PARK SLOPE PROFILES IN COURAGE: Una LaMarche of Sassy Curmudgeon

The Cover of Una LaMarche's 9th Grade Diary

JDZ Photography

I can name only one blog other than FIPS that I seriously lurve: Una LaMarche's hilarious and spot-on Sassy Curmudgeon. When she's not writing about the indignities of her pregnancy (this morning: Splendor in the Gas), Una's trying to guilt somebody into giving her a subway seat on the way to The New York Observer, where she's Managing Editor.

Oh, and she likes low-brow TV. In one of her 50 or so gigs, Una reviews Pregnant In Heels & other shitty shows for Huffy Post.

Anyway, she's destined to be the greatest BR-ALLER ever to descend on this hood. She could very well be the BREEDERS' key to getting our good names back. I can feel the tide turning already. 

What was it like growing up in Park Slope and did your elementary school fundraisers sell stuff like bazillion dollar handbags and mink coats to pay for art teachers and chess club?

My family moved to Brooklyn in the summer of 1988, first to Prospect Place between 5th and 6th and then to Dean Street between 4th and 5th, where my mom still lives. In the late 80s, Park Slope was already half gentrified, but it hadn't trickled down to the lower avenues yet. 4th Avenue was particularly seedy; I wasn't allowed to walk home from the Atlantic/Pacific Street stop after dark. Prostitutes still worked Dean Street after-hours, and I used to find used condoms on the curb. 5th Avenue was mostly dollar stores and bodegas. The go-to restaurant for a nice dinner out was Aunt Suzie's until Cucina opened across the street. Prospect Heights, where I live now, was treated like Compton--you were always hearing about people getting shot or mugged.

I went to P.S. 282, and I can't remember it selling anything except for shitty candy around Easter—we each sent our parents to work with our order forms and collected our Tootsie Roll bank at the end. We didn't even have playground equipment. Back then it was just a big concrete prison yard we ran around until we got bored or someone chipped a tooth. I'm pretty sure there was no chess club.

Have you ever lived anywhere but Brooklyn? Could you? If so, where?

I was born in Manhattan, and then my family moved to Austin, Texas for awhile. (Luckily I was too young to remember much from that time.) I love Brooklyn, and would be happy to stay here indefinitely, provided I stop being so fucking poor. My husband's family owns a farm in Massachusetts, and we talk about moving there for a year or two—like Funny Farm, only I'd be Chevy Chase and he'd be the drunk mailman.

Favorite local haunt(s)? Restaurants? Stores?

I can't get enough of Blue Sky—do they put crack in their muffins? (Probably; why else would they be cash only?) I will always have a soft spot for Roma Pizza, since it was my grade school hangout (shut up, it was cool). I don't shop much in Park Slope because, as noted above, I lack much disposable income, but I like to go in and fondle vases at The Clay Pot sometimes. I'm pregnant, so I'm always looking at the expensive, twee baby crap at Lulu's--just from the street, though, because I can't afford to spend $60 on an ironic onesie.

On to fashion, you’ve done a lot of Project Runway blogging in your day. What do you make of the following men’s fashion trends: 

The ironic mustache? I love a good 'stache, but if it's not sincere, it's bullshit. Look at Tom Selleck. John Oates. If you can't man up and take your face bush seriously, you don't deserve one.

Pointy toed shoes? I don't know. They were hot on Dudley Moore in Santa Claus: The Movie. They probably help with intimidation when you're threatening to shove your foot up someone's ass. But otherwise they should be saved for special occasions, like the End of Days.

Waxed eyebrows? I had a massive unibrow as a kid, so I can't begrudge anyone their grooming preferences. That said, a man who waxes his brows should be prepared for people to assume he's gay.

Men in shorts? (Tom Ford's against them) As long as they're of appropriate length, I have no problem with this--if you have the legs for shorts, regardless of your gender, I wholeheartedly encourage you to go for it, and wear a pair for me, too, because my stumpy, trace paper-colored gams are not fit for sunlight. However, when I was ten I attended the Pride Parade and saw a man with Daisy Dukes so high cut his balls hung out one side. Don't do that. 

Sandals? Flip-flops only. But never those plastic Adidas slides favored by Mark Zuckerberg and frat boys the world over. They make me think of ball sweat. I don't know why. Maybe I'm still having flashbacks to Pride 1990. 

Saggy assed jeans? Oh, good. NOW I can get on my old-lady soap box. Listen, guys, I've walked behind you exiting the 7th Avenue station. I'm five months pregnant and I've had to slow down so you could shuffle slowly step by step with your belts around your thighs. What possessed you to do this? Are you concerned about sperm count? Are you trying to entice girls to fuck you by exposing the flies of your boxers? Your jeans were a punch line in Clueless, which came out SIXTEEN YEARS AGO. Pull up your fucking pants!
 
How’s that subway commute going now that you’re pregnant? (I loved your diagram, btw.) Who is more likely to give you a seat: dudes or women? Young or old? Who are the worst offenders?

You know, the worst offender has actually been the rain this week, because it's forced me to wear my coat, which hides my bump. I have to stand there sighing and pushing out my abdomen and hoping someone will look up from their iPad or Bible. So far, only one dude has offered me his seat. I get pissed off when no one notices me standing there pregnant, but I also feel like an asshole because when you're pregnant you can essentially choose who to force out of their seat based on where you stand. And part of me always wonders if the strapping-looking guy in front of me has some invisible malady. Like, what if I say, all smug, "Excuse me, but I'm pregnant," and he looks up and says, "I have stage four melanoma." What then? 

Do you still live in a one-bedroom apartment?

No, we live in a two-bedroom. We actually have a lot of space for what we pay, but the flip side is that our house is literally falling apart: holes in the floor, cracks in the ceiling, water stains that we hid with a bookcase six years ago (I'm afraid to move it now). 

I read on Sassy Curmudgeon that you’re planning a home birth. Are you going to have a pool? Will Wham be playing in the background and why do you love Wham? Did you alert the neighbors yet and how’d that go?

I am planning a home birth, which is so very Park Slope of me. And yes, I'm planning to have a tub, although my sister, who's training to be a doula, told me you have to get out of the tub if you poop in it (Editor's Note: Oh God), which must really add insult to injury during labor. Wham will probably not be my choice for birth music, although I do unabashedly love George Michael, especially in the eighties when he took to wearing a leather gimme cap and track shorts. I was thinking "Push It" by Salt N' Pepa might be a good motivational track.

And no, I haven't told my neighbors. What do you say? I'll probably wrap my entire apartment in shrink wrap like Dexter, though, so maybe that will help to sound-proof. Also, my upstairs neighbors play a lot of Rock Band late at night, so the home birth just might be my surprise revenge.

NOT Una but it could be (assuming she doesn't take a crap). Photo by Liz Rubincam for NY TImes  How have you and your baby daddy been preparing for this whole freshman parenting gig? Has anybody told you what’s actually going to go down that first six months or have they been fibbing?

We have some books. Honestly we haven't been cramming too much. My mom is a childbirth teacher who's pretty well-known among Slope breeders, so it's kind of like I have my own personal pregnancy Yoda. No one has scared us too much, which is scary in and of itself. I feel like I've got pregnancy more or less under control, but I know that actually having a tiny, delicate newborn to care for round the clock is going to knock me on my ass. I've been seriously considering carrying around an egg for a week just to see if I can avoid breaking it. So assuming my kid is mute and oval and doesn't eat, pee, or shit I'll be totally fine.

What kind of (annoying and unsolicited) advice ARE you getting? 

The food Nazis are the worst. Everyone has a different idea of what's going to instantly kill your baby. For instance, my midwife says the occasional glass of wine or even sushi is fine as long as I don't eat tuna. Other people say the occasional tuna sandwich is no biggie as long as I don't eat goat cheese. So I've been sticking mostly to cigarettes and undercooked chicken.
 
By the way, do you cope well with sleep deprivation? Is your man pretending he’s going to get up in the middle of the night too?

I need approximately 11 hours of sleep a night to feel fully rested, but I'm sleep-training the baby in utero by watching Nature on PBS with the volume turned up really loud. Bonus: through osmosis, he will be born being able to identify many different types of trees.
 
Is every other woman in greater Park Slope hugely pregnant at the moment?

Seems like it. Come spring, there are suddenly huge bellies everywhere. 
 
Are you going to go to La Leche meetings? Sling how-tos at Boing Boing?

Nope. I know nursing can be a bitch, but I'm hoping that if the kid is anything like his dad he'll know how to latch. And I've never been able to make an origami crane or tie on a sari without exposing a nipple, so I fear I may not fare well with slings/Moby wraps. Luckily, we have like a thousand Duane Reade bags in the pantry that we can use as carriers in a pinch.

What’s going on with the baby naming? Have you considered: Brooklyn, Prospect, Park(er), Carroll, Sunset or Gowanus?

Since I over-share so much already, we've decided not to reveal the name until he's born. But if I had to pick a Brooklyn neighborhood as a name it would be Gravesend. WASP-y, no?

Favorite and least favorite things about Park Slope.

I'm a sucker for the beauty of the brownstones, the park, and, of course, Flatbush Avenue. I love the almost small town feel of Park Slope. Having lived here for more than twenty years of my life, I run into someone I know almost every time I go out.

My hate list is more specific:

• I hate that the nearest movie theater has bed bugs and that the alternatives are either BAM Rose or the hell that is the Court Street Stadium 12.
• I hate the stoplight at the corner of St. Marks and 6th Avenue, which dares you to dart in front of moving traffic at your peril and probably die in front of the freegans practicing at Dharma Yoga.
• I hate that it's impossible to get into Miriam for brunch.
• I hate that Area Kids doesn't give bags with your purchases (seriously, what is this? Soviet Russia?)
• I hate that the only affordable clothing store we have is Mandee.
• I hate that people started a petition against the nightclub that's opening on the corner of 6th and Flatbush. It's fucking Flatbush--do you really think the noise is going to be a problem, or are you just a closet racist? 

Are you now or have you ever been a member of any Park Slope co-ops?

No. I refuse to be escorted to my home by anyone in an orange vest.

Una LaMarche, now totally overexposed on the internet! Follow her on Twitter here. 

She's also here, here, here, here, and here. 

And don't forget to check out the hubby's website, jdzphotography.com and hire him to take photos!