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November, 2015
Archive

  • Why Being Around Your Parents as an Adult Sometimes Sucks

    One of the hardest things about the holidays is being an adult, and being around your parents. No matter how great your relationship is with them, there are moments when you are going to feel infantilized, triggered, or irrationally full of rage. This is often solved with the right amount of bourbon, Xanax, and preferably pure MDMA – but one can’t always get their hands on such things… mainly because grandma keeps hogging all the drugs.

    If you think about it, most of your life with your parents, or with your kids, is when you are adults. Childhood isn’t really that long. So the rest of that time is seeing and treating each other as peers. Yet that can be challenging when looking at your now grown up child and remembering them as that baby who once shat in their own hand and ate it. You know too much about your kid to take them seriously as an adult.

    This holiday my parents were gone, but because of Munch’s surgery, I spent a week with them in Boston before Thanksgiving… which is the LONGEST we have been around each other for 17 years. Okay granted this was a time of stress and anxiety because of Munch’s medical journey, so that may have colored things a bit. Yet I did come to a MAJOR realization of why this adult parent-child dynamic can be so challenging.

    My mom and I have a lot in common when it comes to our interests. We both enjoy walking in nature, talking about ourselves, and reading trashy magazines. We can bond over the fact that Scott Disick cheated on Kourtney Kardashian with not one, but TWO of her sisters. Yet we also are fundamentally different people. We have different moral inquiries, different views on life, and a different standard of what constitutes as dirty hair.

    Most of my time with my mom we got along really well, but there were a couple instances where we didn’t. In short it boiled down to two things. She thinking I was a total basket case for my life choices, and me thinking she was a judgmental bitch.

    We could have just swept those moments under the rug to join the other unsaid resentments of the past – yet instead we discussed what happened. From my mom’s perspective, she sometimes still sees me as that teenage girl who thought it was a good idea to do acid at an Allman Brother’s concert then drive to a rave. Or that girl in my 20’s who would often drink so much that I would end up puking at a diner, then leaving on the back of hot guy’s motorcycle to later get dropped off at the apartment building I moved out of 2 years earlier. Yeah I get it. I had a time in life when I was a little reckless. Yet a lot has changed since then, because I wear helmets now.

    Toni: The thing with you mom is that you go so far in your thinking to see my behavior as questionable, and judge said questionable behavior. Yet you don’t take the next step and ask yourself “why is she acting that way.”

    My Mom: Yeah I can see that. But I think I just have PTSD from that time in your life.

    Toni: You know, as parent it is really easy to see the parts of your kid that you like, and take credit for those aspects of who they are. Yet when you see parts of them you don’t like as much, we often want to say “oh well, that’s just they way they are.” Or “that’s their personality.” We want to see our nurturing as the reason for their good, and their nature as the reason for their bad. But we are equally responsible for all parts of our kids. Social conditioning isn’t just about shaping the positive, but also the negative.

    My Mom: Haha. That is so true. But seriously that was just you being you and I am the reason why you are okay.

    Me and my mom during my “questionable behavior” period… (PS the top picture is my mom and dad in the late 80’s… pretty sure it’s the best thing ever)

    toni and mom hughie party

    November 30, 2015 • Family Drama, Parenting, Relationships • Views: 1717

  • The Worst Day of My Life! (Munch’s Eye Surgery Saga)

    The night before Munch’s wandering eye surgery I couldn’t sleep. Not only because The Munch was getting her eyeball cut open the next day, but also because The Munch was getting HER FUCKING EYE BALL CUT OPEN THE NEXT DAY! I guess the thing I was most nervous about was the anesthesia. It would be a real bummer if that shit killed my kid.

    We had to wake up at 5:45 in the morning to get to the hospital on time. The Munch was in good spirits, and there was a beautiful sunrise on the way. Seemed like a good day to stay alive. When we got there we were waiting in the waiting room and a mother came out from the back where the surgeries were taking place. She was hysterical, and collapsed in her husband’s arms to weep. Munch’s dad and I looked at each other and were like “holy shit.”

    The woman was crying because she had just watched her kid go under, which was obviously pretty traumatic. I looked at Munch who was peacefully coloring, and knew I was in for a fucking experience. Yet because I am a good New England woman who was raised by WASPs, I also knew I would probably just keep all my feelings deep inside and have mental breakdown later when it was appropriate.

    When we were called in, we went to the back room to get prepared. They gave The Munch hospital pajama’s to put on – which was probably the most traumatic part of the story from her perspective. The Munch did NOT want to wear these tiger pajamas. She is SUPER compulsive about her clothes, and seriously wears the same outfit for 3 months in a row. Getting her to change her clothes is like trying to change the mind of a religious fundamentalist.

    But you know what? Because The Munch is a good New England child raised by WASPs, she kept all her feelings inside and put on the outfit. There were a pair of yellow sox she didn’t want to wear, because she NEVER wears socks inside, but when the nurse asked her to put them on, she complied.

    The Munch was then poked, prodded, examined, and check out. She did everything she was asked, and was extremely cooperative. The nurses and doctor kept saying “what a good listener she is,” and “she is so composed and brave!” Which she was! She knows how to be stoic in times of stress, but I also knew that she wasn’t expressing what she was actually feeling – because she learned from the BEST!

    The Munch was then asked what flavor she wanted her anesthesia mask to smell like, and she chose watermelon. When it was time to take her back, I had to put on MY blue hospital gown and doctor’s hair net. And holy shit I did not like that… especially since I and been wearing the same thing all week.

    I held Munch’s hand, and we walked to the operation room – both in outfits we did NOT like. The room was filled with nurses with their blue masks. Munch was told to lie on the bed, and when she did, her little body looked so small. The nurses started strapping her down, and put the anesthesia mask on her face.

    Toni: Does it smell like watermelon?

    Munch nodded her head, and looked around. I put my hand on her heart, and started doing reiki on her. (I of course am a certified reiki practitioner which is a type of healing touch – I mean you can’t be a new age mom and NOT practice reiki. It’s in the handbook). The Munch looked into my eyes and I smiled at her. You can’t act scared in situations like that! Even though in my mind I was thinking “ummmmm this is so mother fucking scary, maybe this was a bad idea.” I was trying remain calm as Munch’s tiny body convulsed as the anesthesia took over.

    Nurse: This is totally normal… nothing to worry about. She is already asleep.

    Munch’s eyes rolled in the back of her head as she thrashed around. Then suddenly, she was still. It kind of looked like she died.

    Nurse: Give her a kiss on her cheek.

    I kissed Munch on her cheek and everyone looked at me.

    Nurse: Are you okay?

    Toni: Of course.

    I went back out the waiting room and immediately sat down to meditate. So yeah, maybe it is kinda weird to be sitting on a waiting room floor meditating, but that is the kind of person I am. I then did some distance reiki on Munch to support the surgery. Which also included whispering and weird gestures. Again, because that is how I roll.

    The TV was on, and I could hear Curious George. It was the same episode Munch was watching on the drive to the hospital. It made me think of her, and wonder if the sound of Curious George would forever mock me if something terrible happened.

    After two hours the doctor came, told us everything had gone well, and that she was sleeping. The doctor explained that she was going to go do another surgery, then come back and check on Munch because if she had over-corrected/under-corrected the eye, she was going to have to do another surgery that day.

    Now part of me thinks that if Ben Carson is a skilled surgeon, then surgery can’t be THAT hard. But isn’t it also kind of insane that a doctor operates on MULTIPLE people a day. If I had just cut open a kid’s face, I think I would need the rest of the morning to recover.

    When The Munch finally woke up, she was in a lot of pain and really disoriented.

    Munch: Can I put my clothes back on?

    The Nurse: We have to wait for the doctor to see you first.

    We sat with Munch as she tried to make sense of the world, and I held an ice pack to her face. The doctor came and put all these eye drops in her eyes, which really stung and hurt her. But The Munch didn’t complain, and just let it happen.

    Doctor: She is probably the easiest patient I have ever had.

    I started to FREAK THE FUCK OUT that the doctor was going to say she had to go back in and do another surgery. I watched as she did all her doctor texts, and noticed she was surprisingly peppy considering she had just done 3 operations and it wasn’t even 10:30 am. Usually by 10:30 I have accomplished eating breakfast and not peeing on my hands.

    Thank Mother Gaia the doctor was happy with her job, and said we could leave.

    Munch: Can I put my clothes back on now?

    We brought The Munch home, and she was pretty fucking miserable.

    Munch: This was the worst day of my life! Almost as bad as if I had Becca over for a playdate!

    Toni: Whoa really? And is Becca really that bad that she is worse than surgery?

    Munch: She is just so annoying and asks too many questions.

    Toni: Well, I hope you are nice to her anyway.

    Munch: I am. I just never wanna have her over for a playdate!

    The doctor had given us eye drops and eye gel to put in Munch’s eye for the healing process. But you know what you really don’t want to happen to your eye after people have been cutting it open it all day? Putting eye drops or eye-jelly in it! I knew she didn’t want to do it, but Munch’s eye also looked like a cyborg! The whites were completely red, and I felt like I should probably do what I was told.

    Toni: Listen Munch, Mama will do the eye drops first, and you will see it doesn’t hurt. It’s not the stingy kind the doctor had. That kind had steroids in it. This is just plain moisturizing eye drops!

    Munch: NO I DON’T WANT ANY MORE EYE DROPS!

    The Munch then started to cry… but these weren’t normal tears. These were tears of blood. Seriously, my child was CRYING BLOOD! Part of me wanted to take a picture of it for Instagram. It was just so poetic, and disturbing. But even I knew that wasn’t a good idea. (Please note that was me being SUPER mature and putting someone’s feelings above my own artistic social media expressions).

    Toni: Watch Munch, I will do it to myself and show you it doesn’t hurt!

    I put the eye drops in my eye, and you know what? It fucking hurt.

    Toni: Uhhh let’s try the jelly instead.

    After an hour of negotiations and 4 cookies later I finally got the jelly in her eye.

    That night I slept in the bed with Munch because I wanted to make sure she was okay. It was a bit like sleeping next to a rabid octopus who was on meth. She did not sleep the whole night. She kept thrashing, pulling at the covers, sitting up, and wiggling around. By the time morning came around I was delirious.

    Toni: Munch are you okay? You didn’t sleep all night.

    Munch: How do you know that?

    Toni: Because you were moving around and I was right next to you! Was your eye hurting?

    Munch: Yes but I didn’t want to complain. I was trying not to wake you up so you could sleep.

    Ummmmm that is so fucking sweet, and obviously indicative of how many times in my life I tell her not to wake me up!!!

    The Munch wanted to play with her toys, but she also was seeing double out of the eye she got surgery on. The first thing she wanted to do was make a necklace out of beads. You know what is really hard to do? String beads onto a necklace when you fucking can’t see. It was so heartbreaking to watch her attempts, and a really ironic activity choice on her end. She would eventually get the bead on after about, oh I don’t know… 45 tries or so. Then she wanted to play with her “play mobile toys,” which are literally the size of molecules. All her toys are so goddamn tiny!!!!!!!!! Why can’t they make a princess crown that is bigger than a ladybug wing?!

    At this point Munch’s eye really hurt, but she didn’t wanna take the medicine.

    Munch: I don’t want that grape medicine because it is too sweet, and so was the watermelon they made me breathe in! IT IS TOO SWEET AND I WON’T TAKE IT!

    Okay, so I guess that serves me right for being an organic eating hippy who gives Munch dirt flavored gum as a treat.

    I tried putting the medicine in ice-cream, but she wouldn’t eat it. I tried crushing up the pills, hiding it in Nutella, and spreading on toast – but after a few bites she noticed.

    Munch: Why does this Nutella taste like grape?

    Toni: It doesn’t.

    Munch: Then what is this purple powder right here? YOU ARE TRICKING ME!!!!! WHY ARE YOU TRICKING ME!!?

    Toni: I’m sorry! I just want you to fell better! I don’t know how else to make you take the medicine.

    Munch: I AM NEVER EATING GRAPE MEDICINE ON NUTELA AGAIN!

    My mom then went to the store to get “baby aspirin,” which according to my mom tasted delicious. She gave it to Munch who immediately spit it out.

    Toni: Come on Munch, just eat it.

    Munch: IT TASTES DISGUSTING!

    Toni: No it doesn’t Here, lemme try it. I will show you.

    I took one of the “baby aspirin” and chewed it to show Munch she was being ridiculous.

    Toni: Jesus H. Christ that is fucking disgusting!!!!!!!!! Give me that bottle mom.

    So it turns out it was just regular aspirin. Not children’s chewable aspirin. Just adult aspirin you swallow. Now not only had I taken an aspirin for the first time in 15 years for no goddamn reason, but I also couldn’t get the taste of aspirin out of my mouth for the next three days.

    Toni: MOM WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?

    My mom went BACK to the store and got another painkiller that tasted like cherry. Thank god Munch would take that one.

    That night I was really on the brink of sanity. I was trying for an hour to get Munch to do the eye jelly, and she wouldn’t. Every time I got close, she would get super upset and run away. I couldn’t hold her down, because it is her eye I am dealing with, and you can’t force someone’s eye open.

    Munch: I don’t want you to see the redness!

    Toni: Munch I don’t care about that!? Would you care if I had a red eye?

    Munch: No. But I don’t want my eye to be red. I don’t want jelly in my eye! I shouldn’t have chosen the surgery. I should have just seen double forever!

    Toni: Dude this is the worst it’s gonna be. You’re gonna feel so much better tomorrow I promise! And then you won’t see double any more.

    Munch: I don’t care if I see double… I wish I never had surgery.

    Toni: You are gonna be all better soon. We just have to put the jelly in your eye to help you.

    Munch: BUT I DON’T WANT ANY MORE JELLY IN MY EYE!

    My Mom: Why don’ t you leave, go get some dinner – I will do the eye jelly, give her a bath, and put her to bed.

    Toni: No. I am not leaving. I’m just going to put her to bed.

    My Mom: I can put her to bed. You have to take care of yourself too. Just get out of the house, eat, and take a break.

    Toni: No I wanna be there for her.

    My mom: But she is resisting you to resist you right now. Just go. I can do it once she has settled down and in a better mood.

    Toni: I’m just gonna put her to bed, then I will go.

    My Mom: Let me put her to bed, you are being really annoying!!!

    Whatever Mom, you are annoying!!

    I put Munch to bed, went downstairs, and got dressed to go get food. As I was leaving I could hear the bath running, and Munch chatting away happily to my mom. I ran upstairs and there she was, out of bed, and in the bath.

    Toni: What the dick Mom? She was just in bed!

    My Mom: I got the jelly in her eye, and now she is having a bath before going back to bed.

    Toni: Oh. Thanks.

    All and all, Munch was really fucking impressive. It was not a great experience, but I am hoping it works for the long term,and this is the only time she has to go through it. Not to mention how fucking nice, supportive, loving, and caring all our friends were. SO THANK YOU for going through this journey with us! Especially her little friend who was so worried about what Munch went through, she watched videos of eye surgeries for over an hour to understand the experience. I am dead serious about that…

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    November 23, 2015 • Adventures, Family Drama, Health • Views: 1557

  • The Munch is Getting Eye Surgery Today

    The Munch is getting her eye surgery today. This was a CRAZY hard decision for me to make… which is why I actually didn’t make it. She did.

    The Munch has a wandering eye. It doesn’t happen all the time, so I didn’t want to do anything about it. I have such an aversion to Western medical practices, and will use any approach to avoid the white man’s medicine. I will drink pine needle sap mixed with fish scale flambé or give myself a cayenne pepper enema before taking a Tylenol. The idea of surgery is so outside of my spectrum of comfort. I even brainstormed training a crow to guide Munch’s eye back into place, but it kept shitting everywhere and trying to make a nest in my hair.

    Munch’s eye has been wandering around for years, and I have attempted a variety of different hippy approaches – cranial sacral therapy, eye patches, raven’s blood… But every time I took her to the eye doctor they said the same thing. “There is nothing you can do, and it’s not going to get better – only worsen with age.”

    The problem from Munch’s perspective is that she sees double. It really bothers her when she sees two of everything, especially because she’s not on acid. She’s been asking for over a year to do the surgery and get it fixed.

    Now I know The Munch doesn’t know the dangers of anesthesia, truly understand the recovery process, or has the mental capacity to process the statistics of risk. She just wants her eyes to work. But her confidence and desire to get this done is something that I decided to trust.

    It is really hard to make major decisions about someone else’s body. In fact, it’s pretty terrifying. But this surgery is Munch’s choice, and I want to follow her intuition. Especially because she was not that interested in experimenting with using unicorn urine, so I’m fresh out of ideas.

    Please pray for her!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    munch at eye doctor

    November 18, 2015 • Health, Parenting • Views: 1613

  • Spending The Night With Strippers

    When I was 18-years old, I liked getting drunk. You know, because I was class and sophisticated. Yet getting alcohol wasn’t always so easy. I would either have to ask a homeless person who most likely had a substance abuse problem that I inadvertently supported by giving them some vodka if they bought it for me, or some pervert who liked getting beer for underage girls and trying to go home with them. It wasn’t really a good scene.

    One day my boyfriend and I had the super bright idea of driving 5 hours to go to Montreal for the night. Since the drinking age was 18, we could easily drink until we vomited blood. I know. We went to private school – so we were pretty smart.

    Since it was already 7 pm, we got moving, and grabbed his best friend to come with us for the ride… and because we needed more money for our adventure.

    Considering we didn’t want to get there too late, I decided I should probably drive 95 mph. I mean, I was going to college the next year, so obviously I had a great understanding of physics. The faster I drive, the faster I get there right? Yeah maybe… unless you’re lost in a small town where the speeding limit is 40, and you get pulled over.

    Since I was going over twice the speed limit, I was in big trouble. The cop that caught me had little sympathy, and brought me right to jail. He wanted to impound the car, but in order to do that; I had to see the judge. The judge was home with with his family, as it was 10 pm on a Sunday, so was forced to leave his house to come to the courthouse. I’m sure you would not be surprised to hear that the judge was not very impressed by my explanation of why I was speeding. He set my bail at $900.

    When we pooled together all my money, we had exactly $975. Keep in mind, this was 1998 there were no cell phones, no GPS, no FUCKING ATMS!! This was ALL THE MONEY we had. Yet we had no choice. We handed it over in order to get me out of jail and my car out of the impoundment.

    Then we had a really important decision to make. Do we continue to Montreal with $75, no place to stay, and no access to get more money for the gas we would need for the return trip back? Or do we cut our losses and go home?

    Of course we continued to Canada. Did I mention both my parents or professors!? I am obviously a genius with genius ideas!!!

    We got to Montreal, and reality dawned on us. We had no place to sleep. We needed money to get home. And it was 1:45 am.

    So what did we do you ask?

    We went to the only place that was open, where we could drink as much as we wanted, and could stay until morning.

    We went to the strip club.

    Did I mention I had been accepted into Sarah Lawrence College! That’s a real intellectual school. That’s why I make such good life choices!

    Spending the night with strippers was simultaneously crazy fun, and insanely sad. Fun because we got to drink until the room spun – sad because naked women who felt like their dads didn’t love them were spinning around poles with their pussies exposed. Yeah I know – maybe they like their jobs and feel sexually empowered. But as a young empathetic feminist who cared about their humanity and hoped these naked ladies were truly happy, I cried one glittery tear. But on a positive note, we did save money to get home because all the lonely men bought me drinks.

    Here I am at 18…

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    November 16, 2015 • Old School Stories • Views: 1473

  • Toni Bologna’s Anti-motivational sayings

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    November 12, 2015 • Musings • Views: 1598

  • Do You Speak My Love Language ?

    We use the word love all the time. I love chocolate. I love sunsets. I love “Game of Thrones.” But there is no way I feel the same about a delicious dessert as I do about watching someone’s bowels get ripped out their anus on a Sunday night. One is infinitely more satisfying than the other. (Up to you to choose which one).

    Love is an oversimplified term to express one of the most complex human emotions. That is why the Ancient Greeks had 5 words for love – to represent the different flavors of love we feel. There are varying ways in which we experience love for something or someone, and the deeper we understand these distinctions, the more we understand our relationship to the target of our affection. Not every person you love you are meant to be with, much like how not every pie you love you are meant to eat the entirety of.

    Just as there is a distinction between loving your friend and loving your favorite pair of boots (the boots obviously being the ones you confide in on those cold lonely nights) there is also diversity in the ways in which we express love towards each other. Haven’t you ever been in a relationship with someone that you know you love deeply, and they love you, but you both constantly feel unappreciated and misunderstood?

    The problem isn’t that the love isn’t there. The real issue is that you aren’t speaking the same love language!

    According to Gary Chapman, who has spent over 30 years as a marriage counselor, there are 5 major love languages. We all speak love in a very specific way, regardless if others are actually aware of our modality. I could be shouting at you with my love language, but you if you have different love language, my efforts to communicate might fall onto deaf ears. It would be as if I only knew French and you only knew Russian – we just wouldn’t comprehend what the other person was saying.

    We look for people to love us the same way that we love them. When you speak a love language, you assume everyone is fluent in it. Yet in truth, someone might be showing love in their love language, but you’re just not listening!! We all have to become not only bi-lingual in love languages, but uhhh… five-lingual. The more we understand the different ways in which people love, the more we can acknowledge and appreciate people’s tries!

    If I learned your love language and spoke it to you, and you learned my love language and spoke it to me, our relationship would be infinitely more loving. We need to be aware of each other’s vocabularies. Imagine if at schools, rather than just learning the basics of grammar and reading, children learned to speak love. If they were taught to be able to identify, translate, and be fluent in all love languages. Wouldn’t the world be such a better fucking place?!!!

    Here are the love languages

    1) Words of Affirmation: Someone who gives a lot of compliments, says “I love you often,” and outwardly expresses gratitude for things like taking out the trash or doing the dishes. These are people who enjoy praise and appreciation, and want you to give that back to them in return.
    2) Acts of Service: These are people who are always doing you favors. Helping out around the house, driving you to the airport, moving your apartment for the 3rd time. They show love with their actions, and are looking for you to be as helpful as they are.
    3) Receiving and Giving Gifts: These are not materialistic people looking for lavish presents, but rather “the thought that counts” kind of gestures. They see gifts as a way of showing “I was thinking about you when I saw this fox key chain because I know how you like foxes and key chains.” It makes them feel heard, understood, and like they are on your mind.
    4) Quality Time: These people are looking for giving and receiving quality time together. Moments of pure undivided attention. They want the intimacy of interaction, and knowing they are the only thing in your world for that moment.
    5) Physical Touch: These people show love through their body. They need affection, and readily give it. A squeeze on the shoulder, hug, kiss on the head. They feel most loved when their body is also experiencing the sensation.

    So which one are you? I think we are all familiar with each one of these ways of loving; yet there is probably one that speaks to you most loudly. Know your love language, teach it to the people you love, and ask to learn theirs.

    I hope this baby speaks petting as it’s love language… but not heavy petting, because that would be just weird.

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    November 9, 2015 • Musings, Relationships • Views: 1420

  • How Important Are Manners?

    Growing up in a super WASPy family, there was often the social convention that you were to prioritize politeness over truth. What you were thinking was never as important as what the other person is feeling. Instead of saying what you actually mean, you would say the polite thing. For example, when my grandfather gave my brother and me toilet paper and a plunger for Christmas, we smiled and said “Thank you. I’m sure we will find many uses for this fine gift.” Yet what we were actually thinking was, “seriously dude, what the dick!?”

    Manners are in essence the guiding principles of how to maneuver your way through social situations. Sometimes they may be oppressive to the individual, but you honor them for the emotional disposition of the group. So rather than vocalizing loudly at a luncheon, “I’ll be right back, I have to go diarrhea.” You are expected to whisper under your breath, “please excuse me for a moment.”

    As it might be painfully obvious to you, I make it a practice to challenge cultural protocol. There is a way in which hiding behind etiquette is an avoidance of depth. This mentality of “oh we don’t talk about such crass things as death, sex, politics, or money.” When you are too hyper-aware of proper topics of conversation, your conversation tends to be pretty superficial. I personally like getting deep with people and talking about things that aren’t part of the “normal” lexicon. Like seriously, what is your masturbation strategy? I wanna know! That says a lot about you!

    Yet with all my desire to blast open societal standards, I also have to admit that when you blatantly disregard them, you are also super annoying.

    Let’s take the social experiment of handing out candy for Halloween.

    Since I live secluded in the woods, Munch went “trick or treating” in my friend’s neighborhood. I decided to have the adult experience of being the candy-giver-outer because I had never done that before. When I lived in a NYC apartment, we never had “trick or treaters” – unless you count the homeless guy asking for meth.

    I didn’t think there was that much to handing out candy. I just have to sit on a porch in all black right? Since I assumed it would be a chill vibe, I figured it would probably be a good idea to smoke a little pot.

    Little did I know the chaos that was to descend upon me.

    You see, I was under the impression that all children not only knew, but also obeyed the cardinal rule of Halloween. ONLY TAKE ONE PIECE OF FUCKING CANDY! But it turns out a lot of kids go rogue on this concept, and end up doing whatever the fuck they want.

    Maybe that wouldn’t have been problem if I had purchased countless bags of GMO chemical candy to give out. But no! I AM NOT GOING TO GIVE OUR YOUTH POISON CANDY! I had purchased a bunch of organic treats so as to BE A PART OF THE SOLUTION! And no… they weren’t chia seed covered prunes. I’m not a monster.

    Because everything we bought was organic, we didn’t have an endless supply! We had enough if everyone followed the rule! TAKE ONE!

    My original plan was to leave the basket on the porch, and just let the kids come and take their pick. Yet within the first three minutes, one little girl took about 6 handfuls. Her parents were just watching as my friend and I stared in amazement. It was funny because I was high, but also horrifying because I was high. What kind of person does that? A future serial killer that is who!

    Finally my friend tried to stop the girl, who just used her paws to negotiate around the protest, and took more. The only reason why this little girl ever stopped was because my friend physically took the basket away. The parents continued to do nothing – never saying, “hey kid, are you a sociopath? Maybe you should just take one?!”

    Barely did we have time to recover when another kid came and started taking HANDFULS OF FUCKING CANDY WITH HIS 9 YEAR OLD HANDS!!

    My Friend: Only one please!
    Greedy lying kid: I’m only taking one!

    HE SAID AS HE HAD 7 PIECES IN HIS HAND!!!

    Again the parents ignored the blatant disregard for Halloween rules, and also this kid’s pathological lying!

    After that group of kids left, I had had enough.

    Toni: Give me that mother-fucking basket of candy. I am going to hand that shit out individually. And only after each one of these little shit heads comes and shows me their damn costume.

    So there I was holding the basket of candy like a covetous witch. Each kid had to approach me directly to gain access to my cauldron of organic goodness.

    Toni: Come here little girl. What are you? Oh princess Elsa from Frozen? Lovely and so original. Would you care for a chocolate or a chewing candy? Don’t worry. They are both organic, because we care about your future.

    Now some of the little kids were super polite. They would say “hi,” explain their costume, tactfully decide what they wanted, and left with a “thank you.” And you know what? I LIKED THOSE KIDS A LOT MORE AND GAVE THEM TWO OR THREE PIECES OF CANDY! Then there were those kids who would ignore me, put their sticky hands in the basket, and try to grab what they wanted. We would wrestle over control of the basket, until I won (of course). Don’t worry, I still gave them candy even though I wanted to punch them in the throat. BUT ONLY ONE PIECE!

    My conclusion after this experience of cultural anthropology – even though we shouldn’t self-censor and live surface level lives never asking any provocative questions, manners are crucial when it comes to people wanting to give you free candy.

    (Just so you know… this little angel ONLY took ONE CANDY at every house she visited… except when she took 2)

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    November 2, 2015 • Birth • Views: 1372