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Mommy Body
Category

  • That is Enough

    I need more adventure in my life.  You know, like spontaneous journeys into the unknown.  Having a kid makes it really easy to get lost in the mundane.  The routine swallows you into a monotonous stew of sameness.  The weeks blend together like strawberry-banana smothies, and suddenly you realize “holy fuck, is this seriously my life?”

    But the good thing about being a parent is that it keeps you tame.  Because you are used to such risqué activities as cleaning up spilled paint, or making stuffed animals fall down the stairs – any adult stimulation is exciting.  When I was younger, a fun night on the town involved dancing until 4 am, getting into a random limousine, doing some unidentifiable drugs, drinking more tequila than water, and waking up with mysterious bruises.  Now an evening on my own at The Container Store makes me feel like Paris Hilton.

    So you can imagine what a big deal it was for me to go to Montreal for a girl’s night out!! And as much as I was pumped to wear a red dress and shake my tail feather, I was even more looking forward to eating at my favorite restaurant of all time.  They have a branch in NY, and my parent’s would take me for special occasions like my college graduation… so the fact that I could eat at this magnificent place brought so much joy into my being that I could hardly contain myself.

    I knew what I wanted before I even got the menu.

    Toni: Hi, I already know what we want.  Can we start with the Milos special for an appetizer?

    The Waitress: Okay, but I will give you a half portion, because the regular portion is just too much for two people.

    Toni: Ummmm, I think we will be okay.

    The Waitress: No.  It is too much food.  I will give you the half portion.

    Toni: But this is my favorite dish that was created by any human ever.  I honestly think I could eat a whole one myself.

    The Waitress: It is just too much – especially if you are going to have dinner as well.  I will give you the half order.

    I don’t know about you, but I have never been told by a waiter/waitress that I couldn’t order something.  I mean half the food was also half the price… so I couldn’t understand her motive??  I didn’t know what to do.  I wanted to explain further how I never go out to eat, and this particular dish was one I dream about in almost a sexy inappropriate way,  but she seemed so adamant that I was being out of control with my ordering.

    Then when it became time for dessert, we yet again went through this charade.

    Toni: Okay, can we have the delicious doughnut balls for dessert?

    The Waitress: Yes of course, but I will give you a half order.  You will be too full with a full order.

    Toni: I really think I will be okay.

    The Waitress: No, the half is better.

    Toni: Ummmm…

    The Waitress: I will give you the half, and if you want to order another half, then you can do that.

    So we ate the half order, and then like any people on planet earth eating doughnut balls – we ordered the other half.

    I couldn’t understand what was going on? I figured maybe it was a cultural thing?? Like in Canada they assumed Americans ate too much, and she didn’t want to contribute to that excessive mentality???  Or was my face looking puffy??

    It was hard to put this behind me.  If I spent more money, I would give her a larger tip right?? Why would this waitress encourage me to spend less, just so I would eat less??  It was like one of the great mysteries of the universe…. Like how when you poop and some wipes are so much messier than others.

    Then the next morning on the ride home, we stopped at this organic restaurant in Vermont for breakfast (not in Canada mind you).  I couldn’t decide if I wanted a salad or a sandwich, so I figured I would order both.

    Toni: I will have the Cobb Salad without blue cheese, and the “happy hippy” sandwich.

    The Waitress: That is just too much food.  Why don’t you have a side salad with the sandwich instead?

    Toni: Well, what is the side salad?

    The Waitress: It is just lettuce.

    Toni: So what is in the Cobb Salad?

    The Waitress: Lettuce, avocado, shredded carrot, and an egg.

    Toni: Ummmm… Okay.  I think I can handle the Cobb Salad and the sandwich.

    The Waitress: No, it is really just too much. Do the side salad.

    Toni: Okaaaaayyyy then.

    (Be honest… would you deny my doughnut balls??)

    that-is-enough-blog-(i)

     

    January 15, 2014 • 1st time for everything, Adventures, Mommy Body, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 751

  • Kind of The Best Compliment Ever

    When you were a kid did you ever wonder what you were going to look like when you grew up? Did you have an image of what your adult self would be like? How accurate was your vision? I guess I pretty much turned out how I expected, except now I understand that my mom was a total liar when she said that eating peas would make hair grow on my chest – which for some reason was an oddly appealing concept.

    I remember imagining how I would transform as time leaked into the future, and now I get to observe The Munch do the same.

    Munch: When I am big and tall like you Mamma I am going to do lots and lots and lots of back flips! And I am going to be a ballerina and dance high up on my tippy toes and wear a black tutu with pink sparkles. And I am going to eat gluten!

    You know, things of this nature.

    So the other day when we were changing clothes for the 4th time, The Munch looked at her nipples, and seemed to realize for the first time that they would also one day grow.

    Munch: When I get bigger Mamma, I am going to have nanas too! (nana = boob)

    Toni: That is right Munch. You are going to have nanas

    Munch: I have nanas now, but they are just little teeney tiny nanas. But someday I will have big huge nanas like you!

    Toni: Thanks Munch!

    I think she was a little confused as to why I said “thanks” to her comment… but I think you all get it.

    (You can’t see them here… but trust me, The Munch is totally right!)

    best-compliment-ever-blog-(i)

     

     

    December 17, 2013 • 3 years old, Mommy Body, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 747

  • The Man Menses

     

    Women are often complaining about their periods, but that is probably because they are on their periods.  Silly women – always bleeding and emotional and shit.  Yet even thought it is inconvenient to deal with cramps, experience hormonal chaos, and have your lady-parts leaking blood (and if you are lucky, clots… yummmmm) I still think it is something we women should be grateful for because every month we are forced to let go.  I truly believe that men would benefit if they experienced a monthly man menses.

    Why don’t we take a minute to examine all the positives parts of a period, even those that take place mostly on a subconscious level…

    For one, it makes you face the idea of mortality.  When you bleed you have to deal with the reality that you are not a container for life.  Not that it is always a bad thing to not be pregnant… I have many times thanked the goddess at the sight of stained underwear.  But at the same time, the female body is a home to incubate life, and a period is a signifier that it is not happening.  No life this month.  But the act of the bleeding is a shedding of the old, for the potential for new life.  It is like the cycle of seasons all takes place on your tampon.  Winter makes room for summer, so we change our pads and do this all over again.

    Maybe thinking about mortality doesn’t seem like a fun thing to do on a Saturday afternoon, but it is actually an incredibly important part of being.  The more you are connected to the fleeting nature of life, the more you appreciate your short time here on earth.  It is when we allow the truth of death to settle into our psyches that we are reminded of the importance of honoring it.  The more I acknowledge my impermanence, the more risks I take, the more I love, and the more I face my fears.

    A period is also a cleansing.  It is the body’s way of washing out the energy of the uterus.  Granted, the sex act is different for men than it is for women, so each gender is impacted by copulation in their own unique way.  Women allow men to come inside of them, where men are putting their wingy-dings inside someone else – so there is a distinctive level of intimacy in that.  But women also get to wash that man right out of her cootch, and shed his energy from her vadge walls!  That is kind of an empowering image right?  Oh I may be heartbroken about this guy or whatever, but soon my puss will dispose of his penile influence as it gushes out my genitals.  Whenever my friends are super sad about the loss of a guy, I always say, “wait until your next period… you will feel better once you flush him out the front hole.”

    And then of course there is the connection to nature and the moon.  We women mimic the cycle of the moon as it waxes and wanes, goes from full to new.  And this happens every 28 days just like how often I ride the cotton pony!  If you are really in touch with the universe you will ovulate when the moon is full, and bleed when it is new!  The darkness of the new moon is the void of nothing, and the brightness of the full moon illuminates all potential.  I always feel like I am on the right path when that happens.  Like I am in synch with the tides of existence.

    Then there is the emotional effect of the moon menses cycle. We feel more vulnerable, sensitive, weepy, impatient, irritable, and whatever else we feel like fucking feeling so shut the fuck up about it!  It may seem overwhelming at times to have these intense mood swings, but it is also freeing.  The more we feel, the more realize that we are capable of handling our feelings.  When we allow ourselves to express the vast spectrum, then we remind ourselves that we have the power to move through them.  Part of the human condition is learning how to internalize our feelings, and that is best accomplished not by stifling them, but by allowing them to flow through you.

    So although I can understand why men may not want to bleed out of their penis hole, and how that is also impossible without a painful intervention, I still think there is much they can learn from the process of the period.  I think men already get their man periods in their own ways, because they are moody as fuck too am I right?  But perhaps it is time there is some intentionality behind it.  So you see guys? Men too can have meaningful rituals that are comparable, and will awaken the lessons of the menses.

    man-menses-blog-(i)

    November 8, 2013 • Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 13186

  • Hippy Pagan Drum and Dance Circle New Moon Fertility Fest!

    On Friday I was having one of those days where the only thing that would calm my mind was fantasizing about mass homicide.  I was just really on edge.  Not only because of my moon menses time of the woman pushing its way out of my ripe uterus, but also because my back really hurt and that made me feel frail, like Mr. Burns.  The Munch was also being really emotionally high maintenance, and my fragile state did not make a recipe for patience and understanding.

    I had plans to hang out with my friend Sarah, and her daughter Marquetta, to go to a drum and dance circle to celebrate the new moon and be all one with the universe and shit!  But I really didn’t want to go – I couldn’t be sure that The Munch wasn’t going to be a dick.  Going anywhere with your kid is always a risk because you can never anticipate how they are going to behave.  They could be totally agreeable and independent, or clingy and super duper crazy next level annoying.  It is kind of like playing craps because you never know if you are going to win, and your kid also probably smells faintly like crap because they are really bad at wiping their own ass.

    As much as I doubted The Munch being good company, I also couldn’t promise that I wouldn’t be a total bitch.  I looked in the mirror and my face just looked cunty.  But I didn’t want to flake on her either, so I drove the 2 hours with my back throbbing and having really low expectations.  I figured that The Munch would probably be needy, and I would have to sit with her and feel uncomfortable with my dumb stupid back pain.  I pretty much resigned to the idea that I wouldn’t get to do what I wanted, but at least I would be around the vibration of the drums, and that would maybe have some sort of healing effect.

    Of course Sarah and Marquetta were dressed in gorgeous matching belly dancing outfits, while Munch was wearing a stained dress and I still had my pajama pants on under my skirt.  Luckily I found Munch’s fairy dress in the car, so one of us could represent… and thank goddess Sarah had glow in the dark bracelets and sparkles!  In case you were wondering, sparkles and glow in the dark accessories is a sure fire way to make you feel like a lady!

    I brought munch out the dance floor.  There were about 25 drummers, and the sound was so loud it was penetrating every cell.  I started to dance, and at first Munch just looked around at the scene – not sure if she was into it.  But then she got her baby, and started to dance with her a bit.  As more people came on the floor, the more Munch got into it, and then she started getting down!!!!

    Now I LOVE to dance… it is one of my favorite things to do.  So The Munch does have to deal with my dancing quite a bit at home.  She comes to my classes, and she has to hang out while I rehearse.  But we have never gone dancing together in a context like this.  It was so amazing to share this part of my life with her – that we could both enjoy the music and wiggle our bodies around.  Munch wasn’t expecting anything out of me, looking for me to entertain her, or to make sense of it all.  She was having her own physical experience, and letting me have mine.  And for 2 hours we sweated, swayed, wriggled, jumped, and I think she even twerked a bit.

    I have to say I am really grateful for these hippy communities that do stuff like this.  Even though it is not “kid friendly” in the sense that everyone brings their kids, but it is kid friendly in the sense that some people bring their kids – and no one minds.  They even appreciate their presence.  There are not a lot of places that you can share this type of experience with your child.  It is not like you could bring your kid to the club or the bar.

    Even though hippy white people are kind of dangerous when they start dancing to African drum rhythms, with their limbs flailing at alarming speeds, and The Munch almost getting stomped on by a woman with flowing robes dancing with her eyes closed – it was still an epic night.  And you know what?  I danced my bitchy mood away, and my hurt back!!!

    drum-and-dance-blog-(i)

  • East vs. West vs. Hippies on my FACE!

    Fuck my life.  I got shingles again.  I felt something on my face Friday night, and just assumed that something weird was formulating.  No big deal.  I didn’t want to over think it.  Saturday morning I woke up, felt my face, and knew something was wrong.  So very wrong.  The same wrong as my fucking shingles that I had only 6 months ago.

    I was supposed to go to my cousin’s baby shower that morning but I knew I had to go see the white man doctor to get the white man medicine.  So I called the dermatologist I went to before assuming that would be the best first move since he already had dealt with me.

    Toni: Hi. I have shingles festering on my face and I need to see a doctor.

    Operator: Well, it is Saturday so dermatology is closed. You will have to call Monday morning to make an appointment.

    Toni: Please, I really need your help.  I have had shingles before.  I know that is what I have.  I can’t wait until Monday.  Last time they were almost as painful as childbirth – and my baby came out horizontally.

    Operator: Well, who is your general practitioner?

    Toni: I don’t have one.

    Operator: You don’t have any doctor that you see?

    Toni: Well, I have my hippy doctor.  But they are hippies.  They don’t answer their phones – especially on a Saturday.

    Operator: I guess you can come in to see the after-hours family practitioner.  But you really should get a doctor.  Can you get here by 10:15?

    I was out the door and at the hospital by 10:00 am, feeling really sorry for myself.  Let me tell you, there is nothing more depressing than a hospital on a Saturday.  The after- hours family practitioner’s office was literally abandoned.  There was no one in the hallways, no one in the waiting room, no one at the reception’s desk – everywhere was just empty.  It was like a Twilight Zone.  I sat there for 20 minutes by myself, thinking that a nuclear bomb had gone off and somehow I was the sole survivor of the blast, when finally a man hobbled out the door with puss-soaked gauze wrapped around his leg.

    Eventually a woman called me back to the offices, and I waited in the room poking at medical equipment for the standard half hour to see the nurse practitioner.

    Nurse: So what is going on here?

    Toni: I am pretty sure I have shingles.

    Nurse: I see in your chart you have had them before so I am sure you know what you are talking about. Let me take a look? Did you put makeup on to cover them up?

    Toni: No, I don’t wear makeup.  Last time I had shingles I had an acupuncturist see me, and she gave me this cream to put on them.  I have no idea what is in it because it is all in Chinese, but I put it on anyway.

    (I have to say I was pretty offended that she would imply I was vain enough to cover up shingles with makeup??  I mean I know they are not pretty, but putting makeup on a festering wound seems like a pretty bad fucking idea.  Not to mention the fact that said cream was white, and looked like I had sloppily slathered toothpaste on my face.  So this double insulted me because the nurse obviously thought I was really pathetic at applying makeup discreetly).

    Nurse: Yeah.  You definitely have shingles. Do you see how the pustules have already formed here around the eye and nose?

    Toni: Please don’t ever say the word “pustules” again.

    Nurse: Those are the shingles erupting from your face.

    Toni: Yeah, I get it.

    Nurse: So do you have a general practitioner?

    Toni: No.

    Nurse: Do you go to the doctor?

    Toni: Not really.

    Nurse: Have you had a pap smear then?

    Toni: You mean at the gynecologist? Yeah those things are horrible.  I don’t do those.  I guess I went about 3 years ago, and then about 6 years before that.

    Nurse: Maybe you should go the doctor more often…

    Toni: Yeah, okay

    Nurse: You know you can get a vaccine for shingles.  I highly recommend you doing that once this clears up. Here is your prescription.

    Although the crazy burning itching pain of the shingles hadn’t started yet, all I could do was anticipate the suffering.  Last time I had shingles, I didn’t know how bad it could get. But this time I was fully aware of the potential agony, and was in a state of total panic.  When I got home I called the acupuncturist and made an appointment for 1:00.  I then started recklessly taking supplements, unsure which where for my allergies, frequent periods, or the last time I had shingles.  I took 3 out of every bottle… which was about 60 of them.  I then started pacing maniacally waiting for the acupuncturist to torture me, and by they time she got there I was terrified.  Not only of the pain of the shingles soon to come, but the pain of this tiny Asian lady jabbing me with needles then twisting them around sending electric shocks throughout my body.

    Toni: Yeah, so my shingles are back.

    Acupuncturist: Mmmmmm… yeah I see the pustules.

    Toni: Great.

    Acupuncturist: Let me take your pulse.  In acupuncture we don’t just want to treat the disease.  We want to know why it is happening.

    Toni: Yes, yes, yes, I want to know why too! Can you tell me why?

    Acupuncturist: Too much cold.  Here.  In stomach.  Stagnation.  Very cold.  Energy needs to flow.

    Toni: Okay, so why do I have them again.

    Acupuncturist: Stagnation.  Here.  Stomach. Lower back.  Energy stuck.

    Toni: Okay… that really clears things up.

    After the acupuncture, she gave me a bunch of Chinese herbs to take.

    Acupuncturist: Just take these.  Chinese herbs.  No supplements.

    Toni: The hippy doctor gave me the supplements.  So I shouldn’t take them?

    Acupuncturist: No.  Just Chinese herbs.

    Toni: What about the pills the doctor gave me? Should I take the white man’s medicine?

    Acupuncturist: No, just Chinese herbs.  Acupuncture and herbs take pustules away.

    Toni: Why does everyone keep saying that word?

    Acupuncturist: Excuse me?

    Toni: Never mind.

    I don’t know what I did to deserve this.  This whole experience brings up a host of issues for me.  For one, my conflict with vaccines, and how paralyzed I feel about them as a practice.  Should I have vaccinated myself for shingles, should I in the future, should I be vaccinating The Munch?  My head is spinning.  Then of course the western doctor is in conflict with the eastern doctor, who is in conflict with the hippy doctor.  I don’t know what to do.  The last time I did everything – the supplements, the acupuncture, the herbs, the white man’s medicine, and I have no idea what cured me for sure.  Was it a combo of all of them?  I don’t know? Who should I listen to? Who should I trust? Help me!!

    (Have you ever seen anything more surreal and sad than this waiting room?)

    shingles-saturday-blog-(i)

     

    August 19, 2013 • Adventures, Health, Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Musings • Views: 5767

  • Yeah, I Went There

    Hi.  Things are about to get real intimate between us.  You may say to yourself while reading this.  “Toni, why? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making me read this?”  And my only answer is because I had to.  I had to do this to you.

    In the 3 years since birthing a child, the only time I don’t have an audience when going to the bathroom is when The Munch is asleep.  It is hard to remember a life when I didn’t have big blue eyes staring at me intently as feces expelled from my being.  As an infant The Munch would lie on my lap, as baby she would sit on the floor, and now as a toddler she will barge in and insist on having a conversation.

    But I don’t want my child to have a complex about her body, or body parts, or excreting bodily needs.  I am not an uptight person.  When I was a kid my best friend and I would keep each other company for every bowel movement.  If things got really wild, she would put lotion under our noses giving us little white Hitler mustaches to help mask the stench.  Granted we were then inhaling the scent of gardenia-scented poo, my point is that I accustomed to communal bathroom habits.

    Yet even though I poop with the best of them, I have always been pretty private about my period.  As a woman you are expected to keep it to yourself.  You would never show a friend your tampon and say “check how full that one got!” or “look at this massive clot! It’s a good thing that wasn’t in my brain!” We just don’t do that.

    So the other day when I was in the bathroom changing my pad and The Munch walked…

    Munch: Mamma what are you doing?

    Toni: I am just going to the bathroom.  Give me a minute I will be right out!

    Munch: What is that?

    Toni: Its nothing.  Just give me a second!

    Munch: But Mamma what is that?

    Now I could have just lied to her, or told her to go away.  But part of me was like “fuck it.”  For one, maybe if I just told her the truth she would be so freaked out that she would leave me the fuck alone when I was in the bathroom. And another part of me was thinking that she is going to go through this anyway, so why hid it from her.

    I don’t want my daughter to feel embarrassed about her moon cycle. Especially considering that girls all over the world are forced to feel ashamed for their menstruation.  For instance in India many girls don’t have access to sanitary products – so the start of their period it is often the end of their education because of humiliation and societal limitations imposed when they are “impure” and involuntarily bleeding.  Many cultures have taboos regarding the vagina and its monthly menses, which imprison women by their biology.  And even though in the West, Tampax commercials will happily remind you that you can still play tennis, go on boat rides, and walk in a field with their tampons to plug up your poon, it is still something that women feel they have to hide from the world.

    Yet the insanity is the fact that a woman’s need to ride the cotton pony is part of the whole her having babies thing- so what the fuck world?  I know it is kind of yuck, but it is also why we are all here.  I am not saying chicks should just bleed all over the place because that would ruin our clothes and couches, but I am saying that it is a real injustice to be made to feel like its dirty.

    So this is what went down…

    Toni: It’s my pad Munch.

    Munch: Is that a diaper?

    Toni: Yup.  Kind of like a diaper.

    Munch: A Mamma diaper?

    Toni: Exactly.

    Munch: But what’s that? What’s on your diapi?

    Toni: Blood.

    Munch: Blood?

    Toni: Yup.

    Munch: But where did it come from? Your butt?

    Toni: Sort of.  It came from my baby hole.

    Munch: Are you getting a new diapi to put in your underpants?

    Toni: I am.

    Munch: But don’t bleed on that one okay?

    Toni: I will do my best.

    i-went-there-blog-(i2)

     

  • The Pain of Pain

    I know it’s a thing for kids to cry when they get hurt, but sometimes it’s hard for me to relate.  I can’t remember the last time I cried about an injury.  I have broken bones, twisted limbs, sprained joints, and you don’t see me weeping like a big baby.  I swear, hit things, and curse god like a big girl.

    My Mom and I brought The Munch to this fairy scavenger hunt over the weekend, and while were following our map looking for these stupid fairy stickers, The Munch fell on the pavement and scraped her knee.

    I feel like this was probably the most she had hurt her self in her short little life.  And let me tell you, she provided the water works to prove it. I swear The Munch is one day going to get an Oscar for how dramatic she can be.  She wept and sobbed and kicked and screamed about how her boo boo hurt for seriously 45 minutes.  And of course she did all this while insisting on sitting on my lap.  It was so hot and sticky and gross out… it was like having a wild slimy alien assault me.

    Toni:  Dude you seriously have to calm down.  You are going to break a blood vessel if you keep crying like this.

    Munch:  I don’t want to calm down! WAAHHHHAAAHHHAAAA!!!

    Toni:  Okay, well will you stop kicking then? It is kind of irritating.

    Munch:  NO I DON’T WANT TO STOP KICKING!! WAHHHHAHHHAHHHA!  IT HURTS! IT REALLY HURTS!! MY BOO BOO HURTS!!!!!!!

    Toni:  Listen Munch this has been going on for too long.  What if I gave a cookie and let you watch some Curious George?

    Munch:  Okay. Sniff.

    Toni:  Here is the cookie.  But before I give it to you, I really need you to listen to me.

    Munch:  Okay.

    Toni:  You can’t freak out like this every time you get hurt.  Everyone gets hurt.  And I know it sucks, but we all experience it, and that doesn’t mean we have to lose our minds and go into a state of frenzy.  I really think you were letting yourself freak out too much there.  Do you get what I am saying?

    Munch:  Can I have the cookie now?

    Toni:  Almost.  You see, you are going to get hurt again.  And I want you to remember this moment.  That you can calm down if you want to.  And you don’t have to let yourself get so hysterical.  Okay?  Now here is your cookie.

    Munch:  You know what Mamma?

    Toni: What?

    Munch:  The cookie is making my boo boo feel so much better.

    Obviously once the prospect of decadence were planted in her head, she was able to control her emotions. But I can’t allow bribing her with treats and videos to become a habit – even though it’s an easy way to get The Munch to move on from a manic episode like that.

    The next day, of course she fell on her knee again and started crying.  I could tell she almost wanted to work herself back up into that state of madness that she had been in the day before.

    Munch: MAMMA IT REALLY HURTS IT REALLY HURTS!! WAHHHAAAHAAA!

    Toni:  Dude, you are going to be okay, you just have to calm down and breathe.

    Munch:  I NEED A COOKIE AND TO WATCH CURIOUS GEORGE!!!

    Toni:  No way… we are not going to do that every time you hurt yourself.  Listen, do you want to hear about the time that Mamma was hurt so much that she cried?

    Munch:   Yeah… sniff…

    Toni:  Well when you were a baby in Mamma’s tummy, you had to come out so you could be born.  But you had this big head, and all Mamma had was this teeny tiny baby hole for you to come out of.

    Munch:  And my head was really big?

    Toni:  Yeah, and my baby hole was really miniscule compared to you big old head.

    Munch:  And so you were crying?

    Toni:  You better believe I was crying… here… let me reenact that moment for you…

    what-pain-is-blog-(i)

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  • Getting High For The First Time… In a While

    I have nothing against drugs.  I just don’t do them…. Anymore.  I used to do them.  There were some fun times, some not so fun times, and some times where I woke up with my hair caked to my face with vomit and bleeding out of new orifices.  But I stopped using all substances after I did this 10- day silent meditation retreat.  I felt like I had re-wired my brain after all that silence and meditating.  I didn’t know how my new mind would react to mind altering substances.

    I also took a vow at the end of the retreat.  We made these promises of how we would behave- no lying, no sexual misconduct, no stealing, no harming others, and no addictive substances.  That was over 4 ½ years ago!! That is a long time to be unsoiled by any foreign influences!  The closest I have come to being high since I turned 29 is eating too much birthday cake!

    But lately I have been feeling uninspired.  Sluggish.  Muddy in the head, and poopie in the brain.   My brother suggested that I start my day with a cup of coffee, and to use it as a drug to channel all that energy into my writing and productivity.  He convinced me that if I honored caffeine as a tool / medicine and was intentional with my usage, that it would help me fart out more material.  Of course he was jacked up on coffee at the time and was a very convincing orator. (Might I add here that he also made said coffee with lake water, so that is the type of person my brother is).

    I was a little tentative of drinking a cup of actual coffee, so instead I had juice that has some caffeine in it.  The bottle read “35 mg per serving (like a cup of green tea).”  Of course I drank the entire thing in under 2 minutes from the sheer anticipation of it.  And then I waited.

    You see, my body is a fucking pristine temple right now, a pure package,  so the introduction of new species like caffeine pretty much blew my mind in half.  I know you might think I am being dramatic, but after a few moments I literally felt like I snorted a line of cocaine.  I started typing furiously, going to the bathroom an absurd amount of times, refusing to eat, avoiding all human contact, and desperately searching for black material to block out any site of the sun coming in from those evil windows.  I was itchy, agitated, and I wanted to pick fights and start a band.  After that manic period I finally experienced the harsh come down, and was shaking in a corner curled in a fetal position humming show tunes.

    It was pretty awesome.  I think I am going to try again tomorrow.

    being-high-for-the-first-time-blog-(i)

    July 16, 2013 • Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Musings • Views: 1352

  • Pussy Control

    Guess what I have been researching??? Pussy juice! Yes that is right! The copulins that are produced by the woman’s vagina!  You are damn skippy I have!

    I have discovered a lot.  For one, the muff is a lot my mystical than I ever understood.  I am now realizing that a lady’s love pocket has serious powers that make is seem like a sorceress is living up in those canyon walls -brewing her special magical potion.  You see the poonanie produces copulins that have actual mind control effects on a male’s brain.  I am not kidding.  If I man is exposed to a woman’s copulins, over time she will be able to:

    1)    Change, remove, or insert memories.

    2)    Tell the male what he sees, hears, feels, smells, tastes.

    3)    
Insert subconscious thoughts that will surface as male “ideas” or behavior later.

    4)    
Plant trigger words or actions that can cause thoughts, actions, or sensations in the male at later dates (days, weeks, even months).

    You are probably saying to yourself “what the fuck” if you are a guy.  And if you are girl you are most likely thinking, “how do I do that?”  Well let me tell you!!  It is through a process called “coupling,” where a man has his ding-dong inside you, but you aren’t banging.  You are just lying together with his schnlong in your pong.  Then….

    “While the penile duct is being opened, the vaginal walls begin secreting a much thicker fluid, thicker even than the fluid holding the penis in place. The fluid is chemically attracted to semen. In short, the fluid enters the penis, follows the semen down the shaft and directly into the gonads. This process can take as long as fifteen minutes, and requires that the vagina produce up to and exceeding 100 milliliters (a little less than half a cup) of this fluid in order to completely fill the penile shaft and gonads. This is over twenty times as much fluid as is ejaculated by the male during sexual intercourse.”

    You are totally welcome for the visual of a HALF A CUP of fluid flowing down a guys pee hole and then nesting in his balls!

    Okay, so you a probably wondering about this whole “coupling” thing since most guys want to ram their weenis in and out of you and not just stick it in to relax.  So if you don’t exactly want the guy to know what you are doing, after sex, (when you are on top!! Got to be on top because it happens way faster) just lay there with his winky in your stinky.  You got to somehow do it for 15 min…. but maybe he could fall asleep while all your chocha nectar streams into his peen.  Or you pretend to fall asleep on him because he was just “that good.”  But keep it in your hoo ha! Then, after 15 minuets the copulins have been released like a pack of wild dogs.  They travel from his balls up into his hypothalamus (in the brain) and he will then become completely susceptible to your needs and suggestions.

    Once his hypothalamus is flooded with your love sap, start putting ideas in his head.  Just chat away. Talk about anything you want regarding his behavior.

    “Once a hypothalamus is flooded with copulins, the male brain is just sitting on idle, with only the bare minimum of thought process.  In this state, the male is probably not thinking of anything at all, but any input from the female will become the male’s singular focus.”

    “As soon as input is received from the female, the brain focuses entirely on that input, and all thoughts that are contrary to the female’s input are halted.  For example, the male might be thinking about playing golf on Tuesday, even though he knows the female doesn’t like him to play golf.  If the female stated that he won’t think about golf anymore, and will instead think of her, the male will find himself incapable of thinking of golf while the copulins are present.”

    If you keep doing this:

    “the hypothalamus completely ignores the male’s polypeptides while copulins are present, even if the female gives no input.  Although the male is not forming too many original thoughts, the brain is still communicating ideas back and forth; however, these ideas are completely regulated by what the male already knows the female expects.  Using the example above, the male might think in the forefront, “What am I going to do on Tuesday?”   Without ever considering golf, the male will answer himself by immediately thinking what the female would want.  What’s important is that the male isn’t making a conscious effort to put himself in his mate’s shoes, but truly thinks he has formulated this idea on his own.  Past communication has already established that the female doesn’t want him to play golf, and so the copulins allow only those thoughts that promote non-golf activities to reach the conscious level.  This level is the classic copulin model that most people think about when it comes to copulins and their effects.”

    Obviously the example of golf if pretty lame because who but 40 year old chicks in LA give a flying fuck in a rolling doughnut about their husband playing golf.  But the implications of all this is pretty wild.  Of course there are limits to what you can or cannot get your man to do under the influence of your snatch.  For instance you couldn’t get him to rob a bank for you if he is truly morally opposed to that sort of thing. If what you are trying to implant violently conflicts with his ethics it won’t stick… but if you want him to do things that are within his own psychological moral compass you are good to go!

    Some of the women who gave testimonies talk about how after the copulin influence their husbands do all the housework, or spend more time with her and the kids- and do so happily.  But to me that is just child’s play. We need to get all the politician’s wives/girlfriends/adulteresses/transgender prostitutes to get on this shit!! Come on Michelle!! We can change the world with your honey pot! Lets do this!

    pussy-control-blog-(i)

    July 12, 2013 • Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 16140