Backup of Home 18-12-27
"All the Pain and Suffering
That's Fit to Print."
Teresa Strasser is an Emmy-winning writer (Comedy Central’s “Win Ben Stein’s Money”) and an Emmy-nominated television host (TLC’s "While You Were Out”). Radio and podcast audiences know her as the co-host on The Adam Carolla Show. She currently lives in Phoenix where she hosts syndicated entertainment show, “The List.”
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Buy TERESA'S BOOK "EXPLOITING MY BABY" On Amazon!!
“Strasser cuts right through the mucus plug with Exploiting My Baby*: *Because It’s Exploiting Me. With such titles as “Sitting Stretch Mark Shiva” and “I’ll Miss You, Toxins,” Strasser’s funnier than your funniest friend and her neuroses are more acute than Joan Rivers’ ‘Having a Baby Can Be a Scream’.”
“Strasser’s collection of essays is a comic, poignant and no-holds-barred revelation of her anxiety-strewn road to motherhood.”
“Darn funny and a truthful glimpse into the realities of pregnancy.”
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RT @PRHAudio: @teresastrasser is glowing #inthestudio while she records her audiobook EXPLOITING MY BABY 🎙️🍼 EXPLOITING MY BABY… https://t.co/wW2WWhr6WL -
Out TODAY #audiorelease #pregnancybook Exploiting My Baby: A Memoir of Pregnancy & Childbirth 📚 https://t.co/RtGp1t8QOz
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NPR called it, “Raw, unsettling and entertaining.” So, a nice review and also my epitaph! Exploiting My Baby, A Me… https://t.co/JUavIrsScp
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When it’s awkward self promotion time, no one does it … more awkwardly 🤷🏻♀️here’s my first book, finally available… https://t.co/FNXp9nrXCW
I’m standing in front of a Starbuck’s on Geary Street in San Francisco, clutching the handle of my red carry-on bag, trying to figure out my next move. It’s 7:06 AM in Union Square, and I can’t figure out if I should head to the airport and go home, or go see my mom.
The thing is, she’s been dead for an hour or so.
As you might expect in such a fresh dead mom scenario, I am sobbing. I’m hunched over at the waist. And I’ve stopped making sense to my husband over the phone. Only in this part of the world, in my home town, could a girl wail at approximately the decibel level of a foghorn and do a physical thing somewhere between davening and capoeira and go mostly unnoticed.
Of all the shitty things I’ve ever done to my mom, this now seems like the very worst, leaving her somewhere in the Comfort Care wing of UCSF, maybe still in her bed, the stick end of the chocolate See’s lollipop I had brought her still poking up out of a Styrofoam cup.