The eternal battle of the working mind

Sound of alarm brutally interrupts my dream. “Where am I?” I ask myself. It is 5:35am, my bedroom is semi-dark and my mind is still stuck in a dream about a fish that followed me to a skyscraper. They make no sense. “Good God,” I mumble as I try to shake away the image of the shiny blue fins. I sigh. I reach for the phone to turn off the alarm clock. Silence floats across the room like a gentle breeze. My brain finally tells me that it is a work day and that I have to get up to go to work. Second “Good God” crosses my mind. “Please! I don’t want to get up,” I plead. Maybe work lords will make my wish come true. I close my eyes again. “No!” I have to open my eyes. “You’ll fall asleep otherwise, silly.”

I open my eyes, reluctantly. The room is still dark but I see my dog move. He knows. The moment the alarm goes off he knows it is time to start a new day. I wish I was as keen on life that early in the morning. He wags his tail and jumps on the bed. I pet his soft head and lumber to the bathroom. With my hand, I feel around for the clothing I had put aside the night before. I get dressed and put on my running shoes. The dog is now more awake than ever, stretching in every yoga pose imaginable for his morning walk. I grab my phone, put the collar on the dog and leave the house. The next twenty minutes swing by like a summer breeze, as my body is still too sleepy to process the surroundings around me. At the least the dog is having fun, peeing on everything that sticks out.

We get back and now my body is out of denial mode. Now, the confrontation phase starts. I am confronted with another day of going to work. I have to get ready, I have to get myself to a state where I can function and possibly perform some work today. I put on the kettle to make some tea. I used to drink coffee but I drank so much of it that it obnoxiously stained my teeth so I switched to black tea, another caffeine alternative.

The dog is hungry, following me to every nook and cranny of the kitchen. Alright, alright! I’m going to feed you. I grab his bag and dump some dry food in it. I got to eat too. I grab a bagel and put some cream cheese on it. By put I mean I dip the bagel into the cream cheese container because it is too early to be proper and use cutlery like a human being. The hunger is gone after a couple of minutes, now I have to shower and get dressed. I grab a towel that has that towel smell and should be washed this weekend, if I won’t forget. A headache is starting to kick in. I grab some pills and hope that it will go away. Almost ready for work. I put on some make up because without some color slabbed onto my cheeks people automatically assume I am sick and get greatly concerned. Purse, phone. Food! I forgot to pack lunch. I grab my frozen veggies and meat from the freezer and toss them in a container. I guess this will do. I run out to the car because I am already late. Is Friday here yet?

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Luckily, my Mom is on Facebook.

I know kids these days don’t know what Facebook is or they roll their eyes and say it is SO passé. But I still use it as it’s been a part of my life since 2007 – woah, 9 years!- and I’ve stuck with every layout change that they made, specially in the first five years before they kind of decided to stick with the timeline format.

Of course, the usage of my Facebook greatly changed throughout the years. I was much younger and more naive 9 years ago and therefore the posts were age appropriate. I have since, as might be expected, deleted quite a few but all in all my posts were/are alright.

Around 2010 (2011?), my Mom joined Facebook and as many others, I dreaded adding her to MY Facebook. Gosh, these are my private thoughts I share on the internet with my friends, not my MOM! What should I do? Add her or block her? After a week of listening to her whining that we are truly not friends if we are not Facebook friends I decided to add her.

My Facebook posts have changed since. I think twice about what I write or think twice about who am I arguing with about a certain hot issue (btw, never get into arguments on Facebook, they are a complete waste of time and pointless!).

I guess it is safe to say that since my Mom joined Facebook, I think twice about what I say or do because I do not want her to see her daughter act like an idiot or say something stupid. Not that I do that often, but it happens. It happens to all of us and we should all be happy we have our Moms as Facebook friends- internet is not a public diary and we don’t want them to find out every detail of our lives. Or do we?

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The absurdities of “men caves” and other “men-only” nonsense

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.

  1. 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.
  2. 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.

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10 experts in 1 C-grade student

I’ve never been so good in the field of science (hence, I got C’s or B’s if I was lucky). But I thought hey, it’s ok, some are better at it than others and my forte has always been the creative side of the brain.

That was until I was struggling to figure out what they put in my joghurt, my make up and my shampoo. The food/make up industry is making me re-learn everything- how a body works, what is good for your body, types of skin, types of vitamins, how organs work and are affected by what I eat etc. I mean, it is annoying. I have to be a nutritionist, dermatologist, biologist, psychologist, chemist, dietitian, pharmacist, materials scientist, environmental analyst and a researcher all in one! I am not capable of doing that people!… And I shouldn’t have to be all that!

I am appalled by how meticulously I have to look at every product I buy. In the food section I have to make sure it doesn’t have hidden sugars (like, oh, just 18g of sugar in a small yogurt), don’t even get me started on bread products and foods that have random trans fats etc. I mean, yeah, I know you will say just stay away from processed foods. I do that, for the most part, but darn it if I crave a yogurt or bread every few days do I really have to spend ten minutes looking at labels wondering which one is the worst for me?

Do I really have to learn chemistry to figure out the sulfites or whatever they are putting in my shampoo is actually bad for the hair but it is cheap to make? Do I really?

Things need to get better regulated in the States, I’m sorry. It shouldn’t be ok to dump sugar in every product out there just because they can, it shouldn’t be ok to stuff people with trans fats just because they can and it shouldn’t be ok to add the crazy chemical components to the products we use on our skin/hair etc just because they can. It just shouldn’t be!!

I know, as consumers we have the choice of not buying these products, but you know, sometimes I just want to buy a nice piece of meat without having to wonder what kind of treatment the poor animals went through and that steak shouldn’t cost me an arm and a leg. I know for a fact that for example Aldi, the German discount retailer, had much better meat in Europe than it does here. And it has everything to do with what they can get away with. So I want that quality here in America too, people. That’s all I want.

It’s sad that the USP (unique selling proposition) of some companies is that their products don’t contain “the fake stuff.” How on Earth did we get to this sad point?

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You don’t want to win the Powerball

$900M! $900M! My sister won’t stop talking about the Powerball lottery. It’s annoying. No matter how hard I try to tell her, winning a lottery is probably the worst thing that can happen to you. I drew a little chart for her, see below, to visualize the reasons as to why she/you don’t want to win the Powerball.


Let’s say that you win! You are the lucky winner. You have two choices- either to tell or NOT to tell that you won the Powerball.

  1. TELL OTHERS- If you tell others about your winnings obviously you get harassed by people you know and strangers to give them money. I probably should add an arrow that leads directly to that point because regardless of if you keep or quit your job “to enjoy life”, you will still be harassed so much it would drive you crazy.
  2. DON’T TELL OTHERS- Ok, you want to keep it a secret. Yeah, you’re the big Powerball winner! The first problem now is whether or not you will quit your job. If you quit, you have to live a normal life, no crazy spending otherwise you will become suspicious. If you don’t quit, you still have to live your life like the rest of the mortals around you… otherwise, people get suspicious, notice you have money and the hassle begins!

So you see, folks, you don’t really want to win $900M. You just don’t. You can’t live like a normal civilian without being harassed all the time. And I’m sure even the excuse that Uncle Ben left you a bunch of money doesn’t work after a few years- and that just means that people know you have money and… again, they will harass you for it. Case closed.

The purpose of having dreams

Blah, 2016 did not start well for me. I mean, all the problems I’ve had so far have been first world problems, but since I live in a”first world” I tend to consider them to be actual problems.

I’ve been stuck deliberating at what point will I give up on my dreams. When will I just say, you know what, I’m done. I am done trying. My dreams of becoming a published author (Idk, self-published on Amazon just doesn’t have that ring to it), dreams of becoming a good illustrator (not great, just good- even solid is ok with me), dreams of having all the stories I keep having in my head read by hundreds of people.

They are ambitious dreams to have, I realize that. Not many are fortunate enough to ever get loyal readers and most of their books, their stories end up in a folder called “my book” on their computer where it sits as a sore reminder of unfulfilled dreams.

However, I realized this the other day as I was jotting down the first few lines in my new diary (it’s really pretty, a little old school but I don’t mind it)- I realized that succumbing to reality is why you should never let go of your dreams. Perhaps you should modify them, change them, alter them, make a few alterations here and there but no one should ever give up on their dreams. Because if you give up on your dreams, you let reality win- and reality can be so dull, so cruel and so factual. And I refuse to ever be dull or cruel or factual. Ever.

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What is home?

Many say home is tangible; it is an actual space one can walk through. It consists of four walls and unmatching furniture your parents put together throughout the years. It is the coo coo clock in the hallway that has long stopped working. It is the bedsheets from your childhood shoved away somewhere in the back of the closet. It is the familiar layout and the same annoying, never fixed patio screen door.

For some. For me, I feel like home is a moment in time. Home is many moments in time. Sometimes, if I am lucky, I get to vividly enjoy the “now” of a home because the moment goes away ever-so-quickly.

Home disappears when people in it disappear. When I walk through my parent’s house and I realize my Mother will never walk through those hallways again I feel absolutely no attachment to the objects scattered around the house. Home was not home because it had the familiar pots and pans my Dad loved to cook in. Home was home because it echoed the laughter of my Dad. When there was no one there that was left, home became an empty, tangible space.

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Majority of adults still wonder “where has the time gone?”

Time is a sneaky bastard. We only notice it passing by when major changes happen. Some of the following people have shared their moments when they realized that time was passing by without them knowing.

Petra, 33- “My husband was watching the show Fargo and he paused it right when the shot was on the blond-haired actress. He said: “Do you recognize her?” I started at the screen for about a minute. “No idea,” I answered. He then pompously proclaimed that it was Kirsten Dunst. And I thought to myself-Wow, she’s gotten old. And she’s my age.”

Melissa, 30- “I got a phone call from daycare saying my baby made his first steps. Just yesterday I had to carry him everwhere and now he is trying to make it places without me. Where has the time gone?”

Phil, 27- “I keep thinking we are still in 2004. I still listen to the same songs, think about the parties I went to back then. And then someone is like- 2004 was 11 years ago dude. And that’s when it hits me. I’m old.”

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Area dog more than happy to be a couch potato

“Would you look at her,” said Tanya with a hint of despise. She was referring to her dog Stella who was stretched out across the couch in the living room. “I think when she dies we will bury the couch with her.”

Tanya and I nonchalantly took a seat next to Stella. “Is it really that bad if a dog enjoys being on the couch?” I asked Tanya. “You love the couch as much as the next person.” “I do,” she responded and took a bite of the grilled cheese sandwich she made inspired by the one seen on America’s Test Kitchen. “But this dog, she almost abuses the couch. I’ve never seen anyone so happy just spreading across the thing in multiple ways. She lays on her back, her belly, her side- you name it.”

I looked at Stella. Her eyes gave away content and a sense of bliss. Soft cushions were supporting her big head as her butt was slowly sinking into the couch. This dog was happy, so happy to be a couch potato.

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Petra Stunt gets lost in her own home

Los Angeles, CA- Most people never have the opportunity to see, let alone live in a mansion spreading across 56,500 square-feet. Petra Stunt, the daughter of Formula One racing magnate Bernie Ecclestone, however, is the exception.

Her mansions, “The Manor”, located in the Holmby Hills of Los Angeles has 123 rooms along with a swimming pool, tennis court, skating rink, and a bowling alley- to only name a few amenities. Despite the fact Petra has the access to all these room and amenities does not necessarily mean she knows where they all are. She purchased the home in 2011 but she is still having some trouble navigating it.

Our sources claim that she called her father, Bernie and Aaron Spelling’s wife Candy last Thursday desperately trying to find the way out to the main entrance. “It was rather embarrassing,” our source claims. “She was lost in one of the countless bedroom and had no idea how to get even to the skating rink. Apparently her dad Bernie decided to hire a few guys to create an app for her so emergency phone calls to Candy Spelling can be avoided.”

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