youth
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• Getting Old

  

  The above picture is of my dog Mona when she was a puppy. I was 21, just lounging around in roller-skates – obviously killing it at life. Now my dog is 16 years old, blind, and deaf. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a dog that was not only blind, but also deaf, but let me tell you…. IT IS FUCKING HARD AS HELL WHEN YOUR DOG CAN’T SEE OR HEAR!

  You’d think that because of her handicaps, Mona would be more cautious. NOPE. Despite Mona’s age and disabilities, her body is quite spry. She spends her days taking many risks. For example, Mona once decided to push her way through the cat door, falling 9 feet onto a furniture tower in the basement. I searched for her for 2 hours in the woods before finally thinking to check down there. It’s insanely stressful when Mona goes missing because you can’t call for her, and YOU CAN’T FUCKING CALL FOR HER! Mona relentlessly escapes the pen that we made for her outside, and has been found miles from my house. How a blind deaf dog not only maneuvers her way through a screened in enclosure, but also traveled so far is beyond me – but the policeman was SUPER judgey when he returned her.

  Mona also now shits and pisses in the house almost daily. Okay, she’s old so this happens, but because Mona can’t see she, steps in her urine and shit balls only to then walk around covering the kitchen floor in paw prints of her piss soaked feces debris. It’s a delight!

  My dog’s aging of course makes me think of my own. I guess I’m officially considered “middle-aged” now? I’m 37 ½ years old. The half is important because I think that’s what keeps me in my “mid” 30’s as opposed to my “late”30’s, which is just 6 months away. Next year will be my 20 year high school reunion which is meant as marker to see how far I’ve come in the past two decades, yet I currently still spend a LOT of time with teenage girls talking about boys and dicks sooooo, I don’t know?

  When I was a kid I used to imagine what being an adult would feel like. For one, I was going to have HUGE tits, and for two, I was most likely going to feel like an adult. None of those visions really panned out, despite many wishes on a star for a full D.

  As a 37 year old I posture participating in adult activities, but it never feels authentic. I do these grownup things like go to lawyers, or send in forms for my taxes – but all this signing pieces of paper I don’t understand just feels like I’m playing pretend. It’s like I’m still that same kid wanting to be someone I’m not while stumbling around wearing my mom’s high heel shoes – and her makeup, and bras, and underwear while balancing her diaphragm on my nose like seal… everyone did that right?

  I think a part of me is in denial. I didn’t even notice I had wrinkles until my friend pointed it out. I guess it wasn’t clear to me because I don’t make a lot of faces in the mirror – just the one where I brush my teeth, and of course the other one where I’m yelling, “you’re never going to be good enough!” My point is, I didn’t realize I had wrinkles until a picture was posted on FB of me with my eyebrows raised and apparently my forehead was contoured with lines! My friend messaged me (actually it was TWO SEPARATE FRIENDS) saying, “Toni you have to take better care of your skin!” Jesus Christ you mean washing it with hand soap twice a week isn’t enough??!! WHAT DOES THE WORLD WANT FROM ME?

  So yeah, I’m getting older and I resist it. Not because I don’t want to be old. Being old is a gift! I think being an old lady will be super fun. I’m going to do a lot of acid, and then talk about my puss to random people at the farmers market just to freak them out. It would be a delight if I get the chance to be a raunchy, shocking, old lady that everyone has to tolerate because, “you can’t teach an old bitch new tricks.” Sounds like a dream. The old part is going to be rad. It’s this in-between part I’m not so sure I’m into because it’s so fraught with expectations.

  So far I don’t feel like I’m a successful adult. I don’t own a house. I don’t have a high paying career. I’m not invited to dinner parties, and when I go to a parent teacher conference for my kid I find myself in a state of shock that I’m sitting in that tiny chair to hear about her, not to learn long division myself. Being a mother is the most mature thing about me according to society’s standards, but keep in mind my 6-year old and I both equally enjoy the new Katy Perry song “Swish Swish,” and I can’t help but notice that we dress the same.

  So yeah, my daily uniform of leggings and hoodies does not exactly make me appear like I’ve got “my shit together” as a grown up. In many ways, I am still striving to be one. I have this endless yearning towards finding success in my artistic pursuits, and the naïve assumption that achieving that will make me feel whole, even though I know it won’t. Yet I think I hold onto my youth as a means of excusing the reality that I cannot stop making art, and that is the only life I want. It’s a childish commitment of wanting a life full of creative expression, and I’m not sure I will ever feel like I mature out of that.

  Maybe I also am stunted in a certain way because of the death of my best friend? She died when I was 20, and I part of me died too that day. Perhaps holding on to youth is my way of holding onto her. We stopped growing up together the day she died, and it’s almost like I don’t want to outgrow our friendship by leaving behind that part of me. But I’m also sure if she were alive today, we’d still be smoking pot together while skinny-dipping in lakes – doing handstands in waist deep water in the middle of the afternoon. So maybe it’s just the tribe of people I surround myself with?

  The only place where I can say with true confidence that I’ve grown is emotionally. In that way, I am mature as fuck. I self-reflect, I don’t blame others for my problems, I look out for others, I do favors, I know how to apologize, I am forgiving, I’m not afraid of failure, I take risks, I don’t hold grudges, and I try to find solutions to my challenges rather than wallow in self-pity. But I can’t put shit on a resume. There is no bragging on Facebook about my most recent accomplishment of “being really gracious when someone was taking out their bad day on me, and then helping them to dig deep into why they were acting out.” So yeah, maybe when I go on Facebook and see a Congressman Kennedy verbally eviscerate Donald Trump’s budget I think to myself, – “huh I went to high school with that kid and he’s probably gonna be president” and then fall into a spiral of self doubt where I debate pulling out all my eyelashes just to feel something different. But then I have to remind myself, “but Toni, you did open that door for that dude carrying all those boxes at the Organic Coop – so you’re doing your part.”

  Here’s Mona… having escaped and frothing at the mouth with one cataract reflecting in the sunlight.

  

  May 25, 2017 • Ambitions, Change, Children, Emotions, Kids, Mommyhood, Musings, Parenting • Views: 4555

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• An Analysis of Our Selfie-Society

  

  When I was a kid, I took pictures for myself. I would occasionally snap a shot of whatever I found interesting with the intention that I would look at it later. My motivation wasn’t rooted in what other people would think of my pictures. The only way someone else would even see my pictures was if they were in front of me, I handed them a picture, and then said, “look.” Otherwise my pictures were in a box under my bed.

  Because of social media and our ability to share pictures, now I take a LOT more pictures for you. I want to know what YOU think of my pictures more than I want to take pictures that I show no one. What is the point of taking a picture that is not worthy of distribution!?

  Maybe we take some pictures purely for ourselves, but chances are those pictures are of a mysterious rash on your back that you can’t see in the mirror. I am willing to bet most of us only have a few sacred pictures that we like, but don’t intend on sharing on social media. And I am also willing to bet most of those are naked pictures.

  I think most of us are somewhat disturbed by the vanity running rampant through culture, yet we also participate in the seduction. It feels good when I get approval from my peers, even if it’s superficial. “Oh really… you think my hair looks good? It’s so funny because I do too! That’s why I posted that picture!! Tell me more of what you think about me!” I have a black hole of need when it comes to praise. All compliments are vastly appreciated, but also sucked into a dark abyss that will never be satiated.

  When I try to get to the bottom of the phenomenon of our modern selfie-society I think there are two major themes. One is the ever-present fear of mortality. In the back of our minds lies the existential truth that every second of every day we are getting older, thus ever closer to our death. The selfie is a preservation of youth – a snapshot of the narrative of our lives. “Ahhh. Remember when I was young, two minutes ago? Look at me then. So full of hope. Wait let me take another.”

  We selfie as a desperate attempt to freeze time.

  Then there is the fact that we are all so deeply insecure and in need for love/acceptance/praise. We don’t selfie because we think we’re that great. I selfie because I pray you think I’m okay.

  

  February 22, 2016 • Musings • Views: 3270

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• Those Modern Teenagers

  

  Every generation looks at teenagers and thinks they are corrupted by modernity. It is natural to glorify your own youth, and believe there was a wholesome quaintness that no longer exists in current times. It is so common it’s cliché to feel alienated by teens just because you are not one – but fuck am I really that old already?

  Here is the deal, where I live right now in New Hampsha is the same town I grew up in. I mean, sort of. I actually lived in Boston, but I “summered” here, because yes summer is a verb. So being in this place that I have known my whole life forces me to compare then and now. It is impossible to avoid because I am surrounded by familiarity.

  I am always paralleling the past to the present – wondering things like “did there used to be this many cars on this old country road?” or “has this place always been so aggressively white?” I feel like the modern age is corrupting even the most remote places, and soon there will be nowhere to escape from the inevitable transhumanist nightmare of the future.

  The other day, I was at the beach with The Munch, reminiscing about the hundreds of hours I spent at that very same spot as a child. It was a peaceful moment, seeing my daughter enjoying the same lake, and playing with the same sand. I was transported back to a time of life that was coated with simplicity, and felt grateful for the continuity. Then I looked over and saw these 3 teenager girls – AND THEY WERE ALL ON THEIR FUCKING PHONES!

  I got soooooooo depressed. All I could do was think of all the times I was in their same position, but since we didn’t have phones we swam, talked, played cards, or read stupid sex tips from stupid magazines to each other. Those were the endless summer days with nothing to do but be together. Sometimes they were boring, but there was tranquility to that boredom because you were so glad you weren’t at school. Besides, being bored as fuck means eventually you come up with awesome ideas of things to do – like push on your friend’s chest until they pass out, or smoke pot and make chocolate chip cookies. Necessity is the mother of invention, and without boredom you are never forced to come up with creative ways to entertain yourself.

  Part of me was like “Who am I to judge this scenario? Maybe there are doing advanced quantum mechanics and solving equations? Or they could be editing a movie, or making a song using the sounds of life that no one notices or appreciates like some retro new age old school pop /rock/ psychedelic/ indi band.  Whenever I see any apple commercial that tells you all you can do with your iPhone, I realize that there is a shit ton I do NOT know about the iPhone. Perhaps these kids are way smarter  than me…. or they are looking at pictures of themselves on their Instgram profile?”

  Not that I blame these girls. It is not their fault they are seduced by the appeal of technology. The cure to boredom is no longer dependent on your imagination where you have to work for it, but in your pocket where you can just grab it easily. Yet all I could do is look at them with a mixture of disdain and pity. I felt like an old-timey guy wanting to sing Sinatra-esque tunes about times gone by. Sigh. Kids these days.

  (If I had a smart phone when I was 16, would I have come up with the below FANTASTIC idea of wearing a white turtle neck while humping a pillar with my friend?)

  

  August 25, 2014 • Musings, Old School Stories • Views: 9407

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