Squirrels, maple leaves and ten days with mummy dearest

I will never understand why people always, always insist on clapping when the plane lands. It's a fine tradition sure, but cringe! I mean it's their job! It's like saying "there was about a 50/50 chance they weren't gonna be able to land this plane and all of us would die, so applause all around for that not happening"! I'm more impressed when a massive metal thing with 200 people in it actually makes it up.  Now that's something to applaud. Take-offs are always the worst for me, those few moments when the plane lifts off the ground and starts its rapid ascend into the sky and you're like "is it gonna make it?", especially when you're sitting behind a fat, curry-smelling East Indian couple who seem to be stalking you since last Christmas when you were on the same flight sitting next to them and they didn't speak a word of bloody English and they kept fidgeting in their seats and kept you awake for the entire 9 hour flight. This time my exotic tormentors had their seats pushed back so far I couldn't get in or out of my already shitty seat. I mean, who does that? There is such a thing as flying etiquette ya smelly bastard. To top that experience I also had a lay-over in Paris which meant dealing with the French, whose incompetence is like second nature which they communicate exclusively in their native tongue. I can speak some French but apparently not enough to tell them they're cunts. Unlike the Canadians who are actually pretty cool folk. Of course most of their country is a god-forsaken icicle but arriving in Toronto, unlike last year, I found it to be surprisingly mild weather-wise. The day following my arrival we drove up to a friend's cottage, literally a cabin in the woods with a large window right in front of the toilet seat looking out upon the dark woods(perfect for say a bear or a serial killer to pop out and scare the buttons of your shirt. Actually if it was a serial killer, or a clown as my buddy likes to remind me, you'd be losing a lot more than just your buttons), located passed something called the Snow Belt, with a car filled with an excess of smelly cheese, wine and various gourmet delights, although we mostly stuck with the wine and cheese. I was comfortably plopped in front of the fireplace for almost all of the two days we spent there and my jet lagged, abnormal, sleeping patterns, which woke me at 6 a.m, offered a sun-drenched view of the frozen lake and woods right outside my bedroom window, utterly breathtaking. Mum, Bruce and I ventured to the nearby town of Gravenhurst for some thrift shopping and discovered a music and antique shop which I would be happy to be left at forever. Records, guitars and old books, far to heavy for me to carry back home, and a collection of typewriters one of which dating back 150 years, that made me tear up. And then came the plight of our adventure. I discovered that although if all else fails I could easily become a plumber, my surprising professional skill doesn't go as far as cutting through a frozen lake and replacing a water pipe frozen in its entirety. It's surprising how much you miss running water when you don't have it. We instantly felt dirty and itchy and fled to civilization. With a warm home, running water and clean hair I spent the rest of Christmas in Toronto going nuts over the squirrels(pun mostly intended and very successful) that were literally everywhere in all shapes and sizes, visiting a petting zoo at which I did not get to pet anything and eating amazing food cooked by my mum, who always swears she can't cook just to get out of doing it, and drinking mimosas, not just for brunch. On one occasion we found it a delightful idea to tipsily run around the neighborhood late at night and look at Christmas lights and decorations, most of them tacky and some downright terrifying such as one snowman, mum running down the street with her tiny skinny legs and I walking at my usual pace which doesn't count as running or strolling but is a rather odd combination, trying not to trip and fall as I usually do. The baffling truth is that this time around I didn't need to be drunk to get through the Holidays, me and mum got on spectacularly well and although I missed people back home I would have gladly stayed longer, voluntarily, sober(I know, I am shocked as well). Though I planned on writing earlier and while I was there, I was having to much of a damn good time to be bothered, honestly. My last day was consumerist heaven, a much needed day-long Boxing Day shopping spree for presents, a lot of them for myself, and a mother-daughter-and Bruce mani-pedi. In the evening we decided to end my trip going full circle to the place that started it, a charming pub on the Danforth called Allen's- a small parenthesis here to talk about the food at Allen's. The steamed muscles in white wine were to die for, the pork medallions were exquisite but the burgers...ah the burgers! Now, I basically eat for a living and I will go on record, with confidence, and say those were the best burgers I have ever had. Okay, parenthesis close, just had to share that- and once we were fed and sufficiently wined we popped in next door to the Irish Pub for what my mother called a jig. Due to the festive season there was a live band with traditional Irish music played not be ginger-bearded Irish folk but by massive clean-shaven Kiwis. It was sort of the perfect way to end my visit which was very merry indeed. At the airport I ran into the same Indian couple and laughed at the face of in-flight horror as the kind, wonderful woman at check-in gave me an excellent premium seat, right next to first class in which such a thing as the elusive, stuff of dreams, leg-room existed! Although it wasn't my preferred and most beloved British Airways, KLM did just fine and the tall Dutch flight attendants were polite and proper with a touch of effortless sophistication, and they let me use the first-class bathroom which is why somewhere in the world there is a Dutch gentleman flight attendant I very much love. And nobody dared clap as the plane landed...
Finally on dry land, with swollen feet struggling to fit in their shoes, I arrived back home to a bouquet of white tulips sprinkled with glitter and the sight of my wonderful boyfriend.

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

A small, dusty-pink, candy-adorned, silver-lighted Christmas tree, with a big magenta bow on top, has been put up in the far-left corner of my living room since the 25th of November. At the far-right a twinkle-lit red and green gift box gives off a subtle glow. On the inside of my front door hangs a white wreath with pink and purple ornaments and on the outside a silver "Merry Christmas" welcoming my guests(well, my one stable guest anyway) and serves as a gentle reminder to my neighbors that "Last Christmas" and "Santa Baby" will be playing non-stop, at an audible yet not borderline-noisy volume. Yes, as you might have guessed I'm one of those annoying people who start celebrating and decorating for Christmas before you can even finish saying "but it's still October". My usually non-enthousiastic self is uncharacteristically jolly and it is indeed the most wonderful time of the year! After a terribly stressful and hectic week I am glad to say that I am finished with work and ready for my "-20 and snowy, with a chance of polar vortex and seeing Patrick Swayze outside a resort in the woods, with a bear" Canada adventure. Well not really an adventure(unless Patrick Swayze does show up a la Dirty Dancing, preferably riding a bear or moose), since I was in Toronto last year so I know what to expect at least for the most part. This year my mum decided that we would go to a friend's cabin(somewhere in the woods,no joke) and spend Christmas there, which is fantastic cause that way we can stay in where it's warm and day-drink(which is the only way I'm getting through 10 days with my mother). I'll be back in time for my annual New Year's tradition with my best friend which will then result in going to some party or gathering that will ruin all expectations of a good time, get violently drunk and/or run into the worst ex in the history of all exes, because New Year's Eve always sucks balls.
 However, as it happens, my birthday is right around the corner, on the 10th of January(mark your calendars) which I vigorously plan a year ahead(because I'm a freak) and makes up for any 1st of the year debacle... and it seems it came early this year. My boyfriend already got me a spa treatment as a present so I can go get pretty before the big day(more like a long-weekend really) and my fairy godmother Jess got me tickets to the Black Keys who are playing in Athens this May(I cried and I'm not ashamed to say it). Best birthday gift ever, and it's not even my actual birthday yet! No offense to everyone else who's getting me something, but you know, thanks for trying, maybe next year. Also my two best friends are getting me a surprise birthday cake, which I am sure is going to be ridiculously obscene and possibly offensive to all parties present,  and my other best friend made some kind of weird dog analogy and all I said was "please don't get me a dog"(unless it's your dog that's basically a cat).
You, know though, in the true spirit of the holidays-consumerism-, the only thing better than getting presents, is giving them. I often get more excited as I'm watching someone else open my (perfectly wrapped, magnificently thoughtful) gift, than when I'm opening mine. So, I'm happy to say I'm bringing back gifts from Canada for my all friends and am especially ecstatic to watch the look on their little faces as they tear open the package and see their colorful onesies( I'm not even shitting you, that's what you're getting).
Until next time Happy Holidays everyone!!! Stay drunk and merry!

Hugs and Kisses xx E.
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFtb3EtjEic

Dear Diary...

Good evening, greetings to all, yo! "How have you been ?", I wish I could say and actually get a reply. I've been fine, I suppose. No, actually that's a lie. I've been mostly depressed, and isn't it sort of the definition that you never really know why? I got the Sunday blues last week after having an actually delightful weekend. Then the Sunday blues became Monday blues, until they were entire week blues. Most of my thoughts have been "dear diary" ones, which is why I haven't posted anything. I refuse to make this blog that kind of diary-like nonsense and I doubt anyone would be interested in reading about it anyway. Instead I can tell you, I spent last weekend at a place by the sea, called Sounio, and dreamed about a cat with a black mustache that was actually me. The reason I'm telling you this is because I thought it extremely odd and wondered intensely about what it could mean. I also played Monopoly which brings out my seriously scary, competitive self, even scarier this time due to the fact I was drunk! What must be noted is that there are probably four people that I can call my favorite in the entire world and whom I love to bits and I got to spend two days with 2 of them. Yet I came back full of melancholy. All I wanted to do was listen to Ed Sheeran, which then turned into eating a large pizza by myself, that made things somewhat better. Still, I felt like a pile of crap, just waiting to be stepped on and ruin someone's day. Not even the Black Keys could make me smile. I had been planning for months to go see them in London and then the opportunity to see them in Paris came. I swore they would never ever come to Greece anyway. A few days later they announced they were playing in Athens in May. I was almost in tears and secretly thought to myself that I willed it to happen! Even Christmas, though I put up my adorable pink Christmas tree, seemed futile! I'd been a while since I felt this bad and had forgotten what it feels like. It's surprising how easy you get used to it again. Functioning as if everything is normal, getting work done, when actually you have difficulty standing up straight let alone walking, where every breath you take is physically exhausting and all you want to do is stay in bed and watch "When Harry met Sally"(well that part is optional but you get the point). It's quite easy to find yourself in this situation, and whether it's just sadness or depression to you it might feel like the end of the world, at least that's what it feels like for me. It's truly devastating and it takes time to re-introduce yourself to being, well, okay, I guess. Personally when times get tough as it were, I like to talk, even to myself, just to get it all out. I'll cry and I'll scream and I'll get angry and then sad again but that's alright. I figure that as long as I feel better at some point and as long as I still find things to laugh about it's okay to feel miserable at times and even to try and self-diagnose(even that is part of a human need to label or explain things that are happening to them). This horrid week is coming to its curtain call and I'm glad to say I survived, maybe not completely sane but lighter somehow. And in my scrambling for myself I discovered a video in which they've synced Taylor Swift's "Shake it off" with an 80s gymnastics video and found myself laughing uncontrollably and aspired to be more like that one black guy who you know is just having the time of his life! It's silly really but it did get me smiling again! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IlJI-GqB-6Y

Too many fucks

As it happens, the island was good for me. It was like a little vacation from myself. I realised unlike the trend that would have people giving zero fucks, my problem, ironically, is having too many fucks to give. My brain won't switch off and I'm constantly thinking and worrying about too much, all at the same time. It's exhausting really to not only contemplate things that are happening but to not be able to separate them from the hypotheticals you create. Those three days on the island though may have taught me something after all. While I was there I had conversations that revealed myself more honestly than I could have imagined. The words coming out of my mouth were being spouted unconsciously and never had they been wiser. I no longer want to waste myself away for people and situations that don't matter. Neither do I feel like I need to control anything beyond what is in my reach. I will not try to fix anyone who doesn't want to be fixed and that includes aspects of my own personality. I shall take my time, as long as it may be, until things become clear instead of trying desperately to make them so. And if I have too many fucks to give, that's alright too. That's who I am. I care about things.What was interesting was something my friend said that has been on my mind. She said she doesn't think I can be alone, because I have too much to give and need someone to give it to. I took that to mean that I am dependent on others. But no, I'd never thought about it that way, I am not dependent on others, I guess I just realise my full potential when I have people around me that are accepting of what I have to offer them. I like that idea. Further than that, I like this person I'm growing into, with all the quirks and little imperfect details and its the first time I feel that way. I think the reason for that is I always wanted to be perfect and I tried my very best, I achieved a level of what I perceived was perfection and it didn't matter, things still ran their course as they would and for once I didn't believe that was on me, simply because it wasn't. I stopped blaming myself and started being myself, however perfect or imperfect. And you know what? That was enough, people that were important to me were still there, the compliments that I thought depended on being the equivalent of a porcelain doll still came when I was just me, and at the end of the day things were not worse as I thought they would be, they were better(once I got that stick out of my ass). Certain people might think I have no problems, I haven't faced hardship or experienced the worst. When I talk to someone they often get the impression I am the sunniest, most optimistic person, because I'm trying to make the best out of their situations or to see the best in other people. That simply isn't true. I'm prone to self-destructive behavior, I often get depressed and I may at times be one of the least enthusiastic people I know. And yet it's because I've seen the bad that I choose to see the good and it's because I've experienced the unpleasant and been the harshest judge of myself that I want to see the optimism and beauty and judge others kindly. Although it doesn't always work, I try my best to give good advise to others, sometimes in order to hear it myself. I wear my heart on my sleeve and while sometimes I wish I could be all mysterious and elusive, my face betrays all my emotions and I can never seem to hide what I'm thinking. It's fine though, me and my many fucks to give will be alright being just the way we are and you, whoever you are, reading this, will be alright too, just the way you are.

Gone-for the weekend-Girl

I've been having trouble with writing a new post this past week. I could tell you I'm too busy with work so I don't have the time, but that isn't entirely true. Yes I'm busy but I'm also just not finding the inspiration I need to write something whole. I suppose it's because I might find my life at the moment less than inspiring. There are only a few snippets here and there that break the ordinary yet they wallow in their irrelevance in the back of my mind. They aren't of course irrelevant to my life but perhaps too scattered or uneven to create something concentrated on their own. Therefore I am leaving. Running away from the boring and habitual towards the exciting unknown... Okay that sounded totally dramatic! I'm just going away for the weekend and obviously not to the unknown, cause that would just be silly. I'm going to visit my friend who's here from L.A and is staying on the island of Mykonos. Honestly the last place you'd go looking for clarity but I'm hoping for at least a little bit of perspective. With any luck my best friend won't do anything stupid(let's just say we're still feeling the repercussions from the last long-weekend I was away, or someone is anyway) and that I'll get back to you with something newsworthy.

[8030] Days on Earth

They say memories are connected to our sense of smell and while I can't disagree with that fact I find my strongest memories are connected to music. For me it's not so much what I smelled but what I heard. Music and art in general have been a big influence on me ever since I was kid growing up. I remember my dad putting on funk and jazz and even punk. There was always music in the house. I never took to learning how to play a musical instrument, unlike my dad and more like my mother, I was a more animated character. I liked to dance, and sing and in that paying more attention to the words, which I guess makes sense now, me being a writer and all, and also how I felt listening to them, than to the music from a technical point of view. I remember going to the cinema with my dad to watch Fellini's Casanova and although I remember little of the movie itself, I remember the music. My dad bought a CD of the soundtrack( I think I may have even asked for it) and I remember listening to it all day and creating a choreography which I performed each time we had people over. As I got older my amusement with dancing was gone and I moved onto singing. Then writing lyrics for my own potential songs. You know, I've found you can be fascinated by someone else doing something but not necessarily being into to it yourself. I mean would it be cool to be able to play an instrument? Sure. But I can't really see myself doing it. I always admired my father's paintings but never wanted to be a painter myself.

Yet music was always there for me, in the heart of all my fondest recollections. I watched Nick Cave's "20,000 Days on Earth" and what stuck with me most from the film wasn't his music in particular even though I love it. It was something he said, the way I felt when my friend was braiding my hair while watching it and how at one point I got so lost in the moment watching him perform that I applauded as if I was there, in the front row of his concert, having just heard my favorite song. He said something in one bit that got me thinking. He was asked what he fears most and he said losing his memory, "cause memory is what we are. I think our very soul, our very reason to be alive, is tied up in memory". Strangely I connected this to music again, whether it was because a musician was the one saying it or because music plays such an important role in each of our lives. I thought about all the concerts I've been to and all the concerts I regretted missing, and even the ones I will go to in the future. The first thing that came to mind is when a few years back, my dad and I went to a Marcello Rota concert ( the nephew of Nino Rota who wrote the soundtrack for Fellini's Casanova that I loved so much) and at one moment I glanced over at my dad and he was crying. You see, when I think about places I've been, music I've heard or sang along to, I often don't remember a particular song, but who I was with, the way I felt and the way they reacted. It's kind of odd to imagine that I am a kind of a silent observer of the way other people react but it's sort of like brushing your own hair, it will never feel as good as when someone else is doing it for you. Quite in the same way as I see it,  nothing will be as funny if you have no one to laugh with you and the music will never be as loud when the person next to you isn't transforming into a screaming glorious mouthpiece for the sound of your favorite tune. I saw this movie once and it was the documentation of a couple's sexual relationship corresponding to the gigs they went to together and the music they listened to. Basically it was porn with a really good soundtrack, it was an interesting concept though. Music molds us and creates bonds with others in a way that little else can.

I guess it was a few years back, I went to a Clutch concert and, more than the music, the crazy crowd or that fact that I almost thought I was going to die in the midst of a pit, mostly I remember my lover's arms around me, protecting me, while the music resonated through my body like a second pulse, transforming me into a whole with the mob and at the same time a separate elated entity, as I knew that this moment would create a different meaning and memory for each and every one of us. Sometimes I'll see two strangers unknowingly creating a moment with each other as they howl and roar, as if to surpass the speakers, their bodies flailing in the interchanging lights shining from above the stage. Other times it's a couple, they almost  secretly stare at each other, even though they have nothing to hide, but they do so swiftly, not to miss one second of the band's godlike manifestation. She suddenly sees him as one with the band, reaching out to him as if trying to catch every note that he belts out in the palm of her hand. He, the performer, sees only her while everyone else around them disappears, he counts each breath she draws as if she were his own human metronome, and as she reaches out he hopes that she tears of his clothes and rips out his heart to hold and keep as her own. At the same time, my friend is clasping my hand as we make our way towards the bar, Kasabian's "Underdog" blasting in the background and I can feel the sweat in his palm, can hear his breath as he inhales the smoke from his cigarette and the gravel rumbling beneath his footsteps. A few months later that same friend crosses his arms across his chest and swallows in his dry throat, as our third party pleasantly interrupts the silence of our company to remark on how good the band is. I'm moving my hands and arms rhythmically to the sound of 70s, psychedelic-like tunes, sometimes purposefully caressing my floral dress to feel the soft fabric. We are now at an Allah-Las gig on a crisp November, Saturday night. These moments aren't mutually exclusive to other people or to big chaotic concerts of course but despite the time and place,whether it was from your childhood or yesterday, as they seamlessly as they unfold they can then be re-animated by the sound of that same familiar music and almost take on a life of their own after a while, clinging to the person you were at that moment or the person you were with even if that person in both cases is long gone.

Happy Halloween!!!

I trust that in the "true"(which is definitely not this) spirit of the Halloween tradition, all you girls and boys, danced, got drunk and frolicked in streets, clubs and restrooms dressed as slutty bunnies and pop culture icons. I, myself am more of Christmas kinda gal and no, I don't mean I like Christmas, oh no honey, I AM Christmas! I get the fascination with Halloween though. For kids it's more about the candy and dressing up as their favorite heroes and for adults it's more about hooking up with strangers while pretending to be someone else(which is true in most cases anyway). We all have as people this strong urge to be someone else, someone better, or provocative and sexually suggestive, generally to pretend but we also don't want to be judged for it. Halloween poses the perfect opportunity. In traditional folklore people supposedly dressed up so that the dead that walked among the living only on this night, wouldn't recognize them. Nowadays I guess its more about escaping our own realities and ordinary selves. I too, went to a costume party last night , actually to two if I'm being honest, dressed as a film noir vamp(or a fancy prostitute, I mean however you wanna look at it...just kidding! But really as a reference to Mean Girls I could've been booo, you whore! but sadly no one asked). Getting ready was a kind of ritual, of getting in the vintage mood. I pin curled my hair and put on dramatic makeup while listening to jazzy tunes. I wore stockings with a garter belt, gloves, a hair piece and a skirt that prevented me from ever sitting down again for the rest of the evening! My friends went as a corpse bride, Marie Antoinette *post guillotine and Luna, Sailor Moon's cat(I did her cat makeup!). We felt fabulous as we walked down the street, all eyes of casually dressed people on us. If they were making fun of us, we didn't care. In fact, I'd love to walk around like that every day. At the party everyone was dressed up as something scary, skeletons, ghosts, ghouls and one guy who was dressed as a terrifying scarecrow, who I would not want to run into alone. Thankfully no clowns! Also thankfully no slutty nurses or cops or slutty-anythings for that matter. We choked on the gallons of dry-ice that gave the place an eerie horror movie effect, drank out of water bottles filled with wine we brought from home and danced like nobody's business to 90s pop anthems. Going to the bathroom was a bit of nightmare as was having to squeeze back into my skirt but even that was kinda fun. We also took like a million pictures in which my face almost looks exactly the same! Until next time, Happy post-Halloween hangover!

Positive attitude, negative thinking

I guess it's been a while and I've been a busy bunny. Work related mostly although I did go to my friend's music gig last week. It's amazing to me how a person so talented can be so pessimistic about his talent. God, I don't know if I'm talking about him or myself. Because lately I find myself feeling frustrated and often annoyed, well more than usual anyway, over the smallest things. The truth is I'm feeling the pressure of "making it" as a writer and considering I decided to drop out of college, I guess I'm anxious about what will happen in the future. I'm always thinking and stressing myself out and it's like my mum always jokes when I tell her I'm thinking, she says "don't hurt yourself". I see people, my friends, doing so many things and accomplishing even more as we speak, learning foreign languages, getting degrees, continuing their studies abroad, traveling, and I'm starting to feel slightly depressed, feeling like a loser. I was studying Art History before I made a conscious decision to leave because I had gotten most of what it had to offer and no longer felt I belonged. In fact, ever since the beginning I never felt I belonged. I hated that school and almost everyone in it. Furthermore while I enjoy studying the subject as a hobby, I am certain that is not what I want to do with my life. I don't regret my decision, but I wonder if I should be doing something else. If I had the financial means I would go to another college and maybe one day I will. But is money the issue or am I being lazy? Am I less than perfect? Am I daydreaming? Or am I just afraid of living outside the comfort zone? So many people never leave their comfort zone, while I decided not to live there in the first place. Is that wise?  I mean I don't doubt my abilities as a writer nor do I not know what I want to do with my life. I guess I always knew I wanted to be a writer. Ever since I could write I was writing poems and stories and songs. It's just that sometimes I don't know exactly how to get there. I suppose for my age I've been doing a pretty good job, with my articles being published and now writing and editing a book for a famous chef and having completed an early draft for my own novel. But I worry, as my dad says, when do my smarts run out? Is talent really enough to make it? I guess in his opinion, as an artist himself, no. I'm not determined to prove him wrong, I'm determined to prove my own fears of failure wrong. I'm good at giving other people optimistic advice, like my crazy-talented friend with the amazing voice, who one day is going to be a very famous musician, even if he doesn't believe it now, or another friend who always wanted to be a dancer and so I told him "go be a dancer". And you know what? He did! Somehow though I fail to take my own advice. I've talked to people who are so anxious because they have no idea what they want to do in their lives and they say I'm lucky because I already do. I say to them "do whatever makes you happy until you can find the thing that you can also make a living out of", no matter how long it takes. So why is it that I feel so small when I'm actually doing what makes me happy? I think society's idea of what a 20-something should be doing, getting a degree, a job, having everything figured out has been etched into my brain. Or maybe it's what I think I should be doing. Perhaps I'm the one putting pressure on myself to be what I think others will find acceptable. In many ways, my own thoughts are what is holding me back from realizing my potential. Maybe yours are what's doing it for you.

The private eye

I suppose I'll get a lot of backlash for this one but I'd just like to put it out there as an argument and an observation, not as a personal opinion. There recently was a big scandal over nude photos of celebrities being leaked all over the internet and in the end the whole thing caused intense responses from both people who saw them and the celebrities involved. I had never really been interested to see the photos myself nor to read about how exactly this happened. Last night I was with a friend and he told me he had seen them and I admit I was curious, so I downloaded the files and tried to see what the fuss was about. What I saw in fact were women just like me, in their private moments. Now, many of you will say that downloading the images(and videos) is just adding to the problem and dragging it out. I can't disagree with you. The blatant invasion of privacy is indeed shameful and wrong. Even so I think we all are on some level voyeurists, we are curious about one and other, we like to compare and observe each other in a closed setting.
My argument isn't about challenging how atrocious it is that these private moments were made public without these women's consent, but rather the reasons surrounding the reactions toward this and the act itself. My argument therefore, or better yet my question is this: when you are a public figure shouldn't you be more careful about what you do even if it is in your personal life, being fully aware that it may come so easily under scrutiny? Or are others expected to respect that personal life, when they themselves put their personal lives out there for everyone to see through their social media? Is anything truly private anymore? In this day and age everything we do, feel, where we travel, eat, live, what we like and don't like, whether we are single or in a relationship and with who, the people we hang out with, it's all out there for anyone's knowledge. Many of us have sexted and sent nude pictures to our boyfriend or girlfriend. Those are also out there, if only someone knows where to look or cared to look anyway. Or does it only matter because these people are famous? On the other hand, is it really about privacy or is it because the female body and female sexuality is something taboo, something to be ashamed of? I don't see any photos of male celebrities being leaked and even when they are -like that sex tape of a certain male actor- I doubt it would get the same reactions. Because somehow the male body in its naked form is ok and a woman's is not? What's interesting to me is how in a world where we are taught that sex sells, where we have built a whole industry around it we are shocked by what is actually perfectly normal. With television programs as offensive as Teen Mom and video clips of teenagers twerking and being sexualized by grown men, you think women taking naughty pictures that were clearly intended for their boyfriends is wrong or something to be ashamed of? The truth is if it were me or you, nobody would give a shit. That being said, I am truly appalled on behalf of these women, (whether they are celebrities or not) for their private life being exploited in such a way, yet I wonder if the message we should be taking from here is different. While it is terrifying that no one realizes exactly how much of themselves they share with the internet ergo perfect strangers all around the world, what's more is that we, especially women, are viewed primarily as sexual objects by this generation of public information. These celebrities were the target of such wide-spread focus perhaps because they were viewed less as women like you and I, as people even, that do exactly the same things as common folk and more as universal sex toys, if only for the fact they are famous. In that position, I'd worry less about my magnificent ass being seen by the world and more of the fact I am being de-humanized and observed through the peep-hole of voyeurism like a victim of sexual prey.

The importance of humor, described in the least humorous way

I was kind of disappointed that no one asked me about what was in that box I was carrying to the post-office this morning. I had planned to say it's a human head, which I'm mailing to my enemies to let them know not to mess with me. I hate it when I don't get to use my sarcastic banter! What's even worse is when I think of the perfect reply only after the opportunity to use it has gone out the window. So many times after a fight, I obsess not over the things I could've done differently but over the things I could've said differently. Mostly cause I've missed my opening to be severe... yet funny. The power to insult someone but also make them laugh at the same time is a gift really. The ability to make someone laugh in general is a gift. I once dated a guy for two weeks because I found him funny. My friend would quote Friends to me and say "if he's funny, laugh" . But a good sense of humor can be one of the most attractive of qualities in a person. Being able to laugh with your partner is a necessary ingredient in any good relationship. What's more, being able to laugh with yourself, to not take yourself so seriously all the time is extremely beneficial.
The thing about humor is that whether it's silly, caustic or sarcastic, it's just that, humor. People who get offended by jokes or pretend to get offended should seriously get over themselves. The joke itself can never be offensive, you make it offensive. I'm a girl and I think dirty, derogatory jokes are hilarious, in fact the dirtier the better. The limit of "that's what she/he said" punchlines I'll use with my friends is endless. Taking a subject that may be taboo in the real world and observing it, making it funny is an art-form. The English who have been accused of many things, snobbish behavior, odd cooking and bad dental hygiene actually gave the world a lot, football (go Chelsea!),rock music(well good music in general) and black humor, (also our food can be delicious, so shut up).  Ricky Gervais, Jimmy Carr(the king of inappropriate jokes), Jack Whitehall and Stephen Fry to name a few of my favorites, have all took the most popular, unpopular, provocative and some times unconventional subjects and made them into something often shocking and yet approachable. Comedy has always been a good way to communicate, criticize and press issues that may, in fact, otherwise be misunderstood. A good laugh can lighten any situation. Being funny doesn't always mean being a goof, but is actually a sign of intelligence. This also might ironically be the least funny post I've written, which in itself is sort of amusing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPhR7rv5s7U

Best day ever!

I'm gonna try and keep this short cause my head is pounding and I'm in-between throwing up. The repercussions of the "best day ever" are being felt and since misery loves company, I also got my period, which normally is a dreadful and horrifying time for me, but today it is so much worse. I almost feel bad for the people who are in the unfortunate position to be around me during these days of the month. It's like I'm a woman possessed. My vegan friend says its because I eat too much chicken which is funny cause I just had some and I feel loads better!
I opened my eyes this morning and immediately wondered what I had done to deserve this, and then I remembered. Yesterday was the best day ever! I woke up at nine in the morning, on my own, which almost never happens and spent the whole day with my best friend, my ladypug as I like to call her, doing the funnest stuff. We painted, cooked, singed and made a bikini-top out of surgical masks(as you do). She came over and we went and bought what we needed from the hardware store to paint my kitchen table, that used to be this odd bright and yet dead-looking shade of green and had been driving me nuts. Now it's a lovely shade of dark gray with dip-died gold legs. Oh yeah, I also got gold spray-paint which contributed to the "best" part of my day, mostly cause I think we got high off the fumes, but also cause we got to play and paint things gold (which really is the way it should be). I even gave myself an impromptu gold manicure by accident. I then cooked dinner for my friend, who will eat anything I make, but usually is happiest with chicken nuggets and Spongebob Squarepants-shaped pasta. I decided to make her the gourmet version of that, even though in the end we had to settle for Dora the little explorer pasta(which is a step-down) seeing as they were out of Bob at the supermarket. I cooked a cream and curry mushroom sauce and it was actually pretty yummy! After, we continued to paint and spray-paint. Around 6 o' clock our daily mental alarm went off, signaling happy hour. The wine started coming out and naturally by bedtime we were utterly wasted! During those hours of merriment we decided to watch Coyote Ugly again(you love that movie too, don't deny it) and sing-along quite loudly to "Can't fight the moonlight". I can't believe that when that film came out I was eight. I, also can't believe how good the soundtrack is and how well I know that one song and most importantly why. After the movie we had developed a good buzz and therefore decided to have a mini dance party to INXS, sing "baby I love your way" with Peter Frampton, which was awesome if I do say so myself, and play most 80s rock classics... and then I cried because of a John Mayer song(shameful, just shameful). In the end, I was semi-comatose but obnoxiously happy I got to spend the whole day with one of my favorite people in the world (which literally happens every other day, I mean for real she is always over here. I'm starting to not remember a time when she wasn't here, and I totally adore her for it!). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bx3s99FNXzI

I hate rudeness, close-mindedness and peas...

I truly do hate these three things (more than all the other things I hate anyway) and generally the people who carry them (quite literally in the case of peas). The only thing I might despise even more, for the sake of this argument, are stereotypical phrases such as "tell me what you like and I'll tell you about yourself " (I don't know who says that, but they sound like an obnoxious prick). "Yes well, I love the summertime(when the weather is hot, la la la, la la la), long walks on the beach and ponies." Wrong! Wrong mostly cause everyone knows winter is better, for it is the season of Christmas and snow and Santa Claus(yes, I'm an adult who believes in Santa, sue me!) and those who don't suck balls. Yes, your favorite things may tell their tales about your personality and when you ask someone what kind of music they listen to it's a just matter of phrasing really -cause most people will say I listen to everything, which is bullshit, cause once you say "well I don't like that particular something", they're all like "I don't like that either, and you think "this is so meant-to-be", it's not- but let's be honest what you dislike is a lot more specific, therefore... Tell me what you hate and I'll tell you what I think. For instance, rudeness seems to me to be the equivalent of a yuppie with a superiority complex paired, though in contrast, with the self-esteem of a fifteen year old girl. It is the disgusting and sickly love-child of stupidity and crassness. Narrow-mindedness on the other hand, is the uncultured and emotionally crippled cat-calling bully that impressively combines the maturity of a delinquent minor with the mentality of a fascist middle-aged cab driver. As for peas, they are the single most nauseating example of how bland and aesthetically atrocious the world can be. But that's just me.Those of you reading this, you probably already know what you like, life's tiny pleasures you enjoy, so just take a moment to think about the little things that annoy you, traits you hate in another person and things you believe the world would be a better place without. The big picture here is created by the minutiae combined likes and dislikes that make up our social DNA. Take the first months into a new relationship, the phase where you love all the same things and think everything the other person does is just adorable. Give it time! Soon you'll probably hate each other! Not because of huge unsolvable differences. No. Your undoing will be the little things, the socks on the floor, the toilet seat that's up, the fact that she actually can't stand that band you like to blast in the morning or the fact that he won't pour water on the plates in the sink, so in result food will stick to them making them harder to wash(I mean seriously, how hard can it be?). There's no way of course of predicting these tiny yet significant details. Even I, obsessed with the dislikes, when meeting a new person my first question will usually be "Do you love(not like, looove) the Black Keys?" and second "do you like cheese?", if not don't talk to me, for you are not to be trusted. But often times I think what I should probably be asking is "are you a meticulous cleaner, are you open-minded and polite and do you hate peas?" if yes, we should probably get married(just kidding, not before I see you pouring water on the dirty dishes). 

A writer's guide to internalizing and over-analyzing

I started writing this post last night,a bit drunk admittedly, but while the mind is mightier than the hand, as my grandma used to say every time I was too tired or lazy to do my homework, my body refused to cooperate and so I gave up and fell asleep. Before my sleepiness got the best of me, I was having a discussion with a friend, about feelings and how they are often affected by other people or circumstances, in the sense that we may be influenced or deceived by outside factors into feeling a certain way, while our mind itself can also trick us into over-analysing what may not in reality even exist. This morning, with a slightly clearer head, I realised that the whole dialogue itself was highly suggestive, making us both rethink and re-evaluate our life's stories even as we are living them . We tried to keep it light by using remote generalizations but in the end we knew exactly what personal experiences we were referring to without ever disclosing them to one another. And it is odd to think that although talking about the same subject we each had something completely different in mind. And what were to happen if the esoteric became prone to the power of suggestion? When you start analysing random details that you know won't change the true outcome of a situation and in fact may forever remain inexplicable? And when engaged in the same conversation you are missing the point because you are, in that moment, obsessively internalising? The conclusion I came to draw was the exact opposite of what I had expected and it is this: despite being influenced by the outside world, deep down your true emotions have already been known, even if you are not fully aware of them.You can't hide the way you feel, you can't justify or explain it. You can't change it or bury it. Whether it is how you feel about another person or say your job, your life and even your financial situation, your feelings are present and generally are yours alone to deal with. Every time you talk about it, ask for advice and opinion(which can be a good way to get things of your chest, or utterly catastrophic if you are easily swayed) what you are subconsciously hoping is to get the answer you already know, the "ok" to feel how you feel.  Telling someone you love them,for instance, should hold its value to you never mind their response as it is of little significance.The other person saying it back won't change the way you feel. Lashing out on someone about something that has nothing to do with them(and you know it) resembles a deranged cry for help. Being dependent on someone's words or actions, defining your emotions based on somebody else's just makes no sense. Perhaps though it is our own indecisiveness, our personal fear of rejection and our need to play it safe, that make it simpler to rely on someone else for the answers.

Who you love

So, there's something called dendrophilia and it really takes the term "tree-hugging hippies" to a whole new level, as it basically means that a person is sexually aroused by trees. Trees!! I mean, look, I have this gorgeous almond tree in front of my bedroom window and each year around late-February it blooms with these delicate little white flowers, quite lovely to wake up to. But I've never gone "jee, I wanna rub against that tree whilst pleasuring myself". Still, when you think of all the other weird shit people are turned on by, plants seem kind of ok somehow(probably not for the trees though). Out of all of the horrific, disgusting stuff I've read about, necrophilia just seems to be especially fucked up. I guess I chose this particular one because of my fascination with writers like Poe and Guy de Maupassant, as well as a brief encounter with the works of Apollinaire.Also, if you've ever touched a dead body in rigor mortis, like say a animal, it's just this odd, gross, hollow thing. So, why? I don't get it. I'm not being rhetorical, I'm actually asking. If anybody has this specific...taste (not really my target audience, but still), I'd like to know, no judgement(ok, a little bit of judgement). On the other hand there is the morally deplorable act of pedophilia, which stems from deep-seeded psychological issues and traumas. What must be understood about these people is that they are mentally ill or unstable in some way or another. This all may seem terribly macabre and a complex subject to bring up so casually, which I promise you I am not, even though it appears as if I am jokingly over-simplifying it. I do not take anything lightly and am not trying to offend anyone. That is anyone, except my high school Religious Studies teacher who is an ignorant cunt who should not be aloud to teach children or have any for that matter. So, this was years ago when I was still in school and in one of her classes,even though I purposefully never missed an opportunity to remind her I am an atheist and the Mother of Hell(she did not think that was funny). Small parenthesis here to explain the previous term. When I was a kid I was very intuitive and loved to mess with people's head, not cool people but the idiots. So, I was 3 or 4 years old and living in London with my parents at the time, when I was on the bus with my dad and in walks this lady and sits in the seat in front of us. She is in her late 50s probably, wearing her proper Sunday church outfit and grasping firmly onto a Bible. I guess there was some kind of asshole vibe emanating from her because I stood up and started chanting "I'm the Mother of Hell, I'm the Mother of Hell". I am not even shitting you. I must've scared the bejesus out of her and I was pleased with myself. Parenthesis close. So, I'm in one of her Religious Studies classes and on she starts going about homosexual people being the same as pedophiles. In front of teenage malleable and extremely suggestible kids. Lets just study this scenario for a second. Pedophiles who are very ill individuals with enough psychological trauma to fill her precious Bible pages, who are sexually attracted to children that often results in violent sexual acts against children(not always, but that is the worst case scenario), are to be compared to people of the same sex being in a consensual relationship or engaging in consensual sex.  I got into a screaming match with her and tried my best to get her fired(unfortunately it didn't work but she retired a year later so result!). A paraphilia, such is pedophilia or the aforementioned necrophilia(seriously what the hell?) is a condition, with causes and symptoms. Being with a person of the same sex is not! It's not caused from trauma, it's not a disease, it's not a choice and if it is, it is not the wrong or right one. Calling a homosexual person irregular, sick or not normal, denying a fellow human being the same rights in marriage and parenthood as a straight individual is shortsighted and downright idiotic. You may not like it, you may not have the same sexual orientation but at the end of the day it's non of your business. So the next time you ask if someone is gay or straight know that you are the irregular one for not asking the basic questions "what kind of person are they?", "what are they interested in?" "are they loving or hateful?". Because if the first thing you think to ask is what they do in their beds, something is seriously wrong with you(and I kinda feel like stabbing you in the eye with a fork). Because isn't it enough that you love someone? Why should it be about who you love, male or female? Love is universal and does not discriminate.

Just don't do it!

It's been one of those afternoons, where I sat around and did nothing. Don't you just love those? I generally feel so much better than when I'm doing a bunch of stuff and feel like I've accomplished nothing or worse haven't accomplished enough. Cause that's the trap, when you have work stuff to do or studying or whatever obligations weigh on you, you start doing them and no matter how well you complete a task you never feel like you're quite there. When that happens to me, it's like my brain goes into this hyperactive mode like a kid on too much sugar and when I stop and start coming down from the high I often get this intense feeling of underachievement. This may be true for a short period of time, like one day, or even months at a time. It's a terrible thing to keep busy but feel as if you aren't doing anything of actual value and time just wastes away. Because I'm such a fucking perfectionist, very little is ever up to par with my expectations, mostly the ones I have for myself. However the days I stay home and watch my shows and curl up idly in front my laptop, I feel like I escape myself and any expectations I may have. The trick of course, again, is to keep busy and not let my mind wonder towards all the "productive" things I could be doing, and just enjoy the non-doing. Ok, if you do this everyday obviously you're a lazy bastard, but once in a while isn't it nice to just be? For some this may mean going for a walk or a jog, for others sleeping in or getting up early to spend the day with family and friends. Some like to read, some like to play music. Each person spends their free time differently and that's the beauty of it, it's free, for you to do as you please. For me, the house cat, it's being in my home(preferably after I've cleaned it and it's all tidy and perfect) and binge-watch TV series. Hannibal, Sleepy Hollow, The Blacklist, Scandal, American Horror Story, The Voice, Suits, Game of Thrones(how fucked up is R.R Martin amirite?), The Walking Dead(Ugh Daryl-swoons-also hoping season 5 doesn't suck to goddamn much), Sons of Anarchy, Criminal Minds...I mean I could go on! Over the years there's probably very few shows I haven't watched. Movies too. It's my thing. I've always been fascinated by cinema and when I discovered series it was a whole new world. Obviously I download, I mean I don't even own a TV. But the themes and plots are endless, so is the amount of information if you're really paying attention. Mostly though I get to mute thoughts about jobs and money and people who are being cunts and people who I need to call and things I need to get done. I get to worry about the cliffhanger, wonder about the genius of Dr. Lecter, get excited when the Black Keys are playing in the background of another Sons episode and research that mental disease I heard about on Criminal Minds. And getting excited for the return of Twin Peaks(yay!)
My point is sometimes doing something that seems lazy and pointless is good for you. Whether you have the luxury of a whole day or an hour in the day, find time to do what you enjoy, even if that means laying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Slowing things down for yourself, even if for a little, may prove more therapeutic than you think.

Athens Speciale

There's a real good chance I smell as if I fell into a tank of tzatziki, onions and meat grease and marinated in it for 3 days. I don't think I've ever eaten that much souvlaki in my whole life! And I'm Greek! Well half-Greek but I haven't drank that much tea either as half-English. Truth be told, it's fun running around the city, finding the most surreal places to eat, and Athens is a lot bigger and more bizarre than it seems. For many reasons it is odd and even contradictory that I ended up as food writer. Reasons I will discuss later.What excited me most in the beginning was the idea of writing professionally for a famous chef who also happens to be a close friend so the chemistry isn't lacking. Soon I discovered the absolute turn-on of being privy to the luxurious and lavish as well as the hidden and often forgotten. I always loved this city. The deafening sounds of traffic and construction, the never ending chatter that starts becoming white-noise after a while, the foul odors of garbage mixed with the mouth-watering aromas of souvlaki being grilled at almost every corner. It seems I am discovering a new, almost cinematic, side of her. The first frame has us running to cross the high trafficked street amidst violent honks and mad drivers to get to the quietest little tavern to eat traditional Greek food and chill under the shadowy trees. We are then eating legendary pizza next to a homeless person sleeping on the sidewalk and a hooker giving a john a blowjob in the middle of the street, just minutes away from a nearby fancy neighborhood where we have sushi as if we were native New Yorkers in Manhattan. Since we are never far from a grill we immediately after feast like Greeks on some filthy souvlaki which is not particularly to anyone's liking(that happens too). The final shot closes in on Vasilis Kallidis, my chef extraordinaire holding a giant ice-cream while the rest of us behind the scenes are stuffing desserts in our already full stomachs. Now back home, I'm kinda reveling in my intense body fragrance, which I like to call eau de κρεατίλα (meaty), as it reminds of how much I truly love my job!

One vodka, two vodka,three vodka...

I imagine myself driving and think of the moment I'm just going to abandon all hope, close my eyes and let go of the wheel. That's how much of a shitty driver I think I'll be, even though I love cars and know a surprising amount about them( also I dream of having a collection of vintage cars...and wines...and clothes....ok, I dream about being rich). Also is it weird that I'm afraid of people making fun of my bad driving because I'm a woman and therefore stereotypically a bad driver? It's sort of become a pet peeve of mine, therefore I use public transport to get around(tube and streetcar, never  bus, gross!). I see thousands of people come and go every day on the tube and sometimes I like to play a game in my head; which might make me sound like a total psycho but it's all good fun. Or a kind of social experiment if you will. I like to examine their faces and body language and imagine what kind of mental illness(I have a deep interest and curiosity when it comes to clinical psychology) they would have if any, or if they were criminals what kind they would be. You know, when you see someone who's just got pedophile written all over him?That sort of thing. I also like to judge outfits and guess life stories so it's not all macabre. Today I was noticing this guy who was on his cellphone using a hands-free that he was holding up to his mouth, which is totally infuriating since it negates the whole purpose of a hands-free and just sends me into a silent rage every time I see it...anyway, he had this t-shirt on that read one vodka two vodka three vodka drop dead. It was red with white letters and I just had to snap a picture. Not because it was a particularly attractive t-shirt nor was it catchy but mainly because while I get the humor, it got me thinking. If you "drop dead" after three vodkas you just don't deserve to drink,
son. Three drinks is the minimal requirement during the pre-gaming stage, the stage where you sweet-talk your liver into (please) not failing. Bless your little heart, down after three vodkas. Unless it's bottles, in which case I applaud you and you have earned my respect. This may make me sound like a raging alcoholic but no, I just enjoy the miracle that is alcohol in most environments social or otherwise. And though it may seem completely unrelated to my prologue, I would never in fact drink and drive and people who do disgust me, so in conclusion I think for now I'm happy taking the tube and judging people who obviously haven't met me and my friends and their stupid t-shirts.

Waking up with the sleepless bullfrog

Fun little fact for you on this fine morning, or night depending on what side of the world you sleep on, the bullfrog is the only animal that never sleeps...which makes me think what a miserable little life it must live. I was awoken this morning by the harrowing sound of my phone-alarm(I mean it's called an alarm for a reason, never pleasant), with what I can only imagine is toothpaste on my black t-shirt, which also leads me to the thought, "how drunk was I last night? "Then I found myself in the kitchen baking croissants. I say found myself, since I'm pretty sure I was half-asleep during that part. My usual breakfast consists of black coffee and cigarettes, which also happens to be the only stable in my dietary routine. Now, while inhaling the sweet smoke of my, one of many, morning fags, I begin ocd-ing on the laptop. Facebook in the first tab, then Buzzfeed in multiple tabs with various stories, like Halloween treats that I'll never make, diys I'll never do and trivia I'll actually remember because I'm a fact-freak if ever you met one, also something about Ebola, then Spotify. You see, there's a hierarchy that mustn't be disturbed. I'll also most definitely take one of the Buzzfeed quizzes, because I find it very important to know "what kind of french-fry am I really?"

The beginning

I decided to create a blog. I already hate myself. I had sworn to remain in the age of books and notebooks and scattered pages and sore fingers. But lately my middle finger callus has decreased in size and pain( I guess aesthetically not too bad), meaning I have forsaken my writing(I am in fact writing a book, just not my own), for more every-day dabbles. I am sitting next to my best friend, who basically forced me to do this, slightly uncomfortable at the thought of writing in front of another person; even if it is the one I share everything with. I am also slightly drunk, which may be a good thing.