My parents are insane - The Chronicles Chapter VII

PASSION

A great pop culture character, Angel, once said: “Passion is the source of our finest moment, the joy of love, the clarity of hatred and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace but we would be hollow. Without passion we’d be truly dead.”

I might have had a revelation today. Ok, I admit, I’m always having revelations but this one is a good one.

I always thought that my mother not being permissive enough had me develop only bad traits and for the majority is true. I have a bad temper because of her, I don’t really like mushy stuff because of her, I don’t really know how to say I love you and not feel fucking awkward. And by the by, the fact that I AM in fact telling some people that I love them is a huge fucking deal and I, most of the time, hold back from puking afterwards, so yes, be proud, you’ve earned it.

I was wrong about my mother; I actually have a lot to thank her for.

Let me tell you why.

I have a LOT of passions. I love music more than I loved any human being EVER, I love to hear the emotions that some other person felt when writing down some lyrics, or just playing around with their guitar. A freaking iconic song (which slips my mind at the moment ) was written when the guitarist of that band was playing around in the studio, it’s just fucking amazing how something so huge can come out of just jerking off in the coffee break. Freaking NIRVANA wrote the song that consecrated them based on a joke, when a chick said that Cobain “smelled like teen spirit”(which was a ladies perfume). That’s either brilliance or it’s faith and out of the two, I don’t know what I’d pick.

I LOVE drawing, I’d spend hours just doodling away. I don’t even care what it is, it could be potatoes with arms, it could be the next Starry Night as long as something comes out of my hands, I’m a happy camper. It’s true, I don’t do that anymore….now I play Candy Crush. I guess you can call that “creating something”, I’m creating a void in my head so I won’t think about the fact that I actually stopped creating shit.

I LOVE to read. For a “hater” like me reading is the best thing that could ever happen. It gets you out of this universe and then anything is possible. You get to go inside of another person’s mind without using black magic or science, you flip the page and there you are, reading their thoughts, feeling their moves, speaking their language, living their lives. You can even talk for two or three people at a time and sometimes the only one who can experience their grief, it’s you and that gives you a sense of power, you’re absolute. In slang terms you’re just too fucking awesome.

When I was little my mom was always smacking me for not writing the lesson down in class, I would, instead, just draw. I was listening to what the teachers were saying but all my notebooks would read the date, the title, a couple of lines and then just flowers and dresses and hands and attempts at portraits. So every time I would come home from school with such a page she’d just smack me around a little. “How can you do this? Look, your classmate, Georgica is writing everything down.” Despite the fact that he was writing everything down, Georgica was left behind a year so that wasn’t the best policy for passing your classes. HA! Take that, mum. Of course I had a little anarchy in me since I can remember so, naturally I was inclined to not even write the date anymore instead just draw some more.

 I had a pair of jeans that were ripped, at one point, I’ve just discovered punk and loved it because it was nothing like britney spears or n’sync (and yes, I’m just gonna write the names without capital letters because they don’t deserve it). I would wear them every day for about a year, summer, winter, -20 degrees; my knees would be just hanging out, breathing fresh air. So she gets mad at one point and throws away my noise making army boots, my leather jacket AND cuts my pants in half. I was so mad I wouldn’t come out of my room for a week that summer. She eventually smashed my mixed tape; that got me out of the house because I had to make a new one and of course listen even louder.

I was in eighth grade and just gotten my hands on Shakespeare, it was so intricate that I had to read Hamlet three times so I could truly understand what was going on. The fact is that Hamlet was not in the curriculum and I had to prepare for the last exam. Instead I was sitting in the middle of the bed, at 7 in the morning reading Shakespeare and my mother comes in, very upset saying things like “you should be getting dressed, you have to be at school in half an hour and you’re sitting here reading crap.” Crap, yes, she called Shakespeare “crap”.

I was never the child she wanted me to be. I was never perfect and I never did anything on time. I also never did, or said, or dressed like the norms of society dictates us and that killed her.  Maybe she just didn’t want me to suffer if I would be seen as an outcast or maybe she was jealous at my free spirited nature.  But by her denying me all those things I think she drove me to developing passions for amazingly beautiful thing and now they’re in there and there’s nothing she can do about.

I was talking too my workmate today and after I had a huge rant about a song I asked her “what passion drives you anyway?” and she answered “none.” And then I’ve waited, maybe it was something there, something buried deep, something that would make her want to cry or giggle at the thought of, but there was nothing and I felt so sad for her because she might never know what it means to go through and emotional rollercoaster every time you hear your favorite song or watch your favorite movie. She might never now the anger when you can’t draw the other eye or the joy when everything is perfect. She might never understand the itch in your fingers when you want to write something or draw something and you don’t have a pen nearby.

I asked her if anything was ever denied to her by her parents and she answered with “nothing.”

So in spite of mein mutter actually being mein furer she might have actually created in me the best trait that a human being can posses: PASSION. And for that, I thank you, mom.

Also there’s no point in this post and you’ve spent the last 10 minutes reading a crazy lady’s rant. I’ll just go buy some cats now.

A bien tot! 

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! 

Trenul accelerat Bucuresti-Mangalia pleaga in 5 minute de la linia 5

Am fost in Vama, evident. Mie nu-mi trebuie prea mult sa supravietuiesc la mare. Un acoperis, un pic de mancare si-un dus unde sa pot da jegul jos….ah si evident o toaleta, indiferent daca e doar o groapa in pamant ca nah, mai are omu’ si nevoi. 

Ne-am inceput escapada cu plecarea prestabilita la ora 6 care, evident s-a transformat in ora 6 jumate pentru ca a intarziat Dana, cine altcineva. Pe drum spre iesirea din Bucuresti n-am prins niciun semafor pe culoarea rosie ceea ce trebuia sa-mi dea de banuit ca ceva dubios se va intampla.

Am intrat pe autostrada in aplauze (de la noi catre noi, fireste), am oprit dupa Lehliu sa tragem o tigara si sa folosim buda apoi am plecat mai departe.

Tot conducand noi asa, cu marea-n suflet si cu scoica lui Chirila BAM! Am intrat in coliziune c-o vrabiuta. Accidentul s-a soldat cu o victima, vrabiuta, care s-a transformat in supa instant.

Pe mine m-a busit plansu’, Andreea era in dreapta mea oripilata si Dana dormea visand la afisuri cu vrabiute. Sa nu mai zic ca vrabiei ii ramasese o bucata de aripa intre stergatoare ca nah, altfel n-ar fi fost film horror. Dupa ce am contemplat o buna bucata de drum urma de moaca de vrabie de pe parbriz am zis sa opresc si s-o sterg ca altfel nu ma mai uitam la drum deloc.

Restul drumului a fost lin si fara alte incidente care sa ne trimita la psiholog pe vecie. Am ajuns  intr-un final la iesirea de pe autostrada, la Agigea in 2 ore si jumatate unde, fara doar si poate ne-a fost dat sa intalnim un ambuteiaj pentru ca nu-i asa, cand e mai potrivit sa “repari” podul (si-am pus in ghilimele pentru ca podul ala se tot repara in fiecare vara si cumva e tot timpul plin de gauri ) decat vineri dimineata?

Am ajuns intr-un final in vama, fara prea mare entuziasm pentru ca eram toate trei obosite, ne-am instalat cortul, din nou, fara prea mare entuziasm si am fugit pe plaja unde era un pic prea multa lume.

Ne-a luat cateva zile de adaptare in care ne plimbam de la un cap la altul nestiind ce cacat sa facem pentru ca nah, no TV, no laptop, no light at night.

Ne-am gasit ritmul si ne-am conformat cu faptul ca tot ce-avem de facut timp de o saptamana e sa ne trezim, sa ne spalam pe dinti si sa dam fuga la plaja. Asta, evident, pana cand ne-am dat seama ca nu o sa ne ajunga banii si atunci sa vezi panica. Din partea lor, nu a mea. Nu stiu de ce, dar aveam asa un feeling ca o sa ne descurcam.

In fine, am gasit Double M-ul unde, doamne ajuta, sunt preturi rezonabile. Am cumparat niste branza, rosii, ardei si altele, economie care ne-a tinut fix o zi pentru ca simandicoasele astea voiau sa bata din palme si sa se faca mancarea.

Cine stie ce cunostinte nu ne-am facut p-acolo dar pot sa spun ca ne-am imprietenit cu absolut toti cainii si toate pisicile din vama veche.

In curtea unde am campat era un catel latos, Roxi, un munte de caine, Rinti si patru pisici care erau pazite din scurt de Rinti si un tip care se plictisise de marele oras si se mutase la mare inca din 1 Mai.

Cand am auzit mi s-au facut ochii bulbuci si-mi venea sa sar pe el, asta pana a venit Dana si a inceput sa-l ia la intrebari evidentiind tot ce era in neregula cu el. In caz ca n-am subliniat destul: Thank’s for pointing that out, dude.

Am gasit si cortul M*A*S*H care, in mod suspicios, nu era echipat cu o distilerie de gin. Cine-ar fi crezut? Apoi am gasit un tip cu un tricou Nirvana , care de fapt nu era pentru ca-l uitase acasa. In schimb avea hanoracul si m-a convins. Era foarte incantat de faptul ca si eu aveam tricoul meu cu Nirvana facut de manutele astea doua care va scriu acum. L-am cunoscut si pe prietenul lui gay, Emil si mi-am dat seama ca Emil e un nume tare dubios.

Intamplarea a facut sa pastram traditia si sa stam pe plaja pana la rasarit in noaptea aia.

Am avut norocul sa nimerim intr-o perioada in care vama nu e prea impanzita de cocalari, pentru ca da, exista si momentele alea.

M-am lasat in mainile unui actor care mi-a facut o codita colorata de milioane.

Ce-mi place mie la mine e ca daca am cu ce, ajut, chiar daca ii dau o tigara unuia care mi-a mai cerut c-o seara-n urma sau un leu (pentru ateneu) unuia care, sunt convinsa ca in secunda urmatoare, ii va transforma in alcool.

In timp ce faceam the 10 mile hike pana in camping sa-mi iau sacul, ca sa nu mai inghet ca un cacat degerat pe plaja, ma intreaba unu’ (care apartinea de un grup ce-si facusera posapus pe o bordura) daca am sa-I dau un leu la care eu am raspuns “N-am nici 50 de bani, sunt mega boschetara.”

El imi spune vesel si relaxat: AAAAA si noi, join the club!”

Mi-a placut asta. Am simtit ca apartin unui loc, pentru prima data am vazut camaraderie intre oameni. “Mori de foame? Nu-i nimic, vino incoace si mori de foame cu noi.” : ))))

Nu stiu cum sau de ce, dar am vazut pentru prima data oameni cantand in plina strada, alaturi de cantareti ambulanti pe care nu-i cunosteau. Si totusi ambele parti erau bucuroase in a participa la tambalaul ala.

Intr-o minunata dimineata, ne-am dus sa luam apa si iaurt pentru mersul la plaja. I-am platit vanzatoarei 15 lei (cat era bonul) si ea mi-a dat rest 5 lei. Am realizat ca e o gresala si i-am dat cei 5 lei inapoi. Pe drum spre plaja Andreea m-a balacarit in fel si chip “Fir-ai a dracu de proasta! Puteai sa-i Iei, aveam 5 lei in plus” (asta se intampla in perioada crizei noastre financiare). Daca n-am putut sa-i iau n-am putut si basta!

Replica cu care a venit Andreea a fost “o sa ai super Karma”.

Replica, care pentru mine, in principiu nu inseamna mare lucru si am indepartat-o cu un “EH!”

Cand ne-am intors la masina, am realizat ca nu mai am baterieeeeeeee.

Tot vaitandu-ma eu p-acolo si schitandu-le fetelor un peisaj mental despre cum o sa impingem noi masina pana la Bucuresti, dintr-un cort alaturat noua iese un tip care spune “Aveti nevoie de cabluri?” Dupa ce am raspuns toate in cor ca DA incepe tipul sa se tarasca din cort zicand “Stai asa ca am eu cabluri”

Needless to say ca-mi venea sa-i pup picioarele. Mi-a incarcat bacteria, am dus-o pana in 2 mai, am mai stat 2 zile, timp in care s-a descarcat iar. M-a mai ajutat o data, ca oi fi eu blonda, da’ stiu sa-mi calc pe orgoliu cand e cazul.

Ce sa-i transmit? Multa bafta in viata, sa intalneasca din ce in ce mai multi oameni ca el, sa nu-l lase bateria la masina niciodata si sanatate cu carul.

Drumul de intoarcere n-a fost tocmai lipsit de neplaceri cand ne-am dat seama ca e joi si ca trebuie sa platim taxa de pod, taxa pentru care nu mai aveam bani.

Asa au inceput sapaturile. Ne-am scarmanat in genti si-am gasit intr-un final 13 lei.

Am ajuns in Bucuresti in 3 ore.

Au trecut 2 zile de cand m-am intors si inca nu m-am recupertat.

Vreau inapoi.

My parents are insane - The Chronicles

Chapter III

As you may have gotten used to it by now, my mother is insane.

Most recently, she found out that I was going to the sea with my friends.

As she is in her mid life crisis, the insane idea of dyeing without doing certain thing is seared into her brain. I tried to keep it a secret, God how I tried, but somehow it just came out and now she want to tag along. I should mention that the people I’m going with are two lovely girls, my age and we are planning to live in a tent for a week and feed ourselves with alcohol, like normal young, stupid people that we are.

Now, that I told her I’d rather not having her along, criticizing my every move she’s gone mental.

 “You didn’t even think about me! I tell you, that’s our punishment for taking you to the beach so many times when you were little. You went ahead and did this to me without even thinking  << she’s really suffering for not being able to see the sea this year>>” and so it went on, and on, and on, and….

Now I’m asking you: what 25 year old, in its right mind would take their mom at the beach, alongside their friends?

Is that a valid question? I’d say so.

She insisted I go to Greece with her in September. She fucking insisted, after I said NO so many times I was left without a breath.

Every time I wanted to go somewhere or do something and I didn’t have someone to do it with she’d say “Go alone.” That’s what I told her about Greece and then she went postal, again.

There’s no real reason to quote all the stupid things she said after I made that grave and regrettable mistake, except that now, she’s telling me that my dad didn’t want to go so I could go.

BULL HOKEY! My dad said he doesn’t want to go because there are too many old folk on that trip and he fucking hates them.

I want to be honest with y’all. My mother never liked me too much. She had no idea how to raise me.

Maybe because of the way things were back then, maybe she just practiced what she learned in her own family.

My mother never wanted to know what I want, what I’m capable of, what I can do with my own to hands. How talented I am or how athletic I used to be. All she wanted was an improved version of herself, disregarding the human being.

I think that now, my mother is seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and she realized that she never really listened to me, she never actually wanted me around and now she’s trying to make up for lost time.

I say TOO BLOODY LATE, MOM! This ship has ….. well, now sailed per se, but at least ripped up the rope that was holding it tied to the dock.

I hate being angry at my mom. I always feel guilty and then more angry.

I might’ve said too much.

Interrupting transmission …..

Prostimea noii generatii intre mit si realitate

Am avut neplacearea sa dau peste aceasta minunata fotografie, insotita de un cometariu la fel de minunat:

"Copii din ziua de azi au luat o razna... Si cand ma gandesc ca ei o sa mi plateasca mie pensia..Se duce tara asta de rapa..I au prostit internetul."

Asta zic si eu dar sa stii ca nu-i asa.
Generatia tanara intoteauna a avut merelei ei stricate doar ca nu au fost atat de publice. Acum ca avem postari pe FB si twitter, tot felul de poze traznite publicate pe "wall"-uri sunt acolo sa le vada o lume intreaba si d-aia avem impresia ca generatia tanara e prosta dar noi la randul nostru am fost judecati de cei mai mari decat noi pentru ca ne placea un anumit fel de muzica si o anumita vestimentatie, parintii nostii la randul lor au fost priviti cu acelasi ochi critic de parintii lor, hipiotii erau priviti drept niste drogati care nu aveau nici un scop in viata doar pentru ca cei care criticau nu stiau de unde vine miscarea si ce inseamna, punkerii erau vazuti ca niste infractori fara sa se ia in considerarea ceea ce insemna la baza anarhia.
Nu spun ca poza asta e o dovada de rebeluine care are la radacini o influenta sociala sau o miscare revolutionara viitoare dar pentru numele lui dumnezeu nu mai spuneti ca sunt prosti pentru ca o sa creada in chestia asta si o sa se resemneze. 
In loc sa ne vaitam ar trebui sa facem ceva pentru ei, sa ii invatam cum sa imbine minunata asta lume virtuala in care vrem nu vrem, ne aflam, cu cunostinte, cum sa exploateze internetul pentru a afla ce inseamna muzica buna, sa nu-i mai incurajam sa se dezmete in halul asta ...si vrei sa recunosti sau nu si in timpul nostru bluzele cu buricul gol si maneci foarte lungi erau la fel de constroversate cum este acum machiajul excesiv la fetite de 13 ani. Dar noi am crescut din asta, si multi dintre noi sunt acum pe o cale buna, multi stiu cine e tolstoi si kerouac, churchil, mousolini si familia romanov, mozart si metallica ...tot ce trebuie sa facem e ca noi, cei care suntem modelele lor sa incetam sa admiram mondenitati cum ar fi kim kardasian si paris hilton sau sa dam in plina zi la televizor videclipuri in care rihanna, o fetita de 24 de ani, apare in sanii goi, si trage K pe nas. 



 Nu e vina lor, e vina noastra

Arta pentru tehnologie

Si-am trecut pe la Muzeul de Arta unde in urma cu vreo trei-patru saptamani mi-am gasit locul. Puteam sa jur cu mana pe Sfanta Biblie ca acolo e locul de care apartin. Dupa trei ore de holbat la tablouri am iesit afara intr-un aer relativ curat, sub bataia calda a razelor unui soare de toamna si tot ce voiam era sa ma dezintegrez si sa ma imprastii in aerul din muzeu unde, sub forma de praf as fi putut sa ma asez pe picturi ca sa pot traii vesnic in mediul ala, in cladirea aia mai mult decat incredibila.

Si totusi, cu chiu cu vai, m-am urcat din nou pe bicicleta cu care venisem la muzeu si-am plecat. Tot drumul inapoi spre casa am avut in fata ochilor cabinetul de grafica, in special o lucrare de-un metru patrat , poate mai mare, pe care o sa evit sa o descriu pentru ca niste cuvinte adunate laolalta nu o sa-i faca dreptate sub nicio forma.

Am trecut peste starea mea de reverie, cel mai probabil nu definitiv, si mi-am continuat viata si activitatile zilnice.

In urma cu doar cateva zile m-a rugat mama sa-i duc niste bani la Apa Nova ( rugat sub forma “Du-mi niste bani la Apa Nova”). M-am conformat, am incalecat pe bicicleta si-am pedalat pana la Apa Nova care se afla in zona Sala Palatului.

Mare mi-a fost surpriza cand am trecut pe langa Muzeul de Arta si-am vazut niste panouri care intruchipau nu altceva decat ….(drum roll please)…. coduri QR! In spatele carora se aflau cel mai probabil niste lucrari artistice, n-am stat nici doua minute sa admir porcaria.

Norocul meu, zic eu, ca ma uitam o data la CSI-NY si au avut aia un caz in care au scanat un patratel d-ala cu telefonul, de unde mi-a ramas in cap ca trebuie scanat cu telefonul; asta era singura informatie pe care o aveam referitor la aceste minutnate coduri, dupa care am venit acasa, am cautat despre ce e vorba, am aflat ca sa numesc “coduri QR” si ca pot fi scanate cu telefon/tableta sau  PDA (whatever that shit is) si aplicatia care iti permite sa scanezi recte coduri este, fireste pentru android in consecinta “NO SMART-PHONE, NO ART!”   

In principiu am crezut ca ma enerveaza situatia aste pentru ca n-am eu parte de un smart-phone, apoi m-am uitat la aparatul care-si joaca rolul de telefon mobil din buzunarul meu si m-am gandit ca-i mai mult decat sufficient apoi mi-am dat seama ca problema nu-u la mine, problema e la restul lumii.

CUM sa-ti traiesti viata intr-un telefon? CUM sa renunti sa emotia pe care o ai atunci cand te uiti la un tablou pe viu doar ca sa il scanezi cu telefonul? Scanezi cu telefonul, ma jur, chestia asta devine din ce in ce mai ridicola pe masura ce-o repet. Si CUM un eveniment care se vrea cultural isi poate permite sa faca o astfel de discriminare in randul iubitorilor de arta? 

Poate ca m-am nascut in epoca gresita, cine stie. Ma simt indignata atunci cand mama nu stie sa salveze un numar in mobil pentru ca sunt lucruri care mi-au intrat in reflex. Daca stiu sa operez cat de cat tehnologia asta nu inseamna ca o imbratisez. As da orice sa scriu randurile astea pe o foaie de hartie, cu un creion hodorogit as da orice sa trec pe langa Muzeul de Arta si sa vad pe gard lucrari ale unor tineri artisti care n-au avut pana acum sansa sa se afirme. 

Avem locatii si avem posibilitati sa punem in ochiul public arta si alegem sa-o facem intr-un mod atat de discriminatoriu.

Things that cloud my judgement

I wish i'd had a reason to buy a gun ...i'm curious on how the shop gives it to you ....just like that ...here, take some bullets too, put them in your pocket, or does it come with a box, a bag? a case ? a suitcase with a fake bottom? a book that has the pages cropped out in the shape of a gun? does it come with spare bullets or just one like mechanical pencils? do they give you a holster or you have to carry it in your underpants like cheap gangstas? do they give you a belt or straps for the holster or you have to put it on your own belt? why if your belt doesn't match with the color of the holster do they give you two colors like in TOP SHOP, one dark and one light for any occasion? :))) I WANNA KNOOOOW

Amintiri din liceu

Lumea zice ca anii de facultate sunt cei mai tari, eu cred insa ca cei de liceu ii intre fara cuvinte.

Putin mai devreme am gasit un cake box plin cu cd-uri pe care scria POZE asa ca am inceput sa le vizionez pentru ca ce-i mai reusit decat sa-ti vezi vechea fata, modul absolut ingrozitor in care te imbracai sau tunsorile nereusite pe care le-ai avut de-a lungul anilor.

Printre maldarul de poze le-am gasit fireste si pe cele din excursia de trei zile petrecuta la mare cu colegii de liceu- excursie care a stat pe post de petrecere de absolvire- si mi-am adus aminte de una dintre cele mai trasnite lucruri care mi s-au intamplat.

Eram nedormita de trei nopti pentru ca in noaptea de dinainte sa plecam au dat Sleepy Hollow la TV si n-am putut sa nu-l vad continuandu-se in noapte pana pe la ora doua iar plecarea spre gara se facea la ora patru deci face-ti si voi calculul, prima seara a fost veselie, nebunie, alergat prin Mamaia de la un cap la altul iar noaptea urmatoare a fost petrecerea propriu-zisa in restaurantul hotelului. Ne-am gatit noi, fiecare cum a stiut mai bine si am coborat.

Dupa ce m-am decis ca fusta si tocurile nu ma ajuta cu nimic am ucat inapoi in camera sa-mi trag pe mine o pereche de blugi trei sferturi cu manseta intoarsa peste genunchi si tenesi, tenesi pe care dupa ce ne-am hotarat sa vedem rasaritul de soare, i-am schimbat pe-o pereche de papuci in ideea sa nu-mi intre nisip in sosoni. In camera, colega mea a zis ca nu mai poate si ca ramane sa doarma asa ca am decis sa iau eu cheia camerei si sa incui usa pe dinafara.

Asadar ne-am infiintat pe nisipul ud in asteptarea mingii de foc si-am stat si-am stat si mie mi se-nchideau ochii iar ca sa ma tin treaza ma jucam cu brelocul cheii de la camera in nisip. Dupa ce s-a crapat de ziua si nu se vedea inca nici o urma de soare la orizont eu si inca doua colege ne-am hotarat sa ne tiram.

Pe la jumatatea drumului spre hotel m-a pus naiba sa-mi pipai buzunarele si sa observ ca nu mai am mobilul, moment in care am intrat in panica. M-am dus inapoi si am inceput sa greblez cu picioarele bucata de nisip in care stiam ca am stat, fara pic de succes. Intr-un final m-am dat batuta si m-am hotarat sa ma duc in camera sub deviza “asta e” insa cand am ajuns in fata camerei si am dat sa descui usa am realizat ca nu mai am nici cheia.

Lumea a inceput sa rada iar eu am inceput sa ma enervez pentru ca eram ingrozitor de obosita si voiam sa ajung in pat asa ca am intrat in camera vecinilor de palier si-am traversat din balconul lor in balconul meu pentru ca mai apoi s-o sperii pe colega mea care inca dormea, cu batai nerabdatoare in usa de la balcon.

Dupa ce am intrat in camera eram prea consumata de ceea ce tocmai mi se intamplase pentru a mai dormi asa ca am hortarat sa strang cateva din lucrurile lasate la intamplare pe pat, pe jos si pe noptiere. Am luat tenesii care stateau cuminti in mijlocul camerei pentru a-i baga sub pat. Cand m-am aplecat sa-i apuc am zarit ceva intr-unul dintre ei. Da, ati ghicit, dracu stie cum, atunci cand m-am descaltat de tenesi am hotarat sa ma descotorosesc si de telefonul mobil, acum motivul pentru care eu am gasit normal sa-l las intr-unul din tenesi imi este complet necunoscut.

Foarte fericita am traversat din nou balconul pentru a le spune nebunilor de dincolo noutatile si fireste am trecut inapoi in camera, am deschis televizorul si m-am trantit in pat, cu spatele rezemat de perete si genunchii la piept moment in care am avut o revelatie. Unul dintre genunchi era mai partatos si mai rigid decat normal asa ca am bagat degetele pe sub manseta blugilor pentru a descoperii cheia de la camera cu tot cu imensul ei breloc.

Fireste lumea a ras si-a facut misto de mine iar eu am putut sa trag linistita un pui de somn inainte sa trebuiasca sa eliberam camerele.