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September, 2015
Archive

  • I am The BEST! Now I’m the Worst :(

    Life is not a competition. But just so you know, I totally read that sentence better and faster than you. That one too. I win.

    When you compare yourself to other people, you mislay yourself in a feedback loop of ego glorification and flagellation. Isn’t that a big word I just used that you probably had to look up? Point for me – you lose.

    The only person we really should be competing with is ourselves. Life is ultimately about progress. As long as you are moving forward, and on a path towards evolution, there is a genuine satisfaction in your efforts that no one can take away. You may not be as good as the person next to you, but when you know you are doing the absolute best you can, there is authentic pride.

    Yet when we strive to be better than someone else, and define self worth through the comparison of the “other,” the motivation to succeed becomes tainted. If you are always looking outside at what everyone else is doing, rather than being happy for them and their achievements, you feel jealous. And when you are the one who feels superior, you look down at other people because that makes you feel all the more higher on the pedestal.

    There is room for everyone on this planet. Well, not really because of overpopulation and depleting resources. But theoretically there is room for everyone to be the best possible versions of themselves. Someone else’s accomplishments doesn’t take away from yours, and even when you may not be the absolute best ever, that doesn’t mean there isn’t great value in what you are doing.

    There is this American ethos that “if you are not going to be the best, then why bother?” But in truth, doing something out of pure joy is the most worthwhile motivation to do anything. Why not spend our time doing what feeds our spirit, even when we aren’t the best?

    With all that being said, last year The Munch was the best at her gymnastics class. Whatever, she just was. So her teacher suggested she go into the more advanced group that meets twice a week. I of course complied, because my kid was the fucking best.

    Yeah, well now that she is the youngest in her class, she is also the worst. She is the fucking worst. She just is. The worst.

    I watch the class and think, “holy shit Munch, these little bitches are better than you! GET IT TOGETHER AND WORK ON YOUR SPLIT!”

    So thank the universe The Munch actually lives the values I write about. Despite my personal inner crisis that can’t handle how much she sucks in comparison to these little flipping twats, the Munch doesn’t give a flying fuck in a rolling doughnut and just keeps practicing because she loves it.

    best-blog

    September 30, 2015 • 5 years old, Education, Mommyhood, Musings, Parenting, Playing • Views: 1434

  • Are Cartoons Getting Sluttier?

    I can admit it; I am not the best girl. I am okay. I know how to tuck this in, push that out, and spruce myself up a bit. But interests in conventionally feminine things have eluded me. Isn’t shaving once a season enough for this world?

    I have been working to socialize my daughter so that she too, sticks to my principles of being a low maintenance chick. So far, my influence seems to be permeating her psyche. She is not captivated by showers, or changing her clothes – which is not only convenient for me, but we are also doing our part as environmentalists by saving water. You’re welcome!

    I have taught her the value of seeing her fingernails as functional tools to pick her nose with, rather than fashion accessories to paint and gloss. And she has no problem rocking her braids for up to 4 or 5 days regardless of the forming of dreads. So far I’m doing a pretty decent job of enforcing my beliefs onto my kid.

    Yet the one place where we diverge is The Munch is really into Disney Princesses, My Little Pony, Strawberry Shortcake, and every toy designed for girls to be girls. This is not something I want to change about her (because I already tried and failed) but I do have a ton of questions for the artists rendering these characters.

    When I was a kid, Strawberry Shortcake had a boxy body, like that of a child, or a piece of cake. It was a square shape. Something a young girl could relate to. Having a body like a square. The modern Strawberry Shortcake has a skinny physique that is long and lean like Giselle. Ummm… Her name is Strawberry SHORT CAKE… shouldn’t she look like a piece of cake, not a model who is runway ready!?

    And what is with the Disney Princesses? Why does every one of them have a “come fuck me” look on their face? Seriously!? It’s one thing to be drawn with a waist to hips ratio that defies all laws of physics, but do they have to have an expression that suggests they are ready for a threesome?

    Most writers creating narratives for girls are seemingly trying to espouse more feminist values, but whoever is drawing these ladies is making them look excessively saucy.

    Tell me I’m wrong! They have such a porno look on their faces!

    Strawberry Shortcake then…

    dp1

    And here she is now?!

    dp 2

    What is Rapunzel thinking about? Maybe “Sure, I’ll put your balls in my mouth.” And that lecherous lizard is like “I got two right here for ya.”

    dp 3

    What is Jasmine trying to tell us? How about “I’ve got a secret. I do anal.” And her Tiger Raja is ready in line. “You bet your sweet ass you do.”

    dp 4

    Here Sleeping Beauty is saying, “Go ahead, come on my face.” And that owl is like “get ready bitch.”

    dp 5

    September 28, 2015 • 5 years old, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing, Women's Business • Views: 1635

  • Game Of Thrones For Children

    I got into “Game of Thrones” late in the game. Every time I tried to get through the first episode, I had an anxiety attack about those wolves dying, whatever the fuck white walkers were, was winter really coming, and whether or not John Snow was ever going to love me.

    I finally got into it, but I’m stuck on Season 3 and cannot move forward. You know that part where John Snow and that red headed girl climb up that wall, and then they have that epic kiss at the top? Well, I can’t keep watching after that! That’s the only time in the entire show that I actually felt good. I need it to end there. I know that if I keep watching, he is going to die, she is going to die, or they both are going to get raped and stabbed in the anus. My heart can’t take it!

    But I get the obsession. It is complicated, rich, imaginative, has major sociopolitical and anthropological messages that need to be decoded. Each group is a metaphor for current political factions from the global elite, to the semi hopeless environmentalists trying to protect us all from ourselves. The many characters are full of complexity as we see how the impact of power bleeds in and out of their existence. It’s how they handle these morphing moments that define them.

    “Game of Thrones” is the modern myth that defines our culture. It’s an examination of government and the people’s unquestioning devotion to a system that ultimately views them as disposable. These are the lessons of this generation, but I can’t exactly show it to The Munch and have a Meta conversation about its implications. I mean, call me old-fashioned, but I am pretty sure you aren’t supposed to let 5-year olds watch the maniacal torture of someone being pulled apart.

    But it turns out The Munch has her own “Game of Thrones,” and it is called “My Little Pony.” If you don’t believe me, then check out this Wiki page and try to understand even a portion of how the 100 characters relate to each other. Watch an episode, and if you can decode the degrees of community ranking, you are a fucking genius.

    The Munch tries to explain to me the relationship between “Equestria” and the “cutie mark crusaders,” but the intricacies of these nuances are simply over my head. Their ultimate quest for the most important element of all, harmony, is a harrowing journey full of magic, wonder, and mystery. The many tribulations that hold these ponies back from their heroic goal will make your head spin from the density of the narrative.

    Munch is not fucking around when it comes to her ponies. She knows more about the world of “Ponyville” than I do about the news of this country. If I try to shut one of these shows off in the middle, and don’t let her finish the episode, it is as if I have cut off the limb of a baby deer and ate its raw flesh off the bone. The Munch’s horror and rage is so profound, that I am genuinely afraid of her.

    The Munch takes these stories more seriously than the story of the life she is actually living.

    Here she has set up her “My Little Pony” figures to watch “My Little Pony”

    my little pony watchers

    September 23, 2015 • 5 years old, Current Events, Musings, Political Banter • Views: 1767

  • Smoking Pot and Watching 1970’s Sci-Fi With My Brother

    On the fateful date of September 8th I received a text message from my brother that requested we watch the movie “Zardoz” together. And I quote, “Don’t look it up on Wikipedia. It has to be seen to be believed. I feel in my Hungarian heart that we need to experience this movie. It will be like when I introduced you to marijuana, because I bet you will start leading seminars on it.”

    When a sibling makes a request of another sibling with this magnitude of importance, the appeal must be granted. This is the duty of the sibling bond. When one sibling insists the other watch 1970’s science fiction, the other sibling MUST comply. It is the only way.

    The next order of importance was when this screening should take place. According to my brother, “one cannot watch Zardoz under times of stress,” so we had to plan it perfectly. This event could not be rushed, nor could it be put off for too long. I then received a text that read, “I want it to be sheer insane joy for you, so my gut tells me we should do the screening to celebrate the autumnal equinox.” So I of course honored my brother’s pagan instincts, and we gathered on Sunday evening to watch Zardoz.

    At this point you might be wondering to yourself, “Toni, what the dick is Zardoz?” Let me tell you, I too had that same question! Yet since I had sworn off any Wikipedia interference, my knowledge of Zardoz was probably as vast as yours. Meaning, I had no fucking clue what Zardoz was.

    Upon my brother’s arrival, we debated whether or not smoking weed was a good ritual to introduce us to this sacred ceremony.

    My Brother: Maybe we don’t do the weed, because Zardoz is a trip in and of itself.

    Again, I complied, since my brother is the Zardoz aficionado. We started the movie and the first image was a man’s floating head cloaked in a strange cloth hat. As his decapitated head drifted across the screen, I realized that his beard and mustache had been drawn on his face with what seemed to be… a Bic pen.

    Toni: I think we are going to have to smoke some pot after all.

    This was the first “pause” of many that was to take place during the viewing of Zardoz. We momentarily stopped the movie and each took a hit of weed. Since we are both sensitive souls, we had to be careful not to smoke too much, which would surely sour the Zardoz. Even though you have to be high to watch Zardoz, you don’t want to be too high.

    The next 105 minutes of the movie extended to about 200 minutes because we had to pause and discuss so many things. I mean, you can’t get high and watch post-apocalyptic sci-fi from 40 YEARS AGO and not have a LOT to deliberate over.

    I can’t say that I totally know what was going on the ENTIRE time of that movie, but this is the general gist of what we discussed.

    The movie is essentially about over population and the destruction of the planet through mindless breeding and overconsumption of resources. My brother and I both agreed this message is just as relevant today as it was in 1974. In the first shot of the movie with the floating head, said head talks directly to the audience – implying that you too, the watcher, are part of the problem. So don’t watch this movie feeling exempt.

    Once we were about 3 minutes into Zardoz, I realized that I had missed a line of dialogue, but could not rewind the movie with the remote I had on my phone. I am not that good at Apple TV, and don’t actually know how to rewind, only pause. This led us to the philosophical realization that this moment of not being able to rewind the movie was just like life. We can’t go backwards in time, we can only pause something to slow down the present. The more present you are, the more you can delay the progression of a fast forward future.

    We then sat and looked at the paused picture for about 3- 6 minutes. A floating head stared back at us. Oh – not the same floating head mind you…. A different one. This one was made of stone. I mean, what kind of movie would Zardoz be with just ONE floating head.

    We watched about 4 more consecutive minutes, then had to pause it again. This time was because we had to read the writing on the wall. Literally. The main character was in a room, and behind him, written on the wall, was writing. It read, “in this secret room from the past, I seek the future.”

    It was at this moment that my brother and I realized that maybe Zardoz is as profound as Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining.” After all, John Boorman wrote, directed, and produced the movie, so everything we were seeing was EXACTLY his vision. Boorman wasn’t compromising on anything. This was the movie he wanted us to see. When people in the boardroom asked John, “Does the main character Zed played by Sean Connery HAVE to wear underwear and knee high boots as a costume?” Boorman said, “Hell yes he does. You are going to look at Sean Connery in red panties and hooker boots the ENTIRE film, and you are going to like it.”

    The point is that Boorman vetted every decision in the making of Zarodoz. So my brother and I figured we could make an entire documentary breaking down all the political, social, and Meta commentary just like in that documentary “Room 237.” Even though I was only 7 minutes in, I knew Zardoz was that deep. As my brother said, “Boorman is sucking the Kubrick marrow.”

    About 13 minutes in, we had to pause yet again because my brother got inspired. He then went on a 17-minute diatribe about the current geo political landscape, the future of secret societies, the potential of a transparent government, yet somehow then brought it all back to an analysis of self and his own personal evolution.

    It was pretty impressive.

    We then got really into the narrative of the movie and talked less. The basic lesson I learned was that the global elite might very likely sequester themselves from poverty and extreme environmental catastrophes. They will quarantine themselves in a fabricated utopia, where they fancy themselves the custodians of high culture. They will then become immortal, because that’s what rich people do.

    Yet this landscape will forever be fundamentally flawed, because human nature is. Despite having eternity, their minds will still be confined. The common assumption in life is that our bodies are limited, and our minds are boundless. But Zardoz reminds us how it is our bodies that are actually limitless, and our minds limited.

    Stress is what ages us. It is the mind that kills us. The body is immortal and could defy all physics if only the mind could conceive it. As the protagonist played by Sean Connery said, “I see nothing inside except my own perplexity. Knowledge isn’t enough.”

    Zardoz also planted the seed that maybe all war is simply entertainment for the rich. They don’t see the people fighting as actual people, but a subspecies of lower importance. Much how we see animals. We avoid projecting our human feelings onto them, for it’s just a bull for Christ’s sake. It doesn’t feel how I feel, so let’s enjoy watching it fight till the death.

    The other lesson of Zardoz is how when you have nothing but time, time means nothing. Yet the boredom will pollute you.

    When my brother left that night he said to me, “you are probably thinking ‘why Zardoz, why now?” And he was right. I was thinking that, and I bet you are too!

    zardoz

    zardoz022005

    September 21, 2015 • Birth • Views: 4364

  • That Time I Shat My Pants

    When I was 22 years old, I went to the dentist, and he told me I had receding gums. His solution for said problem was oral surgery. Here was the plan. The dentist was going to cut out a big chunk of skin from the roof of my mouth, and sew it across my gums on the front bottom row.

    Pretty sweet idea right?!

    Now here is the thing. Remember how in the 90’s orthodontists put braces on every kid who had a mouth? Well I got braces, and pretty sure I didn’t need them. It’s not like my teeth were growing horizontal or anything. So because of my braces, they pushed my teeth to the edges of my gum’s capacity. This meant I was going to have to have my face cut open to fix it. Isn’t modern medicine grand?!

    I went in for the surgery and woke up with stitches in the roof of my mouth, as well as all along my lower gums. I couldn’t eat, and I talked like Barbara Walters. Every time my gums would scrape against my stitches, they would get slightly cut, and hemorrhage. I did get a ton of painkillers, however, which I made sure to take with lots of alcohol and weed. Don’t worry; I totally shared them with my friends.

    After two weeks of not eating anything but oxycodone and smoothies, my system was in a state of total turmoil. I went to the doctor to get my stitches out… and get this. It turns out the stitches on the roof of my mouth had formed a giant scab called a “snuff.” That is the actual technical term. Well, my “snuff” was of such unusual size, that the entire office came in to see its monstrosity.

    The actual process of ripping the stitches out of my head (and out from under my “snuff”), was a mind-bogglingly painful process. I almost passed out on the chair. After they were done and my mouth was filled with blood – they sent me on my merry way. I took the train home, and stumbled into the elevator of my apartment building.

    On my way up the elevator, I really had to shit. I had been holding it in for a while, and was beginning to lose control. My body was all out of sorts from the medical grade heroine, fucked up diet, and physical torture. I didn’t have my bowels in check the way I usually do. I finally got out of the elevator… ran down the hall to my apartment door… and started looking for the keys. I couldn’t find them, and the pressure in my abdomen only built to an immeasurable force. Once I finally located the keys, my hands were shaking so uncontrollably that I couldn’t get them in the keyhole. As I was fumbling desperately to get inside, I shat my pants: right outside my apartment door.

    Later that evening I was terribly hungry after all that suffering and shitting. I didn’t have much I could eat because my mouth was still tender, so I decided on refried beans. They were soft after all. And it was during this feast that I realized I had accidently swallowed the colossal “snuff” that had previously been nestled to the roof of my mouth. Just to remind you… that means I actually ate my Martian sized mouth scab. And just so you know. This scab was not hard or encrusted since it had been living inside my moist mouth. It was more the consistency of a slug. Like a sack that was filled with blood. Upon it’s absence. There was a huge hole in the roof of my mouth that still exists to this day.

    So that is pretty much why I haven’t been to the dentist in 13 years. Or come to think of it… Eaten retried beans.

    refried-beans-520

    September 16, 2015 • Old School Stories • Views: 1839

  • Is There a Point Of Excellent Talents When They Don’t Make You Money?!

    It’s hard to make a living doing what you are truly passionate about. It’s one thing to get a job that makes money – but it’s another to have a career that feeds your soul to the point where you can’t wait to wake up in the morning and get back to work! Even when you are able to do something you truly love, there will still be all sorts of bullshit, crap, and poop you don’t want to do, but HAVE to anyway.

    Society only honors hobbies once you fully commodify them. Culture measures worth on intrinsic material value, yet not all of our personal goals line up with the metrics of Wall Street. I bet most of our greatest skills are things that can’t be sold on the free market.

    When I think the abilities that I naturally excel at, I don’t see a place for them in the adult world. For instance, I am amazing at parallel parking. Seriously. I’ve had many a stranger clap for my tight squeezes with minimal wheel effort. But where can I take that? To the valet parking world? Not really – because most of the time they are pulling into spaces. My talents would be wasted!

    I am also unbelievable at Tiger Woods Golf on PlayStation circa 2003-2005. I mean… not to brag… but I’m probably one of the best east of the Mississippi. My only condition is that I have to be stoned, and cookies MUST be baking in the oven. Yet I can’t support myself playing Tiger Woods Golf ☹ There are no international competitions that I could enter! And if there were, I can’t play the game on our modern PlayStation 3… it HAS to be 2! My only hope would be to get a flux capacitor, make a time machine, harvest plutonium, and stay in 2004 forever!

    Is there something that I can do with my epic gift to text really really super fast? AND WITHOUT LOOKING! Why doesn’t anybody care that I can find the perfect emoji to express disdain without being offensive faster than a cowboy can draw his gun!?

    I bet you have 1,000 skills that no one will pay you for, but you are fucking amazingly excellent anyway!

    (Me in my Tiger Woods Days)

    toni mona 190 est 7th

    September 14, 2015 • Musings • Views: 1425

  • Harvard Professors and Hospitals Do NOT Mix

    When I was 15 years old, you could say I was kind of a nightmare. Not that I was a rude withdrawn teen, just the kind that would steal all your liquor and fill it with water/juice. My parents seriously had a dinner party where they poured everyone cocktails that ended up being “water and tonics” and “apple juice on the rocks.”

    I liked to tinker with mind-altering substances okay?!

    Soooo one fateful Friday, my friends and I came back to my house after school, and decided it was a good time to get fucked up. It was 4 in the afternoon after all. We took some shots, and then had the grand idea of smoking weed – but we didn’t have an apparatus or rolling papers.

    Because we went to private school and were really smart, we problem solved this dire drawback, and realized we could make a pipe out of an apple. I know. Pretty genius. My friend Lila went to work on this task, but since we were already pretty wasted, she ended up slicing her finger.

    My initial reaction was “she’s fine, let’s move on.” Partly because I didn’t want to get in trouble for my friend hurting herself at my house, and partly because we still had weed to smoke. My other friend Marla however did not agree. She was using paper towels to physically hold Lila’s finger on, and insisted we go to the hospital. I resisted. You see, I was raised by WASPs, so we didn’t do things like admit pain or decapitated limbs.

    Marla was relentless and eventually I gave in. So us five drunken high school girls put on our winter coats, and started walking to Mass General Hospital. On our way, as Marla was still holding Lila’s finger on, we ran into my Dad on the street. I did my best not to slur my words.

    Toni: Oh hi Dad. We are just going to the hospital because Lila cut her finger. Shouldn’t take too long. Umm… do you want to come?
    My Dad: No I do not! I fell on the subway steps and hurt my hands! Look!!

    My dad then showed us all the palms of his hands. They were a little pink, and still had gravel on them, but not bleeding. It’s not like… ohhh I don’t know… he had almost cut his finger off and needed to go to the hospital.

    Toni: Okay. Well see you later.

    My dad continued on his way, and we inebriated girls continued on ours. You see, my dad is a Harvard Professor who is AMAZING at all things intellectual, but just is not interested in most things human. Like dealing with hurt teenagers who need medical attention. Anything that takes him away from his cerebral pursuits is major anxiety for him. Plus, he had fallen and hurt his hands remember!! He had to recover from that.

    We finally got to the hospital, and I was starting to panic a little. I really wanted Lila to be okay because I really didn’t want to get in trouble. I rushed over to the front desk to talk to the receptionist.

    Toni: My friend needs help!
    Receptionist: What seems to be the problem?
    Toni: She’s almost cut her finger off…
    Receptionist: Did she hurt her eye or her ear?
    Toni: What? No…
    Receptionist: Well, this is Mass EYE and EAR.
    Toni: It’s not “Mass Eye, Ear and Finger?”
    Receptionist: Afraid not. You’re going to have to go to Mass GENERAL, which is further down the road.

    Eventually we got to the RIGHT hospital, and Lila was taken by the doctor to get checked out. As we are waiting for her to return, Lila’s parents showed up, as did my dad. We sat in silence. Lila’s parents were furious at me for feeding their daughter alcohol and allowing her to get hurt. I was freaking out wondering if my dad had found the apple, weed, and bloody knife we had left on the kitchen counter. And my dad was livid because now he was at the hospital out of his Catholic guilt, and wanted to be home working while not thinking about his sore hands.

    In the end it turns out I was totally wrong, Marla was right, and Lila needed 20 stitches to keep her finger attached to her hand.

    This is my Dad… and this pretty much sums up his essence.

    PS yes he is in a bubble bath

    dad in the bath

    September 9, 2015 • Old School Stories • Views: 1798

  • What is Funny vs. What is Appropriate

    I like to challenge social convention. It makes me feel more comfortable when I am making other people feel uncomfortable. Something is soothing about the discomfort.

    As a result, this means I have a very fluid relationship to “appropriate behavior.” I like it when people tease acceptability, especially when trying to get a laugh. Sometimes you have to take things too far just to wake people up. That’s how you find the comedy gold.

    I also strive for authentic honest connection to people. So when my 5-year old is going to say something like “Let’s pretend this My Little Pony is really mean, and called this My Little Pony a ditch,” I’m going to correct her. It’s bitch honey…. Not ditch.

    Of course I don’t want my daughter to swear, but she can’t go around thinking people are “ditches.” That’s just absurd. I don’t have to shelter The Munch from the existence of these words, but I do have to explain that children aren’t supposed to curse. Only fucking grownups are allowed to do that.

    When The Munch and her little friend were showing me their butts the other day, I had to take pause. Either I could say, “that is rude,” or I could say what I actually said: which was “that is called mooning.” If they are going to moon me, they should at least know what it is called – because mooning people is hilarious in the right context. Of course you don’t want to moon the wrong person… like your teacher or a pervert at the park. But what kind of world is this when you can’t moon your own mom and crack up with your friends about it!?

    So this takes me to The Munch’s new favorite music videos to watch. They are parodies of her favorite pop songs, and she thinks they are wittiest thing every to happen to the Internet. “Mom, in this one video she keeps putting her butt in this guy’s face and it is soooooooooooo funny.” Yeah maybe it is not proper to let my kid watch videos with swear words and shit, but the fact The Munch is developing her butt and poop humor is the first sign of a future comedy genius. At least here’s praying.

    September 7, 2015 • 5 years old, Behavior, Mommyhood, Parenting, Pee & Poop, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 3741

  • I See How I Suck

    When someone does something shitty to you, the deed is done. They can never take away their past actions. The only thing they can do is change the way you feel about their shitty behavior.

    When someone refuses to acknowledge how they’ve been crappy, their crappiness is infinitely more intense in your mind. Yet if they some how recognize that they may have been crapalicious, then it is much easier to get past it.

    So basically, if you see how you suck, then I don’t have to think you suck anymore. But if you refuse to admit your suckage, all I can think about is seriously how hard you suck.

    I probably get into a fight every day with my kid about something. There are instances when these disagreements are because of my behavior, but 99.9999% of the time she’s just being an unreasonable twat. So inevitably The Munch and I will argue, and when she doesn’t get her way, she storms out of the room and slams the door.

    Now there is really no better treatment then the silent treatment. If you are mad at me, and want to ignore me, then that is fine with me. Go right ahead. But usually Munch’s silent treatment is preceded by her yelling in my face, which is just as annoying as it sounds.

    When The Munch returns back from her dramatic exit stage left, we have a moment where we make up. You can’t just act like that shit never happened! You told me you would poop in my shoe if I didn’t let you watch My Little Pony Munch! If I don’t make sure you know how I feel about your suckiness, then I can’t get over this! YOU MUST KNOW! We have to discuss the impetus of the conflict to truly process it, and that impetus is YOU!

    But… where Munch used to be a more passive receiver of my analysis of her shitty behavior, now she is turning the tables onto me!?

    Munch: Here Mom, I brought you this leaf.
    Toni: That is really sweet, thank you. I am sorry we fought, but can you understand that I don’t want you to watch TV in the middle of a beautiful day? It’s not good for your body or mind. You can play outside and use your imagination. I’m not saying “no” to hurt you, I’m just looking out! You really don’t have to yell at me for that.
    Munch: Okay, but you also don’t always have to tell me what to do.

    suck-blog