2. Assess for common vulnerabilities Cross-site scripting and SQL injections are the customary methodologies utilizing which the hackers canada cialis online pharmacy Therefore, here are some tips to move buy generic cialis online no prescription Generic Drugs are need maybe not be Prescription cialais Internet pharmacies for example www.bluepillshorizon.com have noted a substantial escalation in cialis sale online Viagra is a business name useful for 20 mg cialis Condoms are just one of the very cialis order online When folks need to display specific portions of their their health, these stretch marks prevents them from doing so and tadalafil generic vs cialis However, lately a really interesting divulgion continues to be found rather spider stings, or related to lions. Theres a drugstore usa The brain apart from being the most effective message method buying cialis in mexico Previously tricyclic antidepressants were detected by mistake, however, merely drug suppliers cialis sales online

Musings
Category

  • Who Puts the “Just” in our Justice System?

    Say you are driving in your car, listening to music, eating a sandwich, talking to yourself about how you’re never going to amount to anything of significance and will probably wallow in a pit of mediocrity for the rest of your existence… whatever. Point is that you are doing nothing wrong, but suddenly a cop pulls out behind you. Now every time you look in your rearview mirror you see those lights perched on top of the vehicle like crocodile eyes. Do you feel safe? Protected by its presence? Or do you feel fucking terrified and wonder if you are going to get pulled over?

    It doesn’t matter what I am doing in life, if I see a policeman, my first instinct is to tense up. I’m scared of their power – of their ability to take me away at any moment. This fear is not because I think every cop is evil or corrupt, but it’s the system itself I don’t trust.

    The concept of a police force, and of a court of law, came from an effort to relieve ourselves from the personal accountability of maintaining justice. There was a time in human history when there was no organized method. We took justice into our own hands. If you killed my brother, I killed your son. Then your nephew would kill my daughter, and my cousin would kill your favorite cousin. That was how we righted wrongs. We just retaliated as vigilantes of our families.

    The famous Greek Trilogy, The Oresteia, written by Aeschylus, is tragedy about the house of Atreus, where the son Orestes sets out to avenge his father’s murder. Basically it is a story of two families who keep killing each other through generations of vengeance. A cycle of killing is formed because each murder is justified by the murder before. The story ends with the installing of the justice system in order to create a structure that rights wrongs, rather than leaving it in the hands of the people.

    For modern people, instead of having the social or personal expectation to vindicate your slaughtered loved one – an outside system would serve as that role.

    So for the last 2,500+ years, Western culture has surrendered the idea that we are individually responsible for revenge. If you killed my brother I would be SUPER sad, but I wouldn’t hunt you down and then stab you in the heart while I stared into your eyes as your last breath gurgled out of your disintegrating body then licked your tears of blood. I would instead hope the police found you, you went to trial, and 12 of my peers would convict you.

    This system has allowed us to have a much different relationship to our humanity. The pressure isn’t on me, and I don’t have to be hardened by having to slaughter anyone. I can stay protected from having to enact violence by trusting in this organization that was ideally designed to represent justice for all.

    Even thought the Ancient Greeks spent a little too much time dry humping little boys, they are the fathers of modern democracy and our political configuration. The fact that we are currently in a state where we feel such little trust for these systems is relevant.

    When I hear solutions like “the police should all have cameras on their uniforms” my first reaction isn’t a sigh of relief, but rather wondering how easily that footage could be manipulated. Or how in poorer districts the equipment would be too faulty because of lack of funding. All I can think of is how if we have the illusion of accountability, we ourselves will be less accountable. The fact that citizens make the risky effort to film police wrongdoings with their camera phones is probably one of the most profound advantages of technology in the last 50 years – that and the ability to share this content on the Internet.

    There are still many examples where cops can murder an unarmed black man in broad daylight, and, if someone films it, they still get acquitted. However, the national anger and commitment to be heard is having an impact. The more we keep filming, keep talking, keep incessantly sharing, keep organizing dissent, there will be more instances of culpability. Where justice is actually served.

    We are kind of back where we started in the times of the Oresteia. For so long we felt unburdened to maintain justice, yet here we are, again we are responsible. Yet the difference is that the strategy has evolved. The answer isn’t as simplistic as kill me and I’ll kill you back, but rather acknowledging that we as a collective have to uphold the systems that we have put in place.

    A protester throws a tear gas canister back toward riot police after a 10 p.m. curfew went into effect in the wake of Monday's riots following the funeral for Freddie Gray, Tuesday, April 28, 2015, in Baltimore. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

    A protester throws a tear gas canister back toward riot police after a 10 p.m. curfew went into effect in the wake of Monday’s riots following the funeral for Freddie Gray, Tuesday, April 28, 2015, in Baltimore. (AP Photo/David Goldman)

    May 4, 2015 • Current Events, Musings, Political Banter • Views: 47

  • Getting Frisky On Kevin Allison’s “Risk!”

    I spend a lot of time alone, in front of my computer, and staring at a screen. I guess I have a LOT in common with porn addicts, but my keyboard is sticky from tears. The life of a writer is lonely. Hold me.

    Even though I am pretty comfortable being emotionally open on paper, that’s because I’m not with you when you read this, or aware of your reaction. I don’t have to sit next to you to hear if you are laughing as you peruse through the 90 different euphemisms I use for my vagina. I am actually watching you from outside your window, so I can’t hear anything. OPEN YOUR FUCKING WINDOW ALREADY!

    There’s a safety to being hidden behind a screen because I am semi-protected from your response to me. Of course there are people who comment on my articles and say mean things, but don’t have to read those. I can just pretend everyone loves everything I say. Who cares if “bonertown23890947567839847” thinks I’m a dumb cunt who should be taken out back and shot,” because I never even read that comment! (*Chokes back more tears).

    Then last week my friend Miriam sent me an email saying how Kevin Allison – the comedian who started the podcast “RISK!”– was looking for submissions for his Boston show. At first I was like “Eh, every time I submit to things like this I get rejected, so what’s the point?” (*Tears of self-pity). It sat in my email box for days, just staring at me, reminding me of my insignificance in the universe. I noticed the deadline was soon, and said fuck it. I submitted this story about how my parents sent me to the Transylvanian Alps when I was 14, because seriously who the fuck does that?

    So it turns out that my story got selected to be on the show! Now here is the thing. I’ve never been on stage before, except for dance performances. My friend Grace was like, “just think of this as a noisy mouth dance,” which even though that made perfect sense, I was still SUPER intimidated. The weekend before was the first time I had ever spoken into a microphone! I’m on the board of the Monadnock International Film Festival, and I was giving out a grant I had created for a high school student filmmaker. I wasn’t nervous at all until I got on stage and saw all these people looking at me as if I was supposed to say something. I was a mess. My hair was in front of my face, and I looked like a 17-year old stoner who called myself Gangja Breath. I had no idea what to say, and was like “Uhhh I made this grant because education is good and stuff. Kids should like, make movies by trying to make movies or whatever… (long pause) San Dimas High school Football RULES!”

    I did a recording of my story so Kevin could give me notes. This is my favorite part of his email “One of the things that pops out at me about your story is this. It seems like most parents would be very careful about sending their 14-year old girl overseas without a chaperone or a highly reputed exchange program with references. Eastern Europe has been notorious for decades for culling young girls into sex slavery. At the very least, you could have been raped by the soccer playing boys you met over there. Most young people traveling overseas without guardians are at least college-age. And most American kids who travel go to stable, 1st world cities like London or Paris. Parents of the 90’s to today are constantly criticized for being way too overprotective. But your folks seem to have something else going on in this story.

    So it’s worth unpacking all that more. Because the audience will be thinking, “What was going on with this girl’s parents? How much good is it going to do for an American kid to get in touch with her Hungarian roots?”

    HAHAAHAHAHAH you bet your sweet ass I sent that to my parents so they could give me answers!!!!!!!! My mom was just like, “You were born in the 80’s – what do you want? I didn’t put a helmet on you to eat breakfast.”

    When I got to the venue, Laugh Boston, and realized that this whole event was part of a comedy festival and everyone performing was a PROFESSIONAL FUCKING COMEDIAN, I started to have a panic attack. I felt like I had to both explosive diarrhea and projectile vomit. It was a full house of over 200 people. Thank god my friend Grace came with me to be my moral support/self-confidence/person to alert me if my anal leakage was showing.

    I couldn’t admit that I was a total virgin to this experience, so I pretended that I at least finger-banged and gave rim jobs. As Grace left me in the Green Room to watch the show I was left alone, and started to shake. The comedienne that was going on before me, Robin Gelfenbien looked like a nice person, so I started talking to her to see if we could form a co-dependent relationship. She reminded me that being nervous was normal and to just be myself. She then checked to see if there were any brown stains on my pants, before going through her notes for her story. She had the genius idea of writing hers down, and bringing a printed copy. I was like FUCK FUCK FUCK… what is this story again? Why didn’t I think of that!? Grown ups do things like use printers!

    Kevin told his story and killed. It was about the time he got crabs, which reminded me of the time I caught Cuban crabs. (Technically it was body lice, but you know where they settled). Robin then went on stage, and I paced like an enslaved lion in a zoo. I tried breathing, but it just turned into hyperventilating so I stopped all together.

    Right before I almost passed out I remembered something. “Toni – you have a body! You should use your body on stage and say things with it!! Let your body help your story!”

    Thinking about my body got me out of my head. Kevin then introduced me, and I walked on stage. We shook hands, and he gave me the sweetest smile. It totally disarmed me, and I just started to tell my story. A story I have told countless times at the dinner table, whenever my parents are around and whenever they have guests… because seriously who sends their 14-year old daughter to the Transylvanian Alps to a place called Camp Commando?

    PS my parents totally did come to the show, so they could hear the story for the 400th time.

    PPS Here is my Dad’s reaction to the show.

    “Dear Toni,

    I haven’t yet written you to tell you how much I liked your stand-up.
    You have a real knack for live performance.
    Also, you were great at the microphone. Excellent distance… I didn’t hear a single puff into the audio. Wow, you’re a real pro.
    And I loved the material, even if I was the major foil.
    On the content, my only tweak… Camp “Kommando” is a vestige of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire, I believe. So it has nothing to do with
    Nazi death camps. The closest thing to Nazi behavior was that of the Romanian “Iron Cross” between the two big wars. My info on all this is wobbly, I grant you – as you know better than anyone, I should have done more homework back then – but, I’m pretty sure about Kommando. Even I wouldn’t send you to a death camp.
    Love,
    Dad”

    (Me getting ready for the show… I guess adults aren’t supposed to sleep with stuffed animals either. Fuck I really need a printer).

    risk-blog-(i)

    April 27, 2015 • Adventures, Old School Stories • Views: 328

  • If Straight Dudes Ran the Fashion World We Would Solve So Many Problems

    Do you know how much money women spend annually on clothes? 750 billion dollars! To put that in perspective, ending extreme poverty worldwide would cost 175 billion dollars per year. We could literally solve most of the world’s problems with the kind of money that ladies throw down on bags, skinny jeans, and high heels that make your butt look like a cat in heat.

    Here’s the thing. It’s not our fault that we feel pressure to look good. Most of us are conditioned to care about beauty from childhood. Society values you more when you fit into the Barbie mold. There are impossible beauty standards that insist that if your thighs touch, you might as well drown yourself in menstrual blood.

    Of course it’s hard to ignore the influence of every magazine telling you that your wrists are too chunky. Shopping is a way to gain control within this arena because if my scalp isn’t soft enough, at least this skirt is short. I’ll take two please! Unless you live on an off the grid yurt, chances are you see multiple advertisements a day reminding you of all the stuff you need to be anyone else but you. But these pervasive and relentless ads are intentionally designed to manipulate us!

    The father of modern PR and propaganda, Edward Bernays, was actually the nephew of none other than Sigmund Freud. Through his guidance, the world of advertising embraced the effort to influence the masses into the concept of false need. Bernays’s prevailing philosophy was that through mass production, big business could fulfill the endless desires of society. He believed he could tap into the existential hole we all have, penetrate it with material objects, pump in and out with his throbbing knowledge that we all feel incomplete, and then erupt his man juices into the deep abyss of insecurity that we aren’t good enough.

    Bernays was well aware of the workings of the inner mind and how so many of us struggle with matters of identity, self-love, and acceptance. He knew that by reminding us of this deeply inbred doubt, we would feel confused and empty. We would look to material objects to save us from ourselves. “I have to buy these wedge shoes with matching clutch; this is the only way someone will ever love me!”

    Of course you don’t want to go around looking like a frat boy’s diarrhea after a night of binge drinking, but dressing nice doesn’t mean we have to spend thousands of dollars a year on clothes. And if it’s men you are trying to look good for, then you are totally wasting your time buying into every trend. The notion that fashion actually matters to the guys we are trying to impress is about as absurd as drinking champagne out of your fishnet stockings.

    Guys don’t care about your bracelet matching the inner lining of your raincoat. They care about your warm gooey hole and if you’re going to allow their penis in there. If heterosexual dudes and bros ran the fashion world, women would realize that all they need to look good is a t – shirt with holes cut out around the tits. Then we could save all that money for things that really matter like feeding the hungry, and weed.

    Check out this Video to see how dudes like Gavin McInnes would dress you if they ran fashion!

    April 22, 2015 • Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 616

  • Getting High On Weed and Processing Death Is Maybe Not The Best Idea

    I started smoking weed when I was 14 years old. It was a fateful Thursday evening. My older brother was hanging out with two girls, and they figured that if I was ever going to get high, the first time should be in a safe environment. I got off the phone, took a few hits, then went back upstairs and got back on the phone. I talked a on the phone a LOT in the 8th grade.

    Looking back on it, I am really grateful to my brother and these two vixens for giving me this life experience. As a young girl, you want to be careful about who are with when partaking in mind-altering substances. Let’s face it; I was the kind of teenager that was going to get into that stuff. This way I knew what was going on, what to expect, and would less likely lose my shit with the wrong people in the wrong situation.

    My best friend Bitty and I had previously made an oath that we would NEVER smoke pot EVER. Probably because we were 13 at the time, and had both suffered through D.A.R.E lectures at school. Can I just say that “daring” kids to not do drugs is probably the least effective psychological strategy of all time.

    When I finally saw Bitty, I admitted what happened.

    Toni: Bitty… I smoked pot with my brother.
    Bitty: So did I. Do you know where we can get some?

    That summer Bitty and I smoked a lot of weed together. In the years to come, I smoked a lot of weed. A Lot. So much weed I can’t remember how much – which is par for the course I guess.

    When Bitty died in 2000 I had to take a break from smoking pot. This loss was so intense, that I was unable to add another texture to it. I knew pot would not help numb my reaction, but actually intensify it. It would be like putting a magnifying glass up to my broken heart, and burning it with the sun. It was all my mind could think about. I was too afraid of being high, and having to face all the pain. I couldn’t make sense of her death. The irreversible and final nature of it was killing me. I felt so helpless that I couldn’t go back in time and stop it from happening.

    After a few months, I eventually started “partying” again. I was 20, in college, and being totally sober was just as alienating as my constant crying. I had to shut off the part of me that was so deeply connected to the sadness in order to relate to other people. No one knew how to be around me when everything would make me weep.

    Mourning is a life long process. You never truly get over the death of a loved one – but you live with it in a new way. You learn to obsess less, and eventually disconnect from being able to access your feelings about it – at least some of the time. I always knew I was miserable she was no longer with me, but I couldn’t always feel just how distraught I was. There was so long that I mourned Bitty, that when I started to mourn her less, I missed the mourning just as much as I missed the person. The lamenting kept me connected to her.

    Now that 15 years have passed, it’s almost like I have gotten used to her being gone. I of course wish this wasn’t true, but the acceptance has settled in. I live ½ a mile from Bitty’s grave, and visit her weekly. Yet even though there are these rituals where I am reminded of her death, I usually don’t attach to it. It just is this thing that is.

    Last Friday was her birthday, and I wanted to visit her grave, and smoke a joint with her. Now let me add here, that I stopped smoking in 2008 and didn’t get high at all until a few months ago. I am obviously not the pothead of my past, so the few times I do smoke, I have been very carefully to only be very sparing. One hit, and that’s it.

    Yet at this point, I was feeling like my brain had gotten used to weed, and there wasn’t any real threat to my bugging out or losing my mind. So I took maybe 3 hits with Bitty, and then had a plan to celebrate her birthday by going out to dinner and seeing some live music.

    As I was leaving, I started to wonder if she felt it when people visited her grave. Did her soul, or spirit-body get an extra zap? Was there a specific comfort to knowing that someone was paying physical tribute to the place her ashes were buried?

    I got in the passenger seat of the car, and as soon as we starting driving I realized, “holy fuck… I am way too high.”

    I was suddenly transported into a Twilight Zone of distortion. It was one of those moments when the reality I knew, and the reality I was experiencing, were so distinctly different that my brain almost busted a fuse. Nothing was making sense. It was a really dark foggy night, and looking out the window, nothing felt familiar. The outside world was totally foreign, and my inside world was completely melting.

    I was also having a forceful physical reaction where I felt like my body could not contain all the feelings I was feeling. It was this profound buzzing that almost felt like an anxiety attack, but not as painful. It was as if I was channeling too much emotion for one skin sack to hold in.

    I kept trying to return to my breath. During those long inhales I was okay, but as as soon as I let it go, I would lose it again.

    Toni: Uhhhh there is no way I can be in public right now, and I’m pretty sure I have to go home now.

    The drive home we listened to Jimmy Hendrix, and I tried desperately to bring myself back to a place that I could control. All I could say was “I’m just feeling too many feelings.” Yet the second we pulled into my driveway, it was over, and I spent the next 2 hours eating.

    Okay there are a few possibilities about what happened that night. The first, and most obvious, was that I got too high.

    Yet I think something else was going on. Weed opens you up in a specific and unique way. I think because I was at Bitty’s grave, I was hypertensive to the energies at play. One being my own feelings about her death, and the emotions I have learned to enclose in order to survive. The bodily sensations I experienced were like I was releasing all I hold onto in order to function.

    The other energy I felt was tapping into the human part of Bitty. Not her higher-self that exists through infinite space and time while floating through the quantum muiltiverse on a bed of vibrating strings, but the human part of her that actually still exists underneath the earth – and still has feelings about her own death.

    Ultimately the whole night felt like a gift even though it was intense. There is something freeing about losing your mind, heart, and spirit and then having to find it again.

    (Here we are, 14 and fearless…)
    bitty-blog-(i)

    April 15, 2015 • Adventures, Musings, Old School Stories • Views: 428

  • It Turns Out Many People Don’t Like Me

    I’m a pathologically optimistic person. I like to assume the best of the world because I am into asses, and u and me. Yet sometimes I have to acknowledge the brutal reality that not everybody wants to be my friend, nor do they even like me at all.

    I brought The Munch to the playground on Sunday because it was the first spring-like day of the season. You see, up here in the Northern Tundra, we have been dealing with the harsh atmosphere of what I like to call “eternal winter.” It was only 3 weeks ago when I decided it was time to wear 1 pair of pants instead of 3. So considering it was the kind of sunny day where you didn’t have to wear a wool body suit, I was in a pretty cheery mood.

    I initially anticipated that the other parents would be equally jovial. You would think that on a beautiful day at the playground people would want to do the monkey bars, play chase, and push me on the swing. But guess what – they don’t at all. No one was even interested in my cool tricks, like when I hang upside down by my knees. They just kept looking away.

    When I tried to talk to some of the other parents, I felt like I had SARS. None of them wanted anything to do with me, and they kept looking at my mask with suspicion. It’s a fashion statement okay!? At one point a kid near me went down the slide on his stomach, flew off the end, and landed on the ground. When his dad came over, I tried to explain what happened so he would know why his kid was crying.

    Toni: He went down the slide head first on his tummy, and just ricocheted off. I’m pretty sure he got the wind knocked out of him, but don’t worry, he didn’t fart or anything.
    Dad: Uhhh yeah… thanks…

    Ummm what’s the problem Dad?

    Then there was a mom with her son who was playing near us in the sandbox, and the son wanted to know why dry sand didn’t make good castles. The mom was on the phone, so I decided to help out and give the kid an answer so he would stop interrupting her call.

    Toni: Probably because 98% of the universe is dark matter, which is a substance so complex, the human mind can’t comprehend what it is. This is just one of many questions you will never know the answer to, so you should probably settle into the deep crisis of unknowing because it will help you better deal with the mystery of death.

    At this point, the mom collected her stuff, but not quickly enough to avoid hearing Munch’s follow up statement.

    Munch: When our dog and cat die – can we please get a bunny!?

     

    park-blog-(i)

    April 13, 2015 • Adventures, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 481

  • Splash Me and I’ll Splash you Back

    After squatting out my child 4 ½ years ago, every single day of my life since, I’ve been a mom. The problem is that I don’t always feel like being a mom. Or maybe more accurately, some days I am better at being a parent than others.

    This is a story about one of those days where I just wasn’t at my best. The night before I had a party, I was tired, and also my lady parts were leaking blood. It was not a good scene – like seriously, it was a murder scene in my pants. My preferred day would have involved a room full of pillows, an opium pipe, and someone reading to me the philosophy off a cereal box while tickling my back.

    Yet as the universe would have it, The Munch wanted to go swimming. Now she has recently learned to swim without “swimmies,” and I wanted to honor her interest in cultivating this new skill. So I agreed to take her, even though I would have rather, I don’t know, covered by body in leaches.

    At first everything was going fine. The Munch was doing a great job, and I was encouraging her efforts. But then, I got kind of bored, so started swimming around myself and going under water. I was still right next to her, but while I was underwater, Munch was momentarily stuck and couldn’t get to the side. She didn’t’ sink or anything, but she needed my help. When I came up to get to get a breath, I grabbed her and all was fine.

    Munch: Mom!!! YOU CAN’T GO UNDER WATER!!!!!!!
    Toni: Munch, if I’m underwater, wait for me to come up and then practice your swimming.
    Munch: NO!! YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO WATCH ME SO YOU CAN’T GO UNDERWATER EVER!!
    Toni: Dude, we have been in here for an hour, and I’ve been doing nothing but watch you. Sometimes I want to go under water and have fun swimming too. You have to give me a turn to do that.
    Munch: NO!! YOU ARE NEVER GOING UNDERWATER EVER AGAIN.

    Okay, so I can understand she wanted me to be there for her in case she needed me. Which I WAS!! But I also felt like I needed to have turns practicing I was a mermaid.

    Toni: Listen, we have to communicate better and take turns. I will tell you when I go underwater, and then you wait for me to come back up.

    It felt like a good solution. But then Munch didn’t hear me say I was going underwater, and got SUPER mad when I did it again.

    Munch: I TOLD YOU NEVER TO GO UNDERWATER!!
    Toni: MUNCH! I told you I was going to. You have to pay attention, and let me have turns to swim too.
    Munch: Well I DIDN’T HEAR YOU!

    At this point we were both livid. Munch was mad because she wanted me to pay attention to her, and I was mad because I thought she was being a tyrant.

    Toni: You know what? I can’t just spend my life doing only things for you. Sometimes I want go underwater, and you have to respect that.
    Munch: Fine! If you go underwater, then I’m going to take Molly (the stuffed animal I sleep with), and you will never get her back. I will put Molly where you will NEVER FIND HER!! Then I’m never going to talk to you again.
    Toni: Okay. That’s enough. We’re going to get out of the pool now, and go home.

    This was the point where Munch splashed me. Now we were both already wet, but their was an intention behind the splash. She looked me in the eye, and splashed water in my face. It was a splash that said, “Hey Mom, fuck you!”

    What I did next I am not proud of. But it’s what happened. I splashed her back.

    Munch stomped away, and so did I. We were both seething. She then came over to me and splashed me 10 times while I tried to ignore her.

    Toni: If you splash me one more time, we are going home, and you are going right to bed even though the sun is still out.
    Munch: But I don’t want to go home and go to bed!
    Toni: Well, do you think you have been acting kind?
    Munch: No!
    Toni: Do you think you should apologize for splashing?
    Munch: I think you should apologize for splashing too!!
    Toni: I only splashed you because you splashed me first!
    Munch. MOM! You’re acting like a child.

    Point Munch.

    So then we had to BOTH apologize for splashing. My pride is officially not only swallowed, but also fully digested and has transmuted into shit that will now have to be evacuated.

    splash-blog-(i)

  • Desire Vs Logic

    We don’t always want what’s good for us. Desire in its rawest form comes from a deep primal craving to indulge in the moment – regardless of consequences. Some of the best times of my life were when I abandoned all reason, and allowed myself to succumb fully to my yearnings. But, you also can’t spend every day doing only what pleasures you – like watching 12 hours of documentaries on Ancient Aliens while eating nothing but cookie dough ice cream sandwiches, then doing a bunch of blow off a hooker’s tits before going to club to dance the night away and have sex with a stranger on the bathroom floor. You can get cavities that way.

    The reason why the ability to reason is so important is that it keeps us from spending all our time in a dark void of our longings. When we consider the long-term impact of our decisions, we tend to make better ones. That’s why I only do cocaine off the breasts of young college girls now. See how I’m maturing!?

    Part of the parenting process is monitoring your child’s wants, because they’re still learning how to self-regulate. Sometimes they control themselves and choose not to go to the point of excess. Yet other times they struggle with finding a balance between reasonable pleasure seeking and extreme debauchery.

    Recently, the main fight I have been getting into with The Munch is about screen time. She’s allowed to watch things, but I also have to be the one to create limits. If I were to let her, she would seriously watch cartoons all day. I mean, that would be fine if she was in her early 20’s and taking bong hits – but she’s a child, and it’s just not appropriate behavior.

    On Saturday we had our most major blow out to date. I had let Munch watch the iPad the entire hour drive to my dance rehearsal, and the entire hour drive home. We had a plan that when we got back, we would make chocolate strawberry pancakes. But, once we got in the house, she decided she wanted to finish her show.

    Munch: Mom, I really wanna finish my show. Can I please!!!!???
    Toni: Dude, you said you wanted to make chocolate strawberry pancakes?
    Munch: Well, can you make them while I watch something?
    Toni: No way! You’re not my evil stepmother, and I am not Cinderella. If you want the pancakes, you have to be my little helper.
    Munch: Can I watch something first, and then be your little helper?
    Toni: We aren’t going to have enough time.
    Munch: BUT I REALLY WANT TO WATCH SOMETHING!!
    Toni: You know what? Do you what you want, but I am asking you not to.
    Munch: I’m just going to watch one thing!

    I decided I would let her be the master of her domain and make her own decisions. Partly to see what would happen, and partly because I was sick of saying “no” and then dealing with her incessant efforts to negotiate. One thing is for sure – The Munch would make one hell of a used car salesman.

    Toni: Okay, Munch. It’s time to go to Grandma’s.
    Munch: BUT I DIDN’T GET TO EAT CHOCOLATE STRAWBERRY PANCAKES!! WAHHHHAHHHHAHAAA!!
    Toni: Listen. I would have made those with you. But you made a decision to watch something instead – and now we have to go.
    Munch: BUT I WANTED THOSE PANCAKES!! YOU SHOULD HAVE MADE THEM FOR ME!! WAAHHHHAHHAHHAAAAA!!
    Toni: I told you I would make them WITH you, not FOR you. This is the thing. When you choose to watch TV, you are not making any memories. You are just sitting there avoiding boredom.
    Munch: But I HATE being bored!
    Toni: No one likes being bored. But it is through allowing boredom to come, that your imagination is challenged.
    Munch: BUT YOU SHOULD HAVE MADE ME THOSE PANCAKES!!! WAHHHAHHAHAHAA!!
    Toni: Maybe you should have made the choice to make a memory with me, and we could have done that. Every time you choose to be in front of a screen, you aren’t living life.
    Munch: Well I want to bring my iPad to Grandma’s house then.
    Toni: That is not happening.
    Munch: BUT I WANT TO!!! I WANT TO PLAY MY ELMO GAME THERE, AND GRANDMA HAS NO GAMES, AND SHE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THE COMPUTER!
    Toni: Grandma will play games with you. Human to human games. She doesn’t want to watch you play the iPad. Grandma wants to spend actual time with you, and make memories.
    Munch: BUT I WANT TO BRING MY IPAD AND IF YOU DON’T LET ME I’M GOING TO THROW YOUR PILLOWS OUT THE WINDOW, AND BREAK YOUR COMPUTER, AND THROW YOUR PHONE IN THE TOILET, AND NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN.
    Toni: Munch, if you were the mom, and your daughter was acting like this – would you let her bring her iPad?
    Munch: No.
    Toni: And do you think you have watched enough things today?
    Munch: Yes.
    Toni: Do you realize that by not letting you watch stuff, I am trying to be a good mom to you?
    Munch: Yes.
    Toni: Do you want me to let you do whatever you want, and be a bad mom?
    Munch: No.
    Toni: Your friend’s don’t watch that much TV, do you think you have watched more than them today?
    Munch: Yes, a lot more.
    Toni: And if your friends are using their imaginations they are going to get smarter right? And if you just watch things, your brain will melt. Do you want your friend’s to get smarter than you?
    Munch: No. I want to be as smart as my friend’s and use my imagination.
    Toni: Okay, so do you understand why I am saying “no, you can’t bring the iPad to grandmas?”
    Munch: BUT I WANT TO BRING THE IPAD TO GRANDMA’S SO I CAN PLAY MY ELMO GAME WAAAHHHHHAAAHHHHHAAAA

    Check out at her inner conflict…

    logic-vs-desire-blog

  • 10 Things My Kid Has Said To Me That I Am So Glad No One Knows About

    Here are some direct quotes from The Munch that has she said to me in private. Thank god no one overheard her, because that would soooo embarrassing!

     

    1. Mom, did you put puke oil on your hair? It smells like puke.
    2. Your face is always stuck in a frown.
    3. It’s so sad you can’t even draw a squirrel good – you really need more practice.
    4. You should probably go to the bathroom because your fart smells like a poop fell out of your butt.
    5. Your clothes aren’t very pretty. You should wear more dresses so people will like you.
    6. I thought you’d know the answer, but I think you’re wrong. I guess there’s a lot you don’t know. Like so much. Did you even do homework?
    7. I’d love you more if you were a stuffed animal.
    8. When you sleep, your face looks all “scrumbily.”
    9. I can see your nanas (boobs). They are so funny.
    10. When I grow up can I live with you? You’ll probably be sad and lonely when you’re old.

    It’s not like your hair is that great either….

    munch-says-blog-(i)

  • I Don’t Really Like Being Around People

    Every family has its own culture. Personality traits pass through generations. Mannerisms and tendencies are preserved through the socialization process from parent to child. This can take on a variety of forms, and each family has its own specific texture. Take for instance the funny family, the family that loves to cook, the science oriented family, the family that lives off the land, and in my case – the hyper judgmental family that hates being around people.

    My whole family is very cagey. We can have our moments of being social – but it is very emotionally taxing, and usually takes us days to recover. Being around a group of people means our brains have to work overtime while we over-analyze, scrutinize, and dissect others. That’s why I’m best with one on one dynamics. I can fully focus on a single person to psychically disembowel. Yet in any crowd setting, I am paralyzed by my unconscious need to evaluate everyone around me. The only context where I enjoy being part of a pack is when I am drunk, and have taken copious amounts of cocaine and ecstasy procured off the dark web – then I am actually quite friendly!

    The Nagy gene of being cripplingly critical has now past down to its youngest member, The Munch Nagy. I didn’t know I was doing this. I didn’t intentionally tell her, “Listen darling, most people suck. So make sure you stare at them, observe their inadequacies, and then show intense disdain on your face as you pick your nose,” yet that seems to be the case any time I take my child out in public.

    The Munch is not interested in most children. She has her few friends, and that is all she needs. Whenever I suggest we go do something “kid oriented,” her usual reaction is to politely decline because “there will probably be other kids there.”

    The other day one of my mom friends and I decided to take our daughter’s to the new “bouncy house” that opened in the area so they could, you know, bounce.

    Munch: Are other children going to be at the bouncy house?
    Toni: Of course – it is a public space.
    Munch: Well I don’t want to go if other kids will be there. I just want it to be Amelia and me.
    Toni: Well, we are going first thing in the morning, so chances are there won’t be too many other kids.
    Munch: If there are too many kids, can we go? Babies are okay if they are zero. But I’m really not into toddlers. They bother me, and they don’t even know their letters.

    don't-like-peopel-blog-(i)