For the last couple of months there has been an absolute uproar over Rio being the host of the 2016 Summer Olympic Games. Even I was against it at first- like many, I raised my fist with the rest and roared: “Say no to bribing! Say no to corruption! Say no to human rights violations! There are people starving while the corrupt politicians and officials make money! It’s disgusting!”
But after seeing the picture of favelas illuminated by the fireworks coming from an Olympic stadium in the background, I changed my mind.
The Rio Olympics represent the cruel reality of our society, of our world really. The games represent the best but also the worst. We cannot protest only when our athletes are not treated right. What about all those people living in poverty, crime and hunger on a daily basis? Why are we not making a bigger deal out of that?
No matter what you hated or loved about the Rio Olympics, at least it was not pretending to be something it was not. It was real, dysfunctional, dangerous, exciting, sad and challenging at the same time. It was not the pink-eyed version of our world, but rather an authentic one. Even athletes, many of which come from destitute backgrounds, gave us their best and their ugliest, their rawest, just like our world really is, in case you forgot.
A friend of mine, let’s call him Dave, has been really pissing me off lately (can I say piss off on WordPress?)
Anyway, everytime we hang out with him and a bunch of friends he wants the guys and the women to hang out separately. In the same house, just different rooms. And if we play games, god forbid women should play. Because not that women are not capable of playing along, but women don’t take the games seriously enough….. which yeah, it’s just a game, Dave and just because you win at it it doesn’t make you somehow a winner in real life. Akhem.
In addition to his segregated time spending between sexes he also has a man cave. Two men caves, technically. One glorious man room filled with his workout equipment, comicbooks and pheromone-based scents (I’m guessing) and his garage crammed with motorcycles which reeks of testosterone, or whatever that scent is. The rest of the house he is in is mostly decorated by his fiancee, Lindsey.
Now, every couple has their vibe but here’s what I’ll tell you about men caves and men only time.
- Men caves shouldn’t exist- women should compromise and not take over the whole damn house and decorate it upon her liking, it’s that simple. You’re a couple, you live together, you share things. Both parties should compromise.
- Girls time/guys nights- they are ok every once in awhile but the reality is- if you need some time away from your spouse/bf/gf, then something isn’t right. Because I can tell you that after I come home from work at cca. 6pm and I only get to see David for a couple of hours before we both hit the hay exhausted, I don’t have any desire to spend even LESS time with him. If anything, because I only see him for those few hours I actually want to see him MORE.
So this whole men only, girls only stupidity needs to stop. If we want men and women to have 50/50 relationships, have them work as partners, then compromises have to be made.
Because guess what, your partner is your team.
You both live in the house. You can both ride the motorcycle. You can both read comic books. You can both BBQ in the back. You can both fix the sink together. You can both wear boots and know how to use a jack. You can both play sports… etc. It’s common sense, Dave.
As I sit at work on this gloomy Monday, I can’t help but think my desk reveals too much about me. If I look around, I see photos of me and David. Photos of my Mom, my sister. My nieces. It’s like my entire family tree is displayed for everyone to see. Oh, and pictures of my dog. Everyone must know I am an animal lover.
There’s also an over-watered plant which tells everyone I have no idea about how and when to water plants. To the left of the computer are postcards I bought while I traveled. France, Italy, Portugal, Ireland, India, China etc. A little elephant souvenir from India right next to the Stork from Alsace, France. A little statue of Eiffel Tower. Tissues hidden behind the computer for the days my allergies are bad. A big coffee mug my friend got me that says “got stache?” So I think I qualify as a hipster too. A boring looking box which actually is full of cookies. Yes, I am addicted to cookies! Pens that have stopped working long ago (but I am too lazy to throw them away). My emergency candy stash in the first drawer, my emergency Tylenol stash in the second drawer for long days…and extra cutlery for the days I forget to bring it from home. A Swiss knife hidden in the third drawer in case I have to open bottles of Champagne or what have you. And God knows what else is there, the point is, I practically live here and this damn desk knows way too much about me!
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“Weekends…and particularly Sundays are reserved for family, they’re not like Americans who live to work like there is no tomorrow,” Maelie explained and took another sip of wine. -Maelie Gagnon
Jenna Gunner’s first few days in France were one big culture shock. The French don’t have a Walmart, the French don’t work 60 hours a week and stores are closed on Sundays! Who in their right mind would close their store on a Sunday?
As an American, like Jenna, I found myself with nothing to do on a Sunday in France. I couldn’t go shopping. I couldn’t go on a stroll through the mall. If I didn’t buy my groceries the day beforehand, I went the whole Sunday hungry.
After a few weeks there, I realized Sundays should be spent with somebody. Since my family was far away, I spent it with my friends. We went to the park and walked around. We fed the birds even though we were not supposed to. We went to the nearby lake and just gazed at the water. Then, I would invite them over for some pasta…. and we had wine. And we just talked…. Those Sundays, where I didn’t have to get up early to go to work, were on of the best Sundays of my life. That’s what Sundays were meant for. Not work, but one day of peacefulness with your family and friends….America should remember that again. Do you agree?
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Sometimes bad luck lasts a couple of days, but this one has been dragging around for a while. As I was sitting on the couch earlier, contemplating why and how I deserve this bad time in my life (there is nothing wrong with a little self-pity), I suddenly noticed the “Surviving the French Revolution” book.
It was given to me by a friend, and I only opened it once….a while ago….to make a herbarium out of a four-leaf clover. Suddenly it hit me. Perhaps the 1:10,000 chance in finding a four-leaf clover does not bless you with good luck, but perhaps with bad luck too. Did I bring my own misfortune disguised in a leafy green clover?
I had to do something about it. Throwing it away would mean it is still there, just in a different location. Instead, I found a pair of matches in the kitchen cabinet and lit it on fire. It had to be incinerated, only that way it can stop jinxing my life. I hope from now on my bad luck is gone.
Are you guys superstitious? Do you think a clover or a lucky charm truly bring good luck? Am I a little crazy for doing this? Share your thoughts with me
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“What about you? How have you been? How long are you staying?” “Same as last year, about two weeks,” I answered.- Jenna Gunner
As Americans, we don’t often get the short end of the stick… but when I look at my vacations days, I can’t help but feel envious. Damn Europeans. As I hope for maybe two weeks (including weekends!), there is an Italian out there with 42 days of vacation, a Frenchman with 37 days and a German with 35 days…. and I get 13 days? When did we allow this to happen?
Do you know what happens in Europe in the summertime? Companies shut down. People are gone for a month and little work gets done in July and August. But guess what? Everybody comes back happy and rested. Sadly, for Americans a weekend is a vacation these days, and quite frankly that is horrendously bothersome.
How many vacation days do you get? Do you think Europeans have too much time off?
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Stats on Vacation Days
I don’t know if it is the modern pace of life, or I am just really bad at aging….but I feel exhausted all the time. My mother who is 65 has more energy and willingness to do things than me. And that’s scary!
By the time I come home for dinner, I don’t want to make it. I just want pizza and the couch.
Nobody really tells you once you hit your late 20-ies, all of a sudden you feel tired constantly. It’s an unnerving process and it’s even worse to think what happens after 30…or after 40. Or maybe I am just a special case….but I don’t think I am. Does anyone else feel that way? Any tips on how to not feel tired all the time?
Thanks for reading and commenting!
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Get off the internet (like I am about to do) and take a nap.
If you need to read something to relax, read my book. If not, hit that comfy bed, jump underneath the covers and cocoon yourself among the sheets. Rest your head on the pillow and slowly fall into the bliss of sleeping.
You need it, I need it.
Let’s do this! Who’s with me?
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