We'll listen to All Things Considered and get through this nightmare together.

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This essay was published on The Haven

Here's What Cereal To Eat As You Watch The Royal Wedding by Carolyn Busa

Watching the Royal Wedding tomorrow? DUH. OF COURSE YOU ARE. LOVE IS ALIVE AND FINALLY BALDING AND MIXED-RACE AND AMAZING. You got your Beatles ringtone alarm set for 5AM and your Big Ben pajamas are laid out on your bed (shout-out to Mom for not giving them away when you told her to!). However, there is one thing missing: a royal breakfast!

I got you covered! After living through a handful of royal weddings myself (and a few funerals), I've narrowed down the top 5 cereals that pair best with ceremonies you have nothing to do with. Grab your wallet and head to the nearest grocery store (or bodega you hip, city things).  You're gonna wanna stock up!

Cheerios
I mean, need I say more? This light but filling cereal will have you cheerio and pip pip-in' all the way through nuptials! 

Lucky Charms
Meghan found her lucky charm - time to find yours! And of course a stomachache 45 minutes later cause something's up with those marshmallows. 

EZEKIEL 4:9®: SPROUTED WHOLE GRAIN CEREAL
This cereal looks like it tastes boring as hell! Kinda like wedding ceremonies!

Kix
Kid-tested, grand-mum approved (but probably not cause Queen Elizabeth seems like a bitch, right?)!

Life
It's what Diana would've wanted.*

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*OMG. Who am I? I hate myself. I'm sorry.

 

 

Open Wide by Carolyn Busa

I laid horizontal. My arms at my side, my feet gently crossed. I pulled my dress to ensure the fabric was taut and without crease. Perfect. I was fresh. I was clean. I was ready for him. The clock on the wall read 2:41.

“I hope he comes soon.” I thought.

And as if my thoughts cued his entrance, I heard him walk in from behind.

“Hello.” he said.  The light directly above only allowed a vision of a silhouette as he took a seat next to me. I squinted. I attempted to shield the light with my right hand as the light suddenly dimmed. He was always one step ahead of my needs.

Finally, I saw him. It had been six months since our last encounter. He looked the same in his white coat. He always did. Tousled hair, soft features, and a smile that said ‘I’m about to make a bad joke.’

“So I hear we’re removing all your teeth today, right?”

There it was.

“Please don’t do that, doctor.” I laughed and felt myself blush.

“Okay, okay.” he conceded. “But I do need to take a good look inside you.” He revealed two white gloves. I jumped at the snap of the glove hitting his wrist.

“Nothing to be nervous about.” he assured.

I wasn’t nervous. But it was now 2:45pm and I had to be back at the office by 3pm. ZocDoc didn’t have any morning appointments. I knew this would be cutting it close. I was always pushing my limits.  

I opened my mouth wide and kept eye contact with him as I did. He instructed me to move my tongue to the right. To the left. Bite down. Open wide. Swallow. Was he punishing me with his endless demands? Did I do something wrong? I know I didn’t floss enough, but this was oral torture meant for a reckless child. I writhed in the chair as he writhed his fingers in my mouth. I thought I might scream or bite or spit. But right before I completely leaped the ledge of my sanity his hands departed.

“Perfect.” he said. His compliment suffocated my frustrations and my insides flittered. I was a good girl. I didn’t disappoint.

“Looks like you’re all set here.” He rotated in his chair, like the Earth on its axis, and returned not with a sunset, rather a small bag that included a toothbrush, floss and a mini mouthwash. I gasped with delight. I needed mouthwash.

“Thank you.” I said. My body slowly returned to a sitting position.

“We’ll see you in six months.” he said, his 5’ 8” frame towered above me.

“Yes. Yes you will.” I stood up from the seat and faced him, separated only by the paper bib I forgot to remove.

“Oh, one more thing.” He turned back around, grabbed something and put it in my hands. “Remember…” he said with a smile.

I looked down and smiled to myself. I knew exactly what he wanted me to say.

“Brushing alone is never enough.” I whispered. But when I looked up from the Waterpik pamphlet he was already gone.

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Carolyn Busa is a sexually peaking woman. This is her first attempt at erotic fiction. She'd like you to know her dentist has a weak handshake.

"What is this a Shoe Factory?" That And Other Passive Aggressive Questions To Ask Your Roommates by Carolyn Busa

What is this a shoe factory?
What is this a duck sauce packet factory?
What is this a soy sauce packet factory?
What is this a ketchup packet factory? (You get it.)
What is this a plastic fork factory?
What is this a plastic bag factory?
What is this a leftover container factory? 
What is this a crumb factory?
What is this a junk mail factory?
OR
What is this a Bed Bath & Beyond coupon factory?
What is this a remote control factory?
What is this a clean dishes in the dryer rack factory?
OR
What is this a dirty dishes in the sink factory
What is this a Japanese restaurants we'll never get take-out from factory?
What is this a disheveled shower curtain factory?
What is this a two pennies and a receipt factory?
What is this a computer charger factory? 
What is this a hair in the sink factory?

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A word from the author: Carolyn lives with two nice boys, Greg and Aaron. She gets frustrated by shoes by the door, crumbs, and dishes in the sink. However, Carolyn has her own shit too including her dog's fur, her dog's toys and she does that thing where she repeats what they say in an annoying high-pitched voice. She thinks it's really funny. They don't. Greg and Aaron are super great roommates.

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