WAKE UP

Yeah, I tried my best to come up with a title for this post and this is all I could find mostly because I’m baffled by what’s happening to Romanian women, and women all over the world, no doubt.

I have a thirst for traveling and I feel like crying that I can walk thru the streets of New York, see the fabulous  French cafés, or experience the colors of India only on Google street view … for now anyway.

And no, I haven’t been to other countries to see if this crazy phenomenon that’s happening on my homeland, it’s happening anywhere else as well, but I am writing this for every woman out there who thinks she needs to sell herself in any way for material stuff.

I came over a post, today, that gave me chills. I realized how many powerful women fought for us in their own – at that time – insignificant way and how many of us do not exploit the legacy that they have left us.

And here’s the post http://news.distractify.com/people/powerful-photos-of-women/?v=1

The only thing a woman wanted was to run in the Boston Marathon and she had the strength to do so. Maybe we should take a minute and wonder if it wasn’t for her, would we have women athletes at all?

This post started out of my own anger an outrage but while I’m typing I’m thinking it’s not only about that, It’s about our future, it’s about our dignity, it’s about having something to be proud of.

We are the most magnificent creatures on thin planet. We have the power to bring life into the world and we let ourselves be manipulated by the idea of fame and money.

We stare at the TV every goddamn day and they tell us we’re not good enough, we’re not pretty enough, we don’t have enough money to be our own person so we sell ourselves, we starve ourselves, we dye our hair and paint our nails, we buy shit we don’t need for the prospect of being a better us, a perfect us. To achieve an idyllic perfection that nobody can achieve and we lose ourselves in this whole conundrum, we get deviated from doing great things.

I wanted to write something especially for the women in my country. For the past five years, or so, there has been a Muslim migration and a lot of women have been seduced by whatever those men have to offer them and now every day. Every fucking day I see Romanian women, white women, subject themselves to that whole hijab thing, covering their faces, not being able to do ANYTHING but raise the children, not being able to leave the house except with the children, not being able to peruse a dream or a passion because the religion of the man you chose to marry, forbids it. I’d like to think that these types of marriages took place out of love as well, maybe they had a calling, maybe these women were born to be mothers and nothing more. But that’s too optimistic so I won’t get my hopes up.

Most likely these marriages took place because of a desperate need for liberation and freedom. And yes I know that doesn’t sound logical when you say it out loud. But the way I came to this conclusion is the following: many people think freedom is money, happiness is money, things that give you any kind of satisfaction are things that you need money for and these men can provide only one thing: MONEY and the only thing that money does in this case is lock you up, clip your wings and wipe the smile from your face. And I’m not writing this because my run around with religion or because I’m a racist.

WAKE UP, YOU ARE SELLING YOURSELF so you can buy a pair of shoes that I can’t afford and I can guarantee you that I’m happier with my 35 lei pair of sneakers that you are in your 400 euros pair of Jimmy Choo’s that nobody is able to see anyway.

I’m not saying having fancy things is wrong. There’s a saying in my country “the fox that can’t reach the grapes, says they’re bitter” and this is not the case. FIGHT! Earn your own money, buy the things you want and feel proud walking down the street, be happy, be yourself, BE FREE! Because right now you’re nothing but a housekeeper who’s paid in fancy stuff and I’m sure the goal behind marrying into a religion that ostracizes women was exactly the fear of not becoming a housekeeper.

And if this doesn’t convince you, than think about this: there are women in Muslim countries that are fighting tooth and nail against this, women who are fighting for your freedom, women who are beaten and raped and eventually killed only so that YOU can have your free will.

Ladies, stop subjecting yourselves to torturous changes only so that you can be what society thinks you have to be.

 YOU ARE THE SOCIETY! You can set the impossible standards or you can cut them loose. You and only you can let you be yourselves!

Next, I’ll post some pictures of powerful and beautiful women from the article I told you about.

The pressure of the ticking clock

There are these stages in a normal girl’s life when she concentrates on certain things.

Of course the one thing her life revolves around is always going to be the opposite sex, no doubt about it. From 10 to 14 you want to be around guys so you’ll be the cool kid who’s playing football and learning how to spit. From 14 to 18 you can’t really thing about anything but guys because that’s what your hormones say. From 18 to 23 you’re having boyfriends because that’s the normal thing to do and after that RELATIONSHIPS, big scary word with a lot of intricate knots.

But what about the individual? The girl, the person?

I say 30 is the limit. The age you draw the line for drunken parties, the carefree lifestyle, the summer in Vama Veche, the art classes, the girls nights out. After that you’re just a lame old hag who wants to relive her golden days.

This is why I’ll make my friends promise they’ll never drag me to one of these shindigs after I turn 30 no matter how much I love the sea.

After 30 you climb up the social and professional ladder and start making something of yourself.

That’s how I see a modern woman.

I hate seeing twenty something girls dragging crying toddlers after them in the park when I’m there reading my book on the freshly cut grass and smoking my Lucky Strike’s blue. And I’m not saying “hate” in the sense that I pity them, but I hate their nagging glances, their judging glances or from time to time their “where did I go wrong” glances.

The judging glances come from their utter “proudness” of being a mother. Yes, kids are great. I plan of having a house full myself and I love the children at the kindergarten like they’re my own and I pain every time I skip a session cause I admire how their brains work, how creative they can be, how fear free. But gully gee, I can’t take care of myself at this age, how the hell could I take care of a kid?

Plus I’m afraid that at this stage I’d name my kids Sid and Nancy and put blue dye in their hair which would immediately end up with them in the foster system.

But is my thinking throwing me back or propelling me forward?

Every time I start up a conversation with one of my girls we end up talking about our jobs. We’re not making enough money, we’re not buying pretty things or go to cool places because we’re not making enough money, we’re not happy because we’re not buying pretty things and we turn up thinking of seeing shrinks because we’re not happy.

Shit! If I knew from the womb that the world and my own happiness will revolve around money I would’ve dropped hints to my mother to get me an Ivy fucking League education since I was 2 months old. I would’ve become a bad ass lawyer or a bank manager and all my dreams would come true.

And while we’re in the Mary-go-round our lives fly past us like they were never there.

Am I the only person in this whole God forsaken world who thinks money is not that important?

Put me in the Art Museum one day a week and I’m happy as a clam. 32. 32 fucking lei a month to be happy. Is that so hard to accomplish?

Sure, I enjoy the occasional movie, but that can be done with 0 money at home. Plus the 2 lei on the huge bag of popcorn from Kaufland that nobody can ever finish. And at home you have the advantage of talking and also not hearing the asshole next to you talking on his phone.

When did these people who think they need money to be happy just put on some Velvet Underground, lay on the floor and smoked a cigarette like is 1984?

I’m happy in the park. My God, I’m happy in the park. I like to roll down the hill in freshly cut grass or snow any time of the year.

The point is: we’re so preoccupied with living our lives in style that we forget to live our lives period.

I forget that sometimes as well and I’m sad. And I feel like I’m being rejected by society because I don’t have a grown up job, like advertising or economics, instead I play around in watercolors with kids and go to work in my ripped up jeans and my leather jacket and a book stuffed down my back pocket.

Let me tell you something about my book in my back pocket: I made a plan, with a friend who’s so obsessed with her work she sentb me home after waiting for her in the center for half a day. As I was walking back thru the park with my book and my jacket, so mad, that I have forgotten to put on my head phones, there were two kids behind me, “whispering” so loud the entire alley could hear them.

“Look at the boots, those are cool boots.” The boy said. “I like her hair.” Whispered the girl. “No you fool that’s how is in fashion these days. It’s her phone or her tablet.” Said the boy. And I understood that they were talking about the book in my back pocket. As I arrived to my favorite reading spot in the park I pulled out the item. “Awwww it’s a book, that’s cool.” The little girl exclaimed. After I sat down they passed in front of me so the boy said, as loud as he could “But she’s so beautiful.”

Yup.  That was a beautiful moment.

 And maybe I, in my own way, let my life fly past me for not getting an upstanding job or looking to get hitched but to me the little things are important and I have plenty of those. 

Do I feel pressured by the ticking clock? Yes I do, because society norms dictate that I should. Am I going to start freaking out? No I won't. 

My insomnia in too many words

I hate my brain! My brain is insane and doesn't let me sleep. I plant my head on the pillow and my arm starts itching, then my neck because I was too lazy to braid my hair so I get up and braid my fucking hair I flop around like a fish out of the water when suddenly my pillow gets too hard and bumpy. I fluff my pillow and turn around, when I turn I land on a fold in the blanket. I pull the blanket from under me and pull it on top of me but the blanket is too short and my feet are cold which means the fucking blanket is with the long part on the sides so I push it up with my legs and after a couple of minutes of tossing and turning I manage to make it right but from all that flopping around my hair gets loose and my pillow gets a case of the bumpies AGAIN!

My pillow gets a case.....case, pillow...pillow case...get it? Ha ha ha. Yeah it's 3:00 am, let me see you write a fucking coherent blog after 5 hours of not managing to go to sleep.
I fix the bloody pillow and the fucking hair. Finally...everything is in order but ooooh look the moon is soooo shiny I can see it through my drapes.
The moon...
It's not a full moon.
I love the full moon, is so mystical.
Mysticism...yeah, the best spells are performed under a full moon.
I tried to do a sell once, who the fuck didn't. It wasn't like in the movies, that much I can tell you.
Movie, movie, movie. The movie I've seen tonight was STU-PID! I love Sylvester Stallone but MY GOD he should really find another job. Jesus fucking Christ each and every one of his movies are alike.
Actually all the movies these days are alike.
The TV shows too. I mean I was watching Bones and realized Goddamn it's just like The Mentalist...and Castle, even the actresses look alike. I can never tell the difference between these girls, who the fuck is who?
I tell you I haven't seen an original episode since Regan was president.
Even Supernatural betrayed me and stole a concept from Doctor Who AND YOU THOUGHT WE WOULDN'T NOTICE! HA!
It was from the Matt Smith Doctor who.....Damn I miss David Tennant. They should make the Doctor find a way to regenerate with David's face.
Speaking of TV shows. Remember that episode from Supernatural when Sam wasn't able to sleep cause Lucifer was singing Ramble On in his head. God I wish I had Mark Pelegrino singing Ramble on, maybe I could get some sleep.
OOOOhhhh man how about the episode before that where Satan kept on talking to Sam but he wouldn't reply until he got clocked on the head. AY CARAMBA MI CABEZA! Now that was funny.
Speaking of witch: What the fuck happened to my Spanish. I distinctly remember I had a good grasp of the Mexican kind of Spanish when I was younger. Where did that go? Is there like a secret door with a super secret combination behind which you lock up all the stuff you learned and never used again?
Like in that test at that interview when I had to do math...let's just say I couldn't do math to save my life and I was pretty good in high school.
OH MY GOD! Do I remember the baggie pants I use to wear in high school? Jesus! What the fuck was I thinking? I thought I was cool...I wasn't. I was a huge giant nerd. If I were a geek in an american high school I would kick my own ass and take my lunch money.
And speaking of comic books which super power is better? Flying or invisibility? Giving the fact That I want to see the world flying seems better, but then again with the invisibility I could sneak on planes and go wherever the hell I want ON PLANES, I love planes.
I saw that documentary about my dad's uncle Paul Mitu what do you think those people thought when the plane was going down. Man I have a real life hero in my family and I never met him. That's a bummer.
Speaking of names Max Medina. Where do I know that name from and why did it pop into my head.
It's from a TV show but what TV show. Think Laura THINK!
I think it was Pretty Little Liars. Why the hell did I even watch that show.
WAIT ! NO! This Max character was a professor and the professor in Pretty Little Liars was called ...something else...that's not important. What's important right now is to sleep. UH OH! Max Medina was from Gilmore Girls.
Gilmore Girls is Dana's favorite show. What's Dana doing now? I miss her. On the other hand Sisi gets to stay in Romania so that's a good thing. Yeah, I'm happy about that.

And this goes on and on and on and on and on and ooooon and.....
until I kick the blanket off, go to the kitchen, smoke ten thousand and twenty one cigarettes, drink a bowl of coffee and start writing this blog.

My parents are insane - The Chronicles

Chapter V

I take the risk of repeating myself over and over again and say this – my family is crazy, man!

Three days ago I got sick.

But I should start this with the beginning. About two months ago, after the weather started getting colder and slowly slipping into winter my dad got a cold. He pranced around for two days like a big hero saying he doesn’t need any medication cause he’ll be fine. After two days he succumbed to the annoying feeling when you get a cold, that annoying feeling that you’re not in fact fine and you would do any fucking thing to get better and he chose the perfect moment to realize he would in fact like some medication. That moment was a Sunday evening at 9 p.m.! That’s right folks my dad wanted drugs at the one moment in a whole week when you can’t find a store, let alone a pharmacy opened for miles. So I got dressed, I ran all over the neighborhood trying to find one opened pharmacy and when I didn’t, I got in the car and drove to the nearest 24/7 drugstore I could find on my nifty little machine with buttons. But I did it none the less, because he’s my dad and because he was feeling sick and because I wanted him to feel better because I CARE!

The story ended up with my dad cursing and gagging over a Coldrex which in his opinion is “just disgusting”. Which brings up to the present day.

Three days ago I got sick. I was feeling week and my muscles were sore and my nose runny. The difference was that it was a Friday morning. So I started dropping hints all over the house maybe someone would pick up on that, go to the pharmacy and get me my druuuuuuuugs. But my dad it’s just a little bit too thick to interpret hints so I just spelled it out in big shy letters “I WANT SOME DRUGS!”

And then my dad opened up his mouth and I dropped mine on the floor. “Neah, it’s too crowded and it’s a little bit too cold, I don’t wanna go.”

So in the end I was the one to drag myself to the drug store and pick up my meds with a fever of 38.8 degrees Celsius, sores all over my body and snot coming out of my nose like I was the Niagara falls.

My mother on the other hand….

I don’t know if I told you this about my mother but somehow, because she stares at that TV all fucking day log, somehow she mastered medicine, psychology and neuroscience all at once.

….my mother on the other hand said that I induced myself into a cold. I somehow wished to get a cold, conjured up the powers that be and made myself sick just to annoy the holly fuck out of her.

Well if that’s the truth, mother, I hopped I made you fucking bonkers this past three days cause I on the other hand, had a blast with the shivers and the hot waves and not being able to sleep thinking I could actually die from not being able to breathe.

You’re gonna say “What’s done it’s done, the past is past, move on.”

OH! I’m moving, believe you me, I’m moving to my next story.

TODAY!

My dad thinks that, because I’m a girl, I’m some kind of moron.

My dad is kind of racist and sexist and a little bit of a supremacist…not the hard core “faster pussycat kill kill” sort of way but just enough to drive me up the walls cause I’m more inclined to be on Gandy’s  side rather than on Hitler’s (just to throw and example at you).

The point being is that my dad and I are like two peas in two different pots.

In the summer my car battery died, we opened the doors one too many times, flicked the lights on and off as we pleased and I almost got stuck in a yard in Vama Veche with no means to get home.

After a guy gave me a jump (God bless his soul) the car ran like new but I did call my dad to tell me if I can play music while the car is rolling.

We got home safe and sound and since the battery got filled up enough on the road it just didn’t die anymore after that.

Because the battery didn’t die after I got home, my dad practically called me either a liar or a moron and he kept up this opinion until three or four days ago when he wanted to take it out and couldn’t cause the battery wasn’t working …AGAIN.

On my birthday my grandma called me, she cried cause she’ll never see me married and she’s dyeing and she wants to see her grand-grand children which, of course, are nowhere to be found because …well you know how it works: No sperm – no kids. Then she said she’ll send my some money for my birthday. Today these money came.

My mom never even wanted to mention them or to fork them over but my dad was running around like a chicken with its head cut off saying he wants to get a new battery for MY CAR! (first of all it’s my fucking car, shouldn’t I be informed if something goes wrong, if it needs a new fucking spark plug, shouldn’t I be the one to decide if I have the means to buy that fucking spark plug or to be a pedestrian for another month? …any who)

So he made my mom give him my money to buy a new battery for my car and my mom would never have told me about the money if my dad would have never took them except that she’s a selfish bitch who saw an opportunity to ignite a scandal just because she could keep the money to buy her own selfish ass some more whoreish clothes.

I’m in fucking hell!

You know, when you hit rock bottom you just hit rock bottom, you know you’re on the bottom and everything can only go uphill from there? With me it’s like : it’s rock bottom, lower are 50 feet of crap and then me.

In these situations, I want to admit, without being jugged, that I understand those people who murder their entire family by bashing their head in with the meat cleaver.

Over and out! 

There are two things in this world that I'm getting fairly sure of: There's no crueler creature that a man without faith and that there is no God.