How I want to go

The fact and the matter is that, whether we like it or not we’re all gonna die.

But let me start with the beginning.

Couple of days ago I hurt my back. Devil only knows how or why or when or with what. But I fucking hurt my back to hard the next morning I couldn’t stand up.  So as I was crawling to the bathroom I said to myself “Fuck me I’m gonna die.” Then I realized I don’t want to die and so, an internal conversation began with myself.

I don’t want to die, but I will but at least don’t let me die like this, from a back pain with my pants around my ankles in a room that smells like shit. I want to die in a big blast, or a plane crash or a train collision or something like that. I wouldn’t like to die alone, I would like to have my fellow plane or train travelers with me and please God let there be a celebrity amongst us.

Mainly because I have a picture in my mind of how Heaven would be if it exists. And we’ll all go to Heaven cause I heard some illusionary shit somewhere that if someone kills you without you having to piss him off beforehand all your sins are whipped clean and you’ll end up in Heaven when the conductor or the pilot would be downstairs doing the hell fire rumba for killing all those “innocent” motherfucking people that just needed a ride.

So we die and our souls don’t just grow wings, go to heaven and that’ll be that, no no. We would go to the main lobby of Heaven and wait for the receptionist to check us in because I somehow don’t believe that the celestial realm has a better grasp on guest greeting than a hotel manager. So we’d stay in line while the nice lady with the creepy smile and the shy hair checks us in like she has all the time in the world to do it and you can’t just go outside for a pack of cigarettes anymore cause that’ll send your ass in Hell according to some beliefs and you have to entertain yourself somehow.

And what’s the main entertaining pass time of the world at this hour? Sports? NO! Literature? NO! Quantum physics? HELL NO, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT QUANTUM STANDS FOR!

The main entertaining pass time is celebrity gossip.

So you sit there in the lobby trying to read pamphlets and maps and rules and you see Robert Downey Jr.

MAN THIS DAY JUST GOT BETTER!

You’d start asking him all kinds of stupid questions like: Why doesn’t Sting have any balls? Why does Jud Nelson’s nostrils flare like that when he’s upset? You’d make him repeat his kid’s name every five minutes because it is such a dumb ass name there’s no way you can remember it for too long.  You’d make him do the Iron Man stuff than the Sherlock stuff, than the stuff he did in Less Than Zero or Home For The Holydays but not too soon cause that shit will send his ass straight to hell. You can ask him if Sarah Jessica Parker’s face looks like that from sucking too much dick. If he says NO you can start yelling in the lobby “We have a liar here, there’s a liar amongst us” so you can slow down the process of checking into heaven even further because the creepy smile girl wouldn’t just call your name and give you the key to the pearly gates anymore, she’ll implement a series of “routine” questions as well, just to be safe.

Ah, yes. It would be a lot of fun to die in an airplane crash.

My parents are insane - The Chronicles

Chapter IV - My father is insane

My dad has his bright spots. Mainly bright spots, but he's also possessing  the talent of bringing you down, hard, whenever he can and mostly when you're uber-excited about something. 

Last night I went to the Roger Waters concert, first one ever in Romania and definitely the most grandiose thing I have ever seen in my entire life, as short as it is. 

I graciously called my dad and asked him if he can come pick me up from Universitate once the show ended. He accepted, huffing and puffing, but he accepted none the less. 

I started telling him how obscenely big the whole thing was, how those people built a wall during the concert and how it came crumbling down at the end. How the puppets, huge, as huge as the stage, were so life like and how impressed I was, how I cried during a guitar solo, how the guitarist made his guitar sob and yell, like it was in pain, like it was crying for every living soul that was ever hurt by hatred and racism and all the crap that's going on, on this God forsaken planet of ours. 

How every minute of that show meant something to all of us. A moment of freedom, a moment of awe, a lifetime of misunderstanding taken away by a single note because everybody in that place was on the same wavelength as you and you realized you're not alone, you're not a freak for not wanting to fall in line. 

I started explaining all that with so much passion, with so much consideration for the people who worked at that whole damn show and all my dad could say was: „American idiocracy.”

My whole feeling of belonging, of feeling complete and contempt for the first time in my life came crashing down, just like that wall at the end of the show. I've built a an imposing, magnificent edifice during the show and after my father's words everything that was left of it, was a pile of cracked bricks and red dust. 

Parents, man, parents!

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.