A SLUTTY BABY!
I know that for kids Halloween is fun as shit… choosing your costume, the candy, the walking around in the dark with your friends, the candy, seeing what other people are wearing, the candy, doing something out of the ordinary, the candy, haunted houses, and the candy. Can’t blame the kids… good times all around.
But hello adults!!! Can’t we provide all that same fun and not support child slavery?
Of course it is tricky, because all the eco hippy candy doesn’t come in Halloween sizes and all the packaging is about as exciting as a brown paper bag. If you were to make organic wheat free fair trade chocolate chip cookies no one would eat them because it would be assumed they were poisoned and hiding razor blades. You can’t hand out raisins because that is lame and if you only gave skittles you might as well hand out injections of high fructose corn syrup.
This s a real problem!
Maybe the solution is force kids to get imaginative with their tricks? Maybe kids have gotten lazy assuming they are going to get a treat? What if we had a year where we were like “Nope wrong. No candy. What you got kid? Lets do this!” and see what happens.
It isn’t the worst idea ever right? And besides, is a pillowcase full of candy really a good idea for any human to ingest? I mean I am not a doctor or anything, but I heard a rumor that eating excessive amounts of sugar wasn’t good for you.
In the meantime… who don’t you lazy hippies get off your quinoa coated asses and make some eco Halloween candy that was not made by child slaves?
You know how that time of the month can be emotionally challenging? You know… when you are riding the crimson wave and feel a bit cranky? Am I being too vague here? I guess what I am trying to say is that there is something about blood pouring from your pussy that can really ruin your day.
I am feeling a bit on edge… I can rationalize the reasoning and analyze the cause, but that doesn’t make me any more pleasant to be around than a snapping turtle coming down from an 8-day crystal meth binge. My ideal day would consist of me yelling at anyone within a 60-foot radius of my uterus, then crying while they massaged my feet with their tongue and told me I was pretty.
This is where life with a child gets extra difficult… I can’t be a bitch to my baby!
Even though I have to deal with the 900 mood swings The Munch has on any given day with calm dignity, I can’t expect the same out of her. Forget that her fury can be motivated by the most benign things like getting mud on her hands, tripping when she doesn’t feel like tripping, or dropping her banana. I can’t say “Dude… it is not a big deal… get a grip…” because then I am not allowing her to explore her emotions and blah blah freakin hippy bullcrap blah. No… I take her seriously and let her feel the disappointment of juice being done before she wanted it to be.
But when I have cramps causing pain comparable to a cockroach birthing a giraffe I have to keep it together and read “Good Night Moon” two hundred times without stopping to swallow my saliva. I can’t scream in her face “ I am going to throw you across the room if you do that again..” when she tosses the lasagna that took me four hours to make on the floor while looking me in the eye purposely fucking with me. Well… actually I did say that… but it wasn’t me talking…. It wasn’t my fault…. It was aunt Flow!
I never thought this would happen to me.
I brought The Munch to Target so I could do some guerilla filming for a video I wanted to make… and yes, of course I was exploiting my baby and using her as my mini actress in the making.
After I got the shot I wanted, I let her run around while me and my sister and law selflessly picked out clothes we NEEDED… like yoga pants and plaids.
Then she saw it…. The Munch found a neon pink off-gassing Barbie car made with toxic noxious poisonous plastic … DID YOU HEAR WHAT I JUST SAID?? A FREAKING BARBIE CAR! BARBIE!!!!!!!
Now I am NOT a Barbie girl myself and am pretty sure that a woman with fake tits and an elbow for a vagina is no role model for my baby.
“Munch… no way…. you cannot have that Barbie Car…”
And then it happened. Her first tantrum. In the aisles of Target. I was that person.
So what did I do?? I bought her the damn Barbie car. Duh!
Do you remember taking pictures when you had no idea what they looked like? Pictures you couldn’t see instantaneously and delete if your upper lip hair was catching the wrong light. You would have to bring a roll of film to the store, get it developed, and then wait days and days before you got them back!
Oh wow… so that is what I look like with my eyes closed in my prom dress. Sweet.
Doesn’t that all seem so archaic now? But how precious were those pictures to you?
It is not like you have 10,000 pictures of yourself as a baby…. you probably have about 7. You can show those 7 pictures to your child and say, “This is what I looked like when I was young. They may not be the best pictures taken of all time, yes I am naked in more than half, and if you squint and defocus your eyes for these this last two they are actually in focus.”
Not to mention the fact that they are physical pictures that you can touch and hold with your hands! What ever happened to that? I never take my digital pictures to be printed…
How is The Munch ever going to show pictures of herself to her Munch? She is going to have to download them from a hard drive… if hard drives even exist and we don’t have them installed in our brains. And then her and her child will have to sit down for about 5 months to just get through the first year because I have taken so many goddamn pictures? Don’t get me wrong… it is cool that not only my phone, but key chain, toaster and banana all have a camera in them, but it makes pictures a little less sentimental when you have so many.
But…. speaking of downloading pictures I just found this one off a camera I hardly use and thought it was HILARIOUS! Doesn’t The Munch look like she is some totally demented character out of Alice in Wonderland?? With the backwards clothes, head the size of an asteroid, and placidly serene look on her face??!
Looking at the world through archetypal psychology you start to realize how every person is a type of person, and that you are an academic snob. I am either devoted to the Jungian thought processes, very astute at analyzing, or too lazy to really get to know people, but I am always categorizing humans and thinking I know them because “I know their archetype.” I often say things like “Ahhhh yes… well he is the type of person who drinks orange juice while eating a grilled cheese sandwich so obviously he cannot be trusted. You should definitely check his cell phone while he is in the shower…”
It is easy to make assumptions about people convinced you have encountered this same style of temperament before, and I am sure I have been wrong in my presumptions… but you know what? I am more often than not totally right! Haven’t you ever heard a story about someone and even though you never met them can dissect and evaluate their very being? That is kind of how advice works right? I don’t have to know your boyfriend to tell you he is douche… just talk about him for a few minutes and it is obvious what kind of guy he is.
Of course cataloguing people doesn’t really honor the complexities of the human condition and the fact that we often contradict our tendencies depending on the situation. SO even though no one is one thing all the time, there is still a pattern of personality that is worthy of noticing.
Since I have been encountering, reading about, and talking behind the backs of many mom’s… here is my list of the 5 mommy types!
Hippy Moon Tribe Mom
Only buys organic absolutely everything. Would rather feed her child dirt then an Oreo cookie. Wears a baby in a sling that was hand woven by Inuit woman where a 100% of the proceeds goes back to the community to help empower girls to weave their way to an education in a city 60 miles away that they walk to barefoot through the snow. Often seen at a dessert Trance party with her dreadlocked child frolicking naked except for a moss diaper while tying ribbons to pussy willows to make a kite and playing the flute with bark.
Busy Busy Busy Mom
This style of mom is always in a rush hurrying from one place to another like they are running an oil-company in the Middle East. They have no time for playing around in the super market, saying “thank you” if open the door for them, or smiling. They are moms and they have shit to do… like taking the kid to T-ball practice, or eating lunch…. Important stuff that you CANNOT be late for under any circumstances because childhood is about activities activities activities!
The Professional Mom has German qualities of organization and meticulousness. Not exactly one who inspires you to fantasize about curling up in her maternal bosom, but devoted to her child and has high expectations for their future. You will find this mom taking her husband’s penis to the top pre-schools so his sperm can be interview for early admission. These kids start practicing for their SAT’s while in the womb, get only the best baby Einstein toys, and are quint-lingual by 4.
Better than you mom
No matter what you think is going well with your mom techniques, these moms will remind you that not only are you wrong and stupid, but their way is better than yours. These moms will talk condescendingly about how when you get into an accident your car seat is going to eject your child into space while they are on fire because you went to the wrong eco-safety-car seat-website, you breastfeed too much and not enough, you let them nap too long and now your baby is going to be lazy for life, and how their kid accomplished every milestone before yours.
The frazzled mom can be seen wearing Ugg boots regardless of the season, sweatpants with an adorable phrase like “eat it” across the butt, hair that is more pony than tail, and a look in her eyes that hints that someone is trapped comatose behind the glass. If asked how “how are you?” she complains for so long there are commercial breaks. She is often annoyed at her children, but ironically pregnant.
You know when you are alone dancing in front of the mirror busting moves that are super suave but then can never replicate them in front of people? Instead you end up looking like a strange hybrid of dry-humping the air and shadow boxing. Or you are singing in the shower and convinced you could win American Idol, but when you even hum along to the radio your friends turn it offer under the guise that they prefer sitting in silence contemplating their own mortality? Or you are really sick and have to stay home alone all day but your hair looks amazing?
How many times have you done something that is so universe demolishingly incredible and no one was around too see it?! You try and tell people just how unbelievable you are, but they just nod their head complacently and wish you would stop bragging. “Yeah, that sounds awesome that you did a backflip off your bed and landed in a head spin… sure I would love to see it… wow that looked like it hurt, are you okay? I think your eye is bleeding…”
The cutest most charming things The Munch ever does is when we are alone together and no one is there to observe what a marvelous Munch she is. I end up trying to explain how cunning she is to but when I do my impersonation it is not as endearing, ends up coming off as pathetic, and makes people pretty uncomfortable.
But I experience this all the time! I had to listen to a friend imitated how precious it was when her kid found his wiener for the first time, with a full demonstration and hand gesticulations to go with the narrative. Maybe I deserve it though after my five-minute monologue about how The Munch washes her own tummy in the bath. But come on… isn’t that amazing? She washes her own tummy with her own little hands! Adorable!