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 …..

My parents are insane - The Chronicles

Chapter II

My mom is an expert in everything. From literature, math, history and foreign languages down to politics, fire fighter codes and nuclear physics.

God forbids someone else can have an opinion, and if she accepts to listen to that opinion it will be, most definitely, wrong. My mother’s opinion in the truth and nothing else is acceptable. Even if she agrees with you she will find a misusage of a word and draws the attention from the previous matter by listing everything that was wrong with the way you used the word, hence creating another argument that she can win at.

My mom’s opinion is always the right one, unless that opinion comes from the TV that she listens to, religiously and if the doctor says is like this, than the doctor is a crazy bastard who is trying to kill her, because the nice lady in the talking box said it the other way around.

The nice lady in the talking box taught her to eat healthy, so she buys every shit that she can find with the word “healthy” on it. She buys the weird black and seeds bread, that I can’t stand, and we are all obligated to eat that stuff.

Unless I’m on a diet.

The word diet sparks a plug in my mom’s brain, a plug that makes her crave non diet-y stuff, therefore when I’m “on a diet” you’ll find in the house the following: Coca cola, cake, French fries, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate, ice cream and many other non diet-y groceries.

Hai sa NU mai scriem pe pereti

Gata, m-am saturat, asa ca ma adresez asa zisilor microbisti bucuresteni si vreau din start sa imi cer scuze pentru vocabularul vulgar si neacademic:
Ce dracu scrieti pe toti peretii sa plece ala sau celalalt din conducerea echipelor de fotbal. Eu inteleg ca n-aveti destule scoala sa faceti o petitie sau sa-i invadati p-aia cu scrisori (lucru care ar fi mult mai eficient decat scriul cu vopsea pe peretii metroului) da' ia tineti-va spary-urile cu vopsea acasa natarailor si nu mai vandalizati orasul. Inteleg grafitti-ul ...i'm all for that, e arta urba si unele lucrari sunt mai bune decat lucrarile din expozitii de arta dar un scris de-o schioapa cu o caligrafie de cacat NU E GRAFITTI.
Pai ce mama dracu! Eu stau la Stefan cel Mare si e dinamo la o aruncatura de bat. Au vopsit aia peretii (desi nu sunt de acord cu metoda lor pt ca era un mozaic din faianta tucoise pe pereti si-au spoit cu galben peste dar totusi hai sa le recunoastem eforturile) au pus temopane (ca aparent asta e cuvantul de odine in bucuresti la ora actuala) si supranumitii microbisti au scris peste vopsea "pleaca...."(cineva ca nu ma uit la fotbal si nici nu stiu cine da rateuri prin conducerea echipei) arata ca un cur si nici nu da cine stie ce roade asa numitul protest pentru ca ala cine o fi el, dupa ce-si face treaba se urca in tuaregul, sau land rover-ul sau q7-le lui si conduce pana acasa, in niciun caz nu ia metroul asa ca spuneti-mi voi mie ce rost are sa mazgalesti peretii?
Eu inteleg ca ati vazut Green Street Hooligans, ca a devenit biblia voastra si ca aspirati toti sa fiti Charlie Hunnam da' mai suflati dracului bulele alea si afara din ochiu' public. Eu una fac eforturi supraomenesti sa n-aud stirile "din sport" care ar putea la fel de bine sa se cheme "stirile din fotbal" ca nicio redactie de stiri care se respecta nu mai recunoaste alte sporturi in afara de fotbal.

Dreams

Dreams, we all have them, big or small about things we want to do, places we want to go.I was never one to settle for mediocrity, I was never one to dream of being a corporatist twat, with lost of money and a high end apartment in the fanciest area of the city I'm living in because that's just not me. But one dream still lingers, ever since I can remember and that dream is New York.
In Arizona Dream, Johnny Depp says about New York that is "the only place in the world with real magnetic pull" and I tend to believe him but I don't want the glamorous life New York has to offer, I don't want the clubs and the Cosmopolitans, the money and the fame. I want the struggle, the art, the theaters and the museums. I want to fall in love with Broadway, I want to see Cats and Guys and Dolls and Sweeney Todd (if that's still a show on Broadway). I want to go to the Met and the Guggenheim Museum and post myself in front of a painting and stare at it for hours at a time until they kick me out at closing.
I want to go to Central Park and sit on the Alice in Wonderland statue, I want to go to Washington Square Park and loose myself in a book, on a bench in the sun. I want to go to the CBGB's and see the history of music unravel in front of me, to enter a music store, where they have old vinyl records and where the salesman knows every little detail about every band that ever was.
I want to live in Queens or Brooklyn in the world's smallest apartment where I'd have just a bed and an easel and ride the train to Manhattan.
I want to be afraid of starting this adventure but brave enough to do it in spite of that.