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January, 2015
Archive

  • Take My Advice and Take My Advice

    When someone asks for my advice it makes me feel good about me, Toni. That means they value my opinions on their life. I don’t have to talk about how much time I spend screaming at my reflection in the mirror, because I give off the impression that I give good advice – which I do! Instead of obsessing about my problems, I can distract myself by contemplating yours! Oh… and I want to help people because I always think about others first.

    Giving advice can feel emotionally satisfying for the advice-giver because other people’s issues are so much easier to solve than your own. When you have an objective perspective, the answer seems so obvious. Of course you should quit your job, confront your mother, and speak openly to your committed partner about wanting an “open relationship” – but only with polyamerous vegans who are in a David Bowie cover band (not that you have anyone specific in mind or anything). When you are not the one dealing with the repercussions of your amazing advice – the path is so glaringly apparent. Yet just because something is the right thing to do, doesn’t make it any easier.

    It is orgasmic when someone follows my advice, and it was genuinely helpful. This knowing entwines my energetic juices with theirs. We then both can feel the deep, throbbing, penetrating satisfaction of my efforts going all the way to completion. Yet I do get metaphoric blue balls when I give someone advice that they don’t take. Especially when they come back to me with the same problem – and talk about it obsessively.

    At first I try to be patient, and suggest that they could always take the advice I had already suggested… but I do it in a non-condescending way. But when they keep blowing off my suggestions, it can get annoying. Not only is my ego bruised, but I also have to witness them brutalize themselves with a toxic situation. Even though I know not to take it personally, it still feels personal because as their friend, I am still swirling in the tornado of torture with them. They know they are upset. They are looking to change. Yet they can’t participate in any action that would actually make things different.

    This predicament is challenging for two reasons. For one, it sucks when someone you love is in pain. And For two, people are really aggravating when they are going through a continuous cycle of misery and complain about it incessantly. I had a friend… a darling sweet friend… who was in love with the wrong person. It is not that he was a bad guy – it’s just that he lied about everything, secretly took Viagra, had a hard-core porn addiction, and cheated many times with prostitutes. But don’t worry; they were “sweet girls from the farmer’s market.”

    As hard as it was for my friend to live with the heartache, I would argue that it was almost equally as hard for me. If I added together all the hours we talked about his dude, it would probably be about three entire weeks with no bathroom breaks. I even had points over this five-year saga where I had to be like “hey, I need a vacation from discussing this… so maybe you just not for a while. Thanks.” Yet eventually he would creep back into the conversation, and I would get sucked back into the vortex that she was traversing.

    Then you know what happened? She finally took my advice!!!!!!!!! She stopped finally talking to him, and is normal friend again! It is a squirting relief (which I actually heard is just pee… but whatever). After half a decade of giving the same advice over and over and over again, it actually worked.

    Just one of 60,000 text I sent

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    January 28, 2015 • Musings, Relationships • Views: 1330

  • Rappers Talking to Teen Girls About Love is Only the BEST THING EVER!

    Are you ready for your heart to erupt out of your ribcage, and your eyes to swell with the butterfly dreams of caterpillars? Do you feel prepared to allow hope to wash over your membranes and loofah your radiant body with the sweet scent of optimism? Then you must watch these rappers giving love advice to teen girls. Here are your tissues, and please only use them for tears because you know why.

    The website Rookiemag.com hosts a series where teenage girls can ask famous grown ups questions about the secrets of existence. In the most recent episode, rap duo “Run The Jewels” (comprised of Killer Mike and El P), provide guidance on affairs of the heart. Can I just say the idea of two grown men, (one of whom calls himself KILLER Mike) giving sincere feedback on intimate questions is the MOST BEAUTIFUL THING EVER!

    Both genders have immense cultural pressures they have to contend with. I am usually writing about women and what we experience because you know, I have a vagina, and my period, and GROSS! Yet there is also much men have to battle when it comes to societal demands – especially in the world of hip-hop where masculinity is a huge part of credibility, and ones personal brand.

    I am not sure, but I am going to bet the status quo would not consider it “gangster” to be giving empathetic thoughtful counsel on the pressure of the “first kiss”- but I think this is the manliest display of manliness I have ever witnessed. Both Killer Mike and El P take the concerns of these girls incredibly seriously, and are genuinely compassionate when it comes to their sensitive struggles.

    Teenage girls are notoriously THE MOST emotional creatures on planet earth, but Run The Jewels makes it clear that their experience of love is comparable. They both open up about the insecurity they have felt when being in love with someone who they were not sure loved them back, the fear of telling someone how you honestly feel, and the heartbreak of wanting someone you can’t have. They discuss the value sense of humor and personality, as well as promote themes of honestly, transparency, and self love. With such gems as “Let fate do its part, but don’t stand around waiting with your heart,” and “Say directly how you feel. You would be helping man kind if you were direct,” you would think this was coming from some New Age hippy adorned with pukka shells as the sounds of gongs played in the background.

    This is the path masculinity needs to be directed towards. Grown men who exhibit no fear of of admitting their emotional nature. The more men can be encouraged to not only tap into, but to discuss their feelings, the less repression they will experience. There is so much value added when men are equipped to have deep philosophical conversations about the nature of their psychological selves.

    I wish that this were going on when I was a teen girl. I can’t imagine the impact it would have had if Biggie Smalls and Eazy-E did a web series telling me how I don’t want a crazy imbalance of power when it comes to relationships.

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    January 26, 2015 • Birth • Views: 1893

  • Nothing My Kid Does Impresses Me

    I have a serious complex I am going to admit. When I was a kid, my parents never took me to extra curricular classes, and I still feel slighted. My mom claims she brought me to ballet once, but I wasn’t into it so she was like “screw it.” Ummm mom, you were supposed to pressure me to excel regardless and become my “momager!” DIDN’T YOU LOVE ME ENOUGH TO DESTROY ME??

    I guess my mom did sign me up for tennis in the summers, but she didn’t bring me to the clinics to watch me. She just pointed to my bike and said, “The court is 2 miles that way.” When I played sports throughout school my parents NEVER came to my games, and I was always that kid with no one in the stands to cheer them on. Are you crying for me yet!!? Although I am obviously still working out some PTSD and deep-rooted resentment issues – I also totally get it.

    That shit is as boring as a dry fuck hole.

    However, in reaction to my upbringing I have enlisted The Munch in a variety of classes. She takes both dance and gymnastics twice a week, and now wants to play hockey as well. Theoretically I am very supportive of this. I want to expose Munch to a variety of artistic and physical outlets to learn skills. But… I also have been doing everything I can to avoid being the one responsible for bringing her to such events. If I can get someone else to do it, you bet your sweet ass that is what is happening.

    The obvious problem is I am selfish about my extra curricular time and want to work on my creative projects as much as possible. You guys, stop judging me. I am almost done with my movie about queefs, and it’s going to be amazing! My other issue is that I am excessively critical and hardly impressed by anything.

    BEFORE YOU THINK I AM AN ASSHOLE – IT IS NOT MY FAULT!! Have you seen the Internet lately?? Kids are amazing out there!! There are babies who breakdance, a 4-year old who is a top fashion designer at J-Crew, and a fetus that kicks ass at basketball. I have seen so much talent out there in the interwebs that my kid’s cartwheel seems just kinda meh.

    DON’T WORRY OKAY! I keep this all to myself and tell Munch her handstands are outstanding even though her alignment is off. She will get there I know… because I will MAKE her practice until she does, but that is beside the point. For what it’s worth, Munch’s gymnastics teacher sees potential in her, but all I see is a kid who hasn’t mastered the front walkover.
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    January 21, 2015 • 4 years old, Education, Health, Mommy Mind, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing • Views: 1594

  • The Heartbreak of a Broken Heart

    Do you remember your first broken heart? Did it feel like someone peeled back the layers of your skin only to pry their fingers deep into your aorta, and scrape the inner walls of your ventricles with their nails? Were you writhing in agony as the seething suffering traversed your veins and settled into a cantankerous cavity hidden inside the bowels of your being? ME TOO!!!

    My heart was broken for the first time when I was 15. He told me we lived too far apart, and he couldn’t be my boyfriend anymore because he wanted to finger-bang other girls. I wasn’t just devastated… I was destroyed. Forget the fact that I had another boyfriend who went to my school. The loss was too profound to bear. I would think of him every night when I went to sleep, and he was the first thing on my mind when I woke up. I sometimes wouldn’t leave my house in hopes that he would call. (The tragedy of being a teenager in the 90’s, pre cellphones *tear). I thought of him obsessively, and would look for him in any crowd I was in. It took me an entire year to move on emotionally, and of course as soon as I got over him, he was like “let’s date again,” – so we did.

    Being broken hearted is a helpless and vulnerable feeling because it is rooted in rejection. No matter how the other person tries to rationalize their reasoning, the piercing truth is that they don’t want you. That sinking reality is so painful because it also digs at the core of your self-esteem. The ego becomes enmeshed with the heart. Not only is the object of your love leaving, but they are also scarring your sense of worth with their disinterest to stay.

    The Munch is going through her first experience with heartbreak, and it has been breaking my heart to witness her sorrow. Her baby sitter since she was one year old has decided to move on. We had a conversation about it last week, and I think at first Munch was in a state of shock or denial. She didn’t really mention it, so I was hoping maybe it would be a smooth transition. Then the other morning, Munch came in my room while I was meditating wondering what I had done with a picture her babysitter Liliana had drawn her. It had been hanging on the fridge, and I had taken it down. At first I didn’t want to admit that, and tried to claim I didn’t remember – but Munch kept asking me where it was.

    Toni: I took it down.
    Munch: Why?
    Toni: It made me sad to look at it.

    That was when everything hit her. Suddenly Munch had to face reality. She started weeping in my arms telling me how much she missed Liliana. I held her, and began crying right along with her. Her pain was so relatable. Of course wanting to discontinue employment as a babysitter is drastically different than ending a relationship – yet in Munch’s world, the sentiment is the same.

    Munch: I still want her to be my babysitter. I don’t like those things she said. They really hurt my feelings. I don’t want her to leave. I miss her. I can’t stop thinking about Liliana!
    Toni: I know baby. It is really hard. But people can’t always be who you want them to be. Sometimes they have to be who they want to be. And when you love them, you have to give them that space.
    Munch: But I miss her so much and I want to see her. I am so angry that she doesn’t want to see me any more. I want to be with her. My heart is broken. She broke my heart.
    Toni: It hurts, I know. But Liliana wants to go back to school. And we want her to be happy. She needs to find her happiness. Don’t you want her to do that?
    Munch: Yes, but I also want her to stay with me.
    Toni: It doesn’t always work that way baby. Sometimes happiness means you have to leave.

    We sat, talked, and cried. I didn’t want to talk her out of her feelings, because that seemed like a fruitless effort. We can’t rationalize our way out of loss. We have to go through it. The only thing I could do was to listen, and suggest different ways of seeing the situation. After a while, we got up, got dressed, and got in the car to go on an adventure. We decided that we would listen to music as loud as we could, and sing as loud as our voices would go.

    As I was driving I realized the universal truth of heartbreak. The other person is happier with out you. That is why they have to go. Suddenly I felt elated by this knowing.  Even though there is a sweet sadness, there is also hope. Your aching has meaning because the person you love is happier. Even though that bruises the ego, the true self wants the people you adore to find their bliss, even if it means they take a different path.

    I know Munch is still hurting from this separation. She will go through her iPod, find videos of her with Liliana, and then cry as she watches them. Although the tragic rawness is brutal to witness, I also respect that this is a process she has to go through in order to let go. All I know is that I considering Munch is only 4 and feels this deeply, I am seriously in for it when she is a teenager.

    heartbreak-blog-(i)

  • Unleash Your Inner Teenage Girl

    When I was a teenager I would come home from school, put on really sad music, and cry. Just to drive this point home and make sure you have the visual… every day for four years I would blast Fiona Apple, Tori Amos, Alanis Morissette, Sarah McLachlan, and *insert any 90’s angst- ridden singer songwriter here – just to make myself weep FOR HOURS! When I look back at that time in my life I have to wonder what the fuck was going on with me?

    The obvious answer is I was a hormonal mess, controlled by the insanity of estrogen pumping through my system at an alarming rate as it surged through my veins. Yet at the same time it was deeper than that. It was the one part of my day where I actually felt alive. For whatever reason, being a teenage girl made it possible for me to easily access my sorrow. It didn’t take much for me to feel infinitely sorry for myself, or even for all of humanity. I could tap into grief with a calm effortlessness, and access that intensity more than any other emotion.

    I didn’t know how to make myself feel boundlessly joyful, but I did know how to drop into sadness. Even though the melancholy didn’t feel good, the extremeness of the sentiment was full of vitality. The heightened sense gave meaning to everything, even if the moment was blurred by my salty vision.

    I don’t suggest this as a daily practice – unless I can get a book deal, in which case sign up for my 3-week course “Weep Your Way Into a Better You,” – but I do think there is something profound about releasing into the chaos of desperation. Perhaps if we were more willing to feel the truth of the lows, there would be more room for the altitude of the highs.

    Pain is also terrifying. I don’t want to feel hurt, nor do I want to see other people suffering. I once saw a cat that had been run over and was lying on the side of the road. I stopped to help it, but I didn’t have the capacity to handle how much the poor creature was in agony. Another car stopped right after me, and the driver went right over to the mangled animal and held it in her arms as it died. I had so much respect for this woman. She was able to bear the burden of this being’s transition when I was rendered impotent by my own excessive empathy. I felt so deeply for the cat that I couldn’t be there for it because I was too lost in my own feelings. I would like to think that if that woman hah never showed up I would have pulled myself together, and been more proactive then sobbing uncontrollably. Yet I am so grateful that she did, because she was there for us both that night.

    I was once part of a hippy new age shaman ceremony celebrating the descendants of grandmother moon, and go figure, I was actually feeling pretty good. Then this woman started writhing in discomfort as her primal cries filled the room. I found myself totally distracted by what was going on with her. As much as I wanted to help, I also knew that there wasn’t much I could do for her. She was on her trip. The best way for me to have been there for her was to visualize her as the perfect self. Yet it was so challenging not to get caught up in the drama of her experience. I had to repeat the mantra “this is her healing” in order to maintain my own sanity.

    Even though I felt terrible for this woman, I also wanted her to stop being in pain – not only for herself, but for me too. Her anguish was harshing my mellow! I felt so guilty that I was feeling fine, and she wasn’t.

    Isn’t that a metaphor for the global suffering that is going on all the time? When you are having the best night of your life, someone else is having the worst night of theirs. That is why it is so hard to really contemplate about all terrible realities going on. I feel awful when I really allow myself to think about child brides, therefore I don’t want to think about it. It is too hard for me to be happy when I remind myself of the millions who are not.

    So that is why we all need to unleash our inner teenage girl, and allow the totality of suffering to pass through us. Not only for ourselves, but also for all the beings on this fucked up planet we live on. To run from the hurt doesn’t mean it goes away. Maybe the best thing we can do is to truly turn towards it, so we can actually deal with how much it all sucks.
    (Look at me! I am on the verge of tears just sitting around xmas eve when I was 14)

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    January 15, 2015 • Musings, Old School Stories • Views: 1883

  • The Joke’s on You Bill Cosby

    I generally don’t watch award shows because they’re a painful reminder that I’m sitting on my couch at home, instead of sitting in the front row, waiting for my name to be called. The only award I ever received was for a drinking game while on spring break. I don’t even remember “winning” because I blacked out. Yet I did watch the introduction to the Golden Globe’s this week, hoping Amy Poehler and Tina Fey would say some funny shit and I’d forget about myself for a few moments.

    The crescendo of their banter culminated in a nearly flawless joke about Bill Cosby. It had the perfect set up, impeccable impressions, and was just provocative enough to make me feel uncomfortable. Although Bill Cosby has done nothing to laugh about, making a joke about his actions is an almost perfect revenge, ie using his craft to humiliate him and doing so with actual quality humor.

    There are so many disturbing elements about the Cosby saga. He could have had sex with a variety of women simply because he was rich and famous. The drugging and raping is obviously symptomatic of his desires to have power and dominance over their unconscious bodies. He wanted absolute control and for them to be completely passive recipients.

    I cannot relate to Cosby at all. If I were going to drug a guy, it would be so he wouldn’t try to have sex with me. I would prop his body up next to me on the couch to watch Netflix. Maybe I would use his hands to wash all my dishes…you know, so mine didn’t get all dry and cracked. When he woke up in the morning and look at his chapped fingers, he’d be like “Nooooo. What happened?”

    I find the Cosby story especially depressing when I consider how he had absolutely no interest in the humanity of these women. The more common manifestation of this mentality is when a guy pumps a woman like a rabid rabbit, attempting to fill her with his manhood but doesn’t give a care about her pleasure. Of course many men have evolved beyond this behavior, but many haven’t. When a woman brings sleeps with a guy for the first time, she never knows what to expect. The disappointment is severe when she feels like a filling station rather than a human with feelings and desires.

    “Rape culture” is a daunting problem to solve. There isn’t a simple solution like “just don’t rape girls and women.” As horrific as Bill Cosby’s acts of violence are, I’m grateful it is pushing us to face and address the rampant reality of sexual assault.

    To address any confusion that still lingers around rape, I think the primary concept to consider is “enthusiastic consent.” Mutual attraction and interest is what makes amazing sex amazing. I am willing to bet that the worst sex of your life was because you or your partner wasn’t that into it. Perhaps it was something that happened to avoid an awkward. Who wants to have crappy, apathetic sex? With the endless amount of pleasure tools available, it would be such a waste of time. If we can teach and encourage each other to express and look for genuine eagerness from prospective partners, then perhaps we will take the crucial step towards an authentic sex positive society.

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    January 12, 2015 • Current Events, Musings • Views: 1284

  • It Turns Out Women Are Just as Perverted as Men!

    Life if full of contradictions. We need the sun for vitamin D, but too much sun can cause cancer. Sunscreen might help prevent skin cancer, but it also might cause cancer from all the fucked up chemicals in it. Nothing is exactly how it seems. The universe is a hazy shade of grey.

    Perhaps… 50 shades of it?

    Sorry… I had to go there.

    The media’s portrayal of female sexuality remains a great paradoxes. We are told we can sleep with guys, yet not too many guys, but as many guys as we want as long as we “lean in” while being a “Tiger Mom” who lost all our baby weight! I read a lot about women and their lady parts because you know… I have a vagina, and get my period, and gross!!!

    I recently came across this article on Jezebel, where the author tricked her boyfriend into seeing a German movie called “Wetlands.” If you know anything about German movies that involve sex, you know that shit is going to get weird real fast. The movie narrative (based off a book) uses flashbacks to tell the story, because the main character, Helen, is stuck in the hospital from cutting her ass open while shaving around her hemorrhoids. A common mistake! The Jezebel author describes Helen as “sexually empowered” and “knowing what she wants” – which involves rubbing her gaping genitals on a toilet seat covered in feces, shoving an avocado up her twatt, and my personal favorite “putting the shower head inside herself and filling her vagina with water until she feels like she’ll burst. Then she pushes until the entire thing feels like it’s going to fall out.”

    Now call me old fashioned, but seriously WTF????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    As a feminist I am supposed to clap my chubby little hands at all things women do to express their deepest desires. Yet I am pretty sure that if this story were about a man I would have just as many questions. Mainly, were you hugged enough as a kid?

    I am happy that women’s sexuality is being depicted as complex. This is progress. You wouldn’t have seen this film or read the novel in the fifties (although it would have made for a pretty epic “Leave it To Beaver” episode). Truth be told, this type of sexual behavior makes me want to hurl. Not because I am some prude who thinks they shouldn’t do it…. BUT HOLY HELL DOESN’T THAT HURT AND ISN’T THAT DANGEROUS??!!

    This is my question: when people’s sexual identities are so intense, doesn’t that border on obsession? Sex is cool and all and should be a priority, but it takes a lot of time to shove a variety of vegetables inside your body. Time that could be spent learning how to farm organically, or petitioning politicians to stop Fracking. Isn’t there a balance between getting freaky like how Helen “fingers her ass until her fingers are brown with butt sleaze,” and not having your sexual preferences take over your life? Is this really a depiction of what “sexual empowerment” looks like? It just seems to me that when people have such vastly extreme tastes, that maybe they are working out something that is much deeper that what can be achieved through aggressive masturbation.

    Sex is just as addictive as any drug, and just as powerful of a distraction from facing reality. Society is struggling with vast terrifying predicaments and like sex and pornography are a few of the key ways grown-ups check out from dealing emotionally with our lives.

    Of course this logic applies to TV, smoking pot, or watching sleepy cat videos on Youtube – soooo cute!!!!! We all run from the responsibility of figuring out how to revolt from the 1% Lizard-People elite who control the planet and will soon be using our blood to fuel for their rocket ship to Mars after this planet has been destroyed by their greed. Yet the more we spend our time jerking off, the more we are not participating positively to the collective effort to better the world for the future.

    I’m glad people are finally waking up to the fact that women can be just as perverted as men. That said, I don’t jump up and down every time I hear about a guy wanting to a martini glass full of a women’s shit; I also won’t be moved to hear about a chick eating a semen covered pizza. Perhaps if the dude was having his diarrhea cocktail while presenting his plan to end sex trafficking at the United Nations, or the woman was munching on her delicious treat up in a tree in the rainforest to protest the degeneration of our most precious source of oxygen, then I would want to know all about it!

    (I mean I guess wiping your menses on your face is a good idea?)

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    January 7, 2015 • Current Events, Musings, Sex Stuff, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 7359

  • Is Life Really That Different?

    Vacations used to be comprised primarily of ecstasy, alcohol, flirtation, and hazy memories. I danced in a foam pit non-ironically, got lost in the Red Light district of Amsterdam for six hours while high and gazing at prostitutes in the windows wondering if I had seen the one with the sad eyes wearing crotchless panties before. Once I even pitched a tent on a German highway because my boyfriend and I had no idea where we were. Okay, it was after a huge festival but it was super dark out!

    The complexity of my life now is that it is really hard to abandon my responsibilities and give myself a true break. There are endless obligations lurking in the background of my brain, relentlessly reminding me of all the shit I need to get done. Then of course there is my inbox – bottlenecking with messages from people wanting, needing, and bossing me around. When I finally checked Gmail this morning there my computer was pleading, “I am so constipated!!! Free me from the burden of holding all these in!” Whatever escapism I was experienced when I was young and dumb, has been marred by the presence of technology.

    Vacations are no longer a break from life, where I get to push the limits of my consciousness and abuse my liver to the point of near failure. They have a very different texture these days. For one, my kid is on vacation from school so that means I have to be with her all day. Sorry –I mean I “got” to spend time with my darling angel during these fleeting precious years of her childhood. Although theoretically The Munch would totally rock out while dancing on a bar until four am, taking a four-year old to da’club is pretty much frowned upon. Instead, I have to do “kid appropriate” activities that don’t include experimenting with hallucinogens and Ambien.

    Most of my time spent with her is between “the schedule” of what is planned. We go from this place to that, I make her food, and we go to bed. There is less down time where I actually have to figure out what to do with her. Of course I love my kid, but it’s not like I have that much in common with her. I guess we both like eating cookies and laughing at farts but The Munch never wants to talk about the police state, she doesn’t care about Monsanto, and she doesn’t think she needs feminism.

    I think a key element to having a healthy relationship with your child is developing common interests. If there are things you enjoy doing together, then you have outlets which you both enjoy. Of course there are times when I can get down with playing “princess-queens who are sisters with magical powers that conquer the mountain and hide in a special cave of diamonds while turning all the babies into ladybugs,” but unless I am going to become a pothead again, my imagination is only so fertile.

    The one thing Munch and I can do for hours and hours while both being happy is listening to pop music while practicing handstands. We do have a couple debates going however. For one – auto tune. We discussed for over an hour about how all her favorite singers use auto tune and what that is doing to the music industry. The Munch thinks auto tune is “cheating,” but still likes those songs better than the Indigo Girls, whereas I believe our ears are being trained towards falsity which could have lasting impact on our neurology.

    We are sorting out her feelings on hip-hop music. Munch isn’t into men rapping because she doesn’t like boys, but she will listen to Biggie Smalls and Eminem when there are girls singing on the tracks. This feels like a decent compromise, because I figure there is still time to get her into Mob Deep and The Pharcyde. We do both agree that music should be listened to so loudly that you can both feel the vibration in your bones but not hear your own voice while singing along.

    So come to think of it… maybe life isn’t so different after all? Chicks hanging from ceilings and shit…

    vacation-blog

    January 5, 2015 • 4 years old, Adventures, Family Drama, Mommyhood, Musings, Parenting, Playing • Views: 1249

  • New Year Same Old Me

    We have a cultural obsession with the concept of the New Year, yet what we are ultimately looking for is a new version of ourselves. This is all manifested in the enthusiastic display, but often empty realm of “resolutions.” The New Year holds such promise because it encapsulates the possibility that not only will the year be different, but so will you! In 2015 I eat will better, exercise more, work harder, be healthier, and finally stop eating my body hair!!!

    This marker in time is significant mostly because we feel like it is a chance to reboot our operating system, and become the 2.0 version of ourselves. Yet once February comes around, the complexity and complications of change overwhelm the fantasy. We start to lose hope that change is possible, and that disappointment festers and pools in the gutters of our consciousness.

    Yet here is the thing. We can’t think about becoming a “new and improved” shiny version of the self, because that implies that we aren’t already who we want to be. That person who you are striving to become, you already are… just not as often as you like.

    Change feels like such a daunting notion because of the assumption that you need to completely transform from one thing into another – like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. By the way… I have heard that when the caterpillar is in the chrysalis about to experience the metamorphosis, it actually thinks it is going to die. I have no idea how anyone would know that, because who knows what caterpillars think about, yet it is still an interesting idea okay! So much like our fellow worms, transmutation feels terrifying!

    The objective isn’t to suddenly grow wings out of your ribs and fly, but rather be the parts of yourself that you like – just more often. There are plenty of times that you are kind, sometimes eat broccoli, take the stairs, work with passion, don’t yell, demonstrate empathy, prioritize others… You already do all those things – just do them more. Be that person as much as you can, rather than the part of you that is lamebook.

    Here is a super old school pic of me on New Years Eve and I am WASTED!!
    PS my hair is special here
    PPS the Picture above is an even older picture of me wasted on NYE!
    new-year-blog-(i)

    January 1, 2015 • Current Events, Musings, Relationships • Views: 1205