Diaries Of Panties In A Twist: Shitland Pt 1

This was supposed to be a guide of the city I live in but I guess it’ll stray a little bit from it.  Guess you expected it, or not, I don’t know. Anyway, as you realized I didn’t break my tradition of straying from what I said in a previous entry and that because I keep myself occupied and busy with other things.

Things that happen in the actual real world, like feeding my cats, playing the guitar, trying to organize stuff, completely letting go of the hope of finding a job in Athens GR, noticing that this place is filled with cops and how I was told that “nobody cares” and that I “should be quiet” once again when I tried to tell the following story.

It’s been almost two months since I started driving again. After the car accident I was in I was kind of afraid of driving, but then I said “fuck it” and started again. I drive when is needed as I’m not really fond of it. And from my drives around the town I noticed one thing: There are more cops units out there than acne on a teenager’s face.

There are cops everywhere for absolutely no reason. They keep popping up and whenever pass them by they look at you, check you out, up and down, like you’re the next top terrorist. Hick accent or demanding voice, sleepy-cow eyes and the attitude of the king of the jungle.

A week ago on my way home, in the radius of 5 blocks I saw 3 units in their cars and 3 police units on scooters. Last night I got pulled over and searched. It was just like a movie. There was a flash light lighting my face on the left window and one on the right lighting my hands. I went to turn off the engine and the guy on the left says “Don’t do that sir! Stay calm and only do whatever we tell you to”. I said alright. Then he says “Okay turn off the engine. Driver’s license and i.d.” he demanded. I had none with me, so I said.

I was asked to step out of the car and after I explained how I forgot my wallet at home and amongst other excuses they said it was okay, they asked me to step out, open the trunk and let them search the car. So I did. I open the trunk and step back. Then one of them starts checking me up and down lighting with his flash light while the other 4 were searching the car.

As I was standing there one of them pulls out a bag with a tag that read “baking soda” from the back seat of my car and says to me: “what is this?” I look at him and before I have the chance to reply the guy behind him says “it’s baking soda…can’t you read?” Then the genius who was holding the bag asks me again “are you sure this is baking soda sir?” “You can open the bag and try it…” I say. As the other guy behind the genius chuckles a little.

One of them asks me to show the car’s insurance. I walk to the front seats and start searching for the insurance book and as I find it he says “it’s alright, forget about it.” Long story short, they searched everything. They even made me open my guitar’s hard case saying “haha most terrorists used to have one of these and hide Kalashnikovs in them while riding  on their bikes.” While I was thinking, “cause I look like a crazed up biker that would carry around a kalashnikov in a small suburb of Athens just in case…”

This hell is meant for us. Should we be thankful that something was meant for us and was built for us? But it’s mostly sunny here during the year, so who cares...

P.S: I still love you all like Greek cops secretly love being called sheriffs or John Rambo and like I love to talk about meaningless things. 

Diaries Of Panties In A Twist: Shitland Introduction

Well let me get this straight here before all the big mouths start doing what they know best. There’s a love/hate relationship for everyone with the town/ city he grew up in. So after being a recluse for most of my teenage years keeping myself to myself and having only a few friends, I always dreamed of leaving this town. So I did.

After finishing high-school I went away for studies. Though I never really got homesick, I did miss some faces and wished they were there with me to drink coffee, chain smoke, get stupidly drunk, fail miserably and get back on track again.

Well, these years passed now and I returned in Athens GR. The city, which everyone where I was had visited and loved or wished they visit some day in the future. My reply to their questions about the city was mostly the same, “it’s quite alright, I guess”.

Now I’m here experiencing the adult life, have my own cubicle, screen and headset stressing more than I should for the worth of it and at the same time trying to find a job in the “field of my expertise”.

But every day I find myself cursing and thinking that instead of walking in the streets I’m just floating in a sea of nut jobs and “wise” fucks, that they only thing they’ve figured out is how to lie to themselves and not giving a fuck about anything else but their own precious little lives, while their own little lives have turned to monsters and are ready to devour them at any moment.

From the way they’ll scoff and hiss if you ask them to wait for you to exit the bus/metro before they get on, to the way they’ll make way for you if you want to walk faster on the sidewalk. It’s either that a) they were born with the curse of a pair of panties scratching and annoying their genitals 24/7 for their whole life, b) they ended up burying their dreams and becoming another cliché but still hold on to their biggest of dreams but in an arrogant way or c) maybe it’s just me.

But on the other hand, every week or so you discover all the little things you like but never had a clue about. Like little joints or coffee shops, record stores, streets, graffiti art, people. And after you discovering these you think, “meh…it might not even that bad as I imagined”. But then one day BOOM! An asshole thing comes to sweep you off your feet and land you back in reality and make you in a way appreciate more these little things.

Anyway, as you’ve imagined this will be something a lot like a Carrie Bradshaw column minus the sex and relationship advice and more about what gets on my nerves in this city. Hopefully it’ll be monthly, giving myself the time and opportunity to gather all the information needed to write it all down for you to understand better and hopefully relate. Because every town has its assholes, every town has its weird and fucked up days, every town has its nut-jobs and every town has its perks. 

Thanks For The Party Music

Last night I heard- read- the news through a friend’s post on facebook. Tony Sly, the lead singer of the punk rock band “No Use For A Name” died at the age of 41.

It’d be a lie if I said that the news didn’t phase me but it’d also be a lie if said that the news left me devastated. But surely it affected me in one way or the other.  

No Use For A Name, was one of the first punk rock bands I ever listened to and got introduced to by a friend of mine back when I was 15. Even though Sly’s voice didn’t excite me his lyrics surely followed me through my high-school years and I still consider him as one of the most honest and talented lyricist in punk rock.

I could go through the whole cliché in a way ordeal saying how much he meant to me and all that crap but I won’t because it’d be a lie. But I can surely say that from that one time that I interviewed him he was one of the friendliest and kind people I’ve ever met.

Thanks for all the party music, thanks for all the shared emotions, thanks for all the lyrics and thanks for everything you left behind Mr Sly! 

Keep It Simple

Hey hey whaddup! Well you must be wondering "what's da dealio wit dis muddafucka and he hasn't updated dis shizzle fer a while now?" Well, since I asked this question to myself too I'm here to say do not worry. Do not panic. Everything's under control!

I've just been too bored lately to update you on what's been going on, plus I'm putting together a zine. What's that you say? "A zine?!" I hear you ask? "But you're way too lazy..." I hear you say again.

Well, buddies of mine that's true. I'm putting a zine together with sloppy poetry and short stories with a friend of mine. I'll be doing the writing and he'll be doing the drawing. The name of that zine as it was decided will be "Keep It Simple" and if everything goes according to plan it will be finished and done at the end of August maybe mid of September.

If not it will never be finished and you'll end up crying and probably need tons and tons of ice cream and sedatives to calm you down. Since I do not want that to happen to all you lovelies out there, I'll do my best. Now I have to bounce and finish off my coffee! 

Till the next time, keep it simple and keep goofing it up!

As Cliche As A Rom-Com Can Be

Time flies, right buddy ol’ pals of mine? It’s as cliché and cheesy as the worst of rom-coms, but hell it’s as true and hard as a heart-attack. Time flies,  -for me- people don’t change but they learn to adapt, some things change for the better others for the worst but whichever the case might be I’m of the opinion that whatever happens we bring it to ourselves –minus some cases-

As weird as it may sound I wrote this intro to begin telling you what I talked about for 2 hours with that 45 year old or something German bar owner when in Berlin.

We were staying in West Berlin as I might have mentioned in the previous entry. We booked in advance at a cheap hotel in a very posh area of West Berlin without knowing. In an area where the prices from the shops’ windows didn’t fall beneath the 250 euros and the price of a watch could pay 2 days’ meals and clothing of 2 families.

When I asked what was the deal and all the bars were empty or closed she told that once West Berlin used to be the place to be. It used to be full of artists, painters, bohemians and “free spirits” and students.  She also told me that once West Berlin used to be “alive” 24/7 and the bars were mostly packed every hour around the clock.  Now people travel to West Berlin to do business and then they leave.

The shops’ windows are there for those who can afford these kinds of things, only because, people who can afford these things come around that neighborhood anymore. That’s when I finished my beer and asked for another one. And as the bar was empty she said that the next one was on the house.

She said that she misses the days like 10 or 15 years ago when every bar in West Berlin was never empty and people didn’t have to work 2 or 3 jobs just to get by. The unemployment rate was low, everyone had a job and could get by just fine.

Nowadays there are more than 3 places where you can get daily meals for 3 euros and the buildings for homeless people are usually packed. From supermarkets to church donations, more and more people get sacked or remain unemployed and the lucky few, like one of her friends, have to work 14 hours a day –factory and old people’s homes- and still get some kind of welfare just to get by and be able to pay rent and send their kids to school.

She also told me about old neoclassical buildings in East Berlins, with big houses, which are now inhabbited by two or three families each house and 14 year old pregnant girls with baby-trolleys, high-school degrees to get and a baby to feed.


Now she might did exaggerate a little bit she might didn't. But either way, even if the situation is half as bad as she painted it to be, to me this still sounds as scary as a quadruple anal scene does to even the most experienced of female porn-stars out there - as I'd like to think it does.-


Till next time, keep goofing it up and bababooee.

7 EUROS WORTH OF WATER AND ME AS BEARDED LION

I went to Berlin, ate hot dogs or "wurst", drank german beer, walked around always with my back-pack, saw the sights and spent a night at a bar talking with the 45 year old bar owner about the state of Berlin and how it was 20 years ago as the bar was empty and she had nothing better to do. She also gave me a free beer and told me I'm a nice kid. This is what I'll be talking about, or I'll try to talk about in this and future posts.

But, first things first and I must say this to get it out of my chest: German people have serious issues with water. I don’t know how it is where you’re from whoever’s reading this, but water at a café or a bar is not charged. I believe that in most parts of the world is the same, in the most parts of the world except from Germany where a small bottle of water costs minimum 2.50 and in most cases 3.50 and last but not least you also have to pay for water at a bar.

Needless to say I didn’t even touch the bottles of water from corner shops no matter how thirsty I was. I’d rather literally eat 350 1 cent coins and break my teeth than give them for water. I’d eat them good and digest them like it was the finest of meats.

One night we sat a bar opposite our hotel to have a couple of drinks before we go to bed after a long day walking around the city of Berlin. Going through the catalog, trying to decide what drink I’d have I saw that the gin prices were pretty low, 2.90, so I decided to have some gin as I wasn’t in the mood for beer or whiskey.

The waitress comes along and takes our order, brings us our drinks and I decide that I’d like some water. I go to the bar and ask the bartender if he could give me two glasses of water, for me and my friend. He gives me a weird look and says “fizzy or…” and shows me two small bottles.  I don’t return the weird look and I say that I just wanted some water in a glass. I didn’t want to buy a bottle of water just wanted some tap-water in a glass to drink as I was thirsty. Again he gives me a weird look but he takes my order.

Half an hour later and after finishing my drink, I decide to get another one. When the waitress comes along I give her my order and I also ask her if we could have some more tap-water. More specifically, I ask for a pitcher of water so I didn’t have to go back and forth at the bar.  She looks at me and says “No”. That’s when I decided to return the weird look the bartender had given me half an hour ago.

After further explanation she tells me that she can’t just give me a pitcher of water but I’d have to buy it. I think to myself that a pitcher of water couldn’t cost more than a couple of euros, even though it shouldn’t cost a damn thing as it’s just water, and I say “sure…we’ll have it”. As she goes to leave I ask “uhm before you go could you please tell me how much it’ll cost?” And that was when dinosaurs came alive, dragons started flying low, Conan the Barbarian started dancing the polka waving his sword and many other crazy shit went down. She looks at me and with a smile like it’s normal she says “that’ll be 7 euros” and then me I say with the most normal look I could have with that answer “okay that’s fine then, I’ll just have the gin.”

At the end she brought me a pitcher of tap-water for free but she asked me to hide it so the manager wouldn’t see it and everyone was happy. I had my water. I had my gin. I had the red blanket wrapped around me, complimentary from the bar for everyone who sat outside and I had my cigarettes.

Coming back home I wanted to drink all the water I'd find. Bathe in it, eat while bathing in water, drink cold water, warm water, boiling water, eat ice cubes, lick ice cubes etc etc. More to come from my Berlin experience in the next post. Till next time, keep goofing it up!

P.S: German girls have big breasts and I congratulate them for that. Plus, I looked something like that lion while I was in Berlin.

Quickie

We drove fast down the open road, pas two motorcyclists who were being dickheads racing each other and testing their bikes. With a vroom vroom and a lot of noise it’s so easy to be a prick, it’s unbelievable.

It’s started smelling like spring/summer already and Mr. Dylan is on my speakers. I haven’t gotten paid yet for the work I did for the magazine, so I guess I celebrated too fast for getting a job. On the other hand, I’ve been playing the guitar a lot more, lost some weight and hang out with people I hadn’t for a long time. I also met some new ones.

I went to a gig, had a couple of drinks, screamed my lungs out calling names the friend of mine who was playing and accidentally walked in the toilette while a girl was putting on her tampon as there were no men/women toilettes. She didn’t realize, I closed the door quickly so, no harm done.

Now in a couple of weeks we’re planning on recording some acoustic songs. So keep checking back for updates.

p.s: if you have nothing better to do, like feed your dog, scratch your belly or give a chimpanzee a mighty hand-job.

To Throw A Party And Fail Miserably

In fifth grade I threw the lamest birthday party ever. Don't know if those who attended still remember and laugh or scoff, but I do, because it was dull. But I liked it then for some reason.

6 People showed up. 4 guys and 2 girls. Not so Gatsby-like I watched my guests getting bored to death while I was hoping the cake eating moment would be as exciting to them as it was for me. My mother had ordered pizzas. 4 of them as I'd invited the whole class and waited for everyone to show up. After all it was a Saturday.

Most of them left in groups of 3 after the cake was shared and happy birthday was sung. My place was empty in 30 minutes and I was left alone with 3 and a half pizzas and half of chocolate birthday cake.

A year later I made the same mistake and this time it came swinging back at me. It was for my “name day” this time. I invited the whole class, and since my name day falls towards the end of Christmas Holidays which means no school, I imagined everyone would come. So I invited the whole class. Again.

Clock showed 8pm and everything was set. Cheese pie, sausage rolls, bowls filled with chips, platters with pizza slices, 4 bottles of Coke and 2 of Sprite. But no one had showed up. An hour later someone rang the main entrance’s bell. I answer it and an adult's voice tells me that it’s one of my friends’ father with his son. I get excited and run towards the door, open it and wait for the elevator to come up. When the elevator stops on my floor a priest opens the door and comes out smiling ear to ear. No friend of mine. Just a priest smiling -he was here, as it’s a custom for priests to perform some kind of ritual to conjure the house from all the bad spirits and let God in on my name day-

Needless to say that apart from the priest who showed up uninvited no one else showed up at my second party either and I ended up playing playstation, reading extracts from random books and listening to music.

Now the reason I’m telling you all this is because my country’s economy is so fucked up that I don’t think the generation that’s growing up now will ever be able to say “I threw a party with lots of food and soda and no one came” because they’ll simply won’t be able to throw a party.I feel privileged that I had the chance to throw a party and fail miserably. HA!

P.S: If you’re throwing a party please invite me. I’ll B.M.O.B and behave I promise. Oh I also dressed up as Gangsta Mickey Mouse for Halloween. Keepin it real and goofing it up homez.

Schlong Shaped Balloons

A couple of days ago I went to a release party/punk rock show. They had balloons hang outside, everyone was smiling and the main band was selling their album and t-shirts. I bought neither. I had enough money to get a couple of beers and then a taxi home as I'd surely miss the train by the time the whole thing was over. They even had balloons hang over the stage, arranged in a way that they formed a penis. Or a dick. Or schlong.

A friend of mine who played in one of the supporting bands gave me his ticket for a free beer. Eventhough I'm not a beer fun, and I must admit that I find it quite boring, I couldn't do otherwise as the rum & coke was expensive and the whiskey and coke like wise. So I got my beer and shared it with him till he had to go and play.

Once again I felt like swimming in an ocean of hipness and brosness. Skinny jeans, tatoos, coolness, hipness, pretty girls and lead singers' girflriends. Everyone knew everyone. It was like a family dinner party and I was the weird relative that no one'd ever heard of. Or more like the friend of that weird relative.

Now let's not get bitter. It's nice having an audience when trying, and the chances of failing miserably are 50/50. Especially when that audience is your friends and know that the least you'll get is a tap on the shoulder and a "nice job dude" no matter what happens. The pain is less and gets numbed by sympathy, but I've come to believe that I'd rather have it straight. I'd rather fail miserably and been told that I did rather than having false hopes or expectations.

If I take the fall I want to take the fall head first and fail by doing it right. Because if you don't fail you'll never win. And because winners are past losers. I love it when I get philosophical. I don't want to do it half-assed with a net waiting to catch my fall down there.

Having said that I'm going to put it out there and say that the bands I saw, played alright except from the last one which managed to butcher one of their own songs that I'd listened and liked on their website.

Right, I'm going to keep this short and go read some, practice some, make some coffee and chill wit C.D.C. M (Chester Da Cat Mothafucka).

Till next time, Bababooee and keep goofing it up

Of Christmas, Lucky Luke And Birds With Turpentine Up Their A-holes

Watching tv, drinking whiskey, smoking and listening to my friends playing cards in the next room was, oddly enough, the best night I’ve had in a long time. When the movies became unbearably stupid, I went over to the table they were playing and I joined them. We broke it off at around 6 am on Christmas day. Happy Birthday baby Jesus.

It’s Christmas day, 7 am and three dogs, Fletcher, Joe and Larry followed me home from the bus stop. They could be my reindeers only if I was fatter and my beard and hair was white. Only if I was wiser and knew how to spread cheer.

So I fed the strays a couple of slices of ham and one of cheese and came back in. The light brown one, Fletcher, seemed to be the sociable one. The black one Larry, was the leader from what it seemed and the brown-white one, Joe, was part of the group.

I had a cup of coffee and smoked a couple of cigarettes. The festive table is now over. Plates are empty, my stomach’s full from all the food, wine and chocolate cake. You have to taste my uncle’s wine. It’s sweeter than Holy Communion and stronger than Hulk. Jesus’ wine doesn’t stand a chance. Chester had some pork from my plate and he loved it.

The song coming from my speakers sings “we used to get high together instead of getting high alone” and I just finished talking with a good friend of mine whom I haven’t seen for six months or so. We talked about the days we used to go for coffee, get our cups to go, get in the car drive up to a hill where he smoked pot, I drank coffee and chain smoked and talked nonsense for an hour or two. He’s going to be titled Dr. in a couple of years from now. Maybe less.

It’s 4 days after Christmas day now and I still haven’t finished this entry. I was caught up with being lazy, ill and practicing trying to make a musician out of myself. Last gig we had was on the 27th and it went surprisingly well. I got so excited that I abused my free drinks that I had at the bar and spent 40 more euros. Again I got back home at 7 am.

I used to tell my best friend that playing “Jingle Bells Rock” make me feel miserable for some reason but this time the song spread its Christmas cheer all over inside me. Re-reading this last line I want to slap me real hard for being that cheesy but I won’t. Anything goes because it’s Christmas.

That night was amazing. Not many people that we knew showed up but those important few were there. The bar was packed and we had an amazing night. At least I did.

Now the new year is only a couple of days away and once I had forgotten I’m growing older the signs of the time flying faster than a bird with turpentine up its ass swung at me and knocked me down. The video store where a friend of mine and I used to get movies from every now and again for more than 5 years is closing down. I asked the owner and she said recession has nothing to do with it. She’s just retiring.

From that same video store my mother used to get me Lucky Luke video-tapes to watch when I was younger. At that same video store I burst out laughing when I saw a guy handing over 2 action movies, 1 comedy, 1 cartoon and a porn movie stuck in between to rent.

Well time flies dats fer shure and soon 2012 will be smooching my stubbly face every day for 12 months. Just like 2010 did and 2011 after that. My favorite video store will be closed down and I’ll have no grandchildren to say “when I was your age that’s where I used to get movies from.” Who's going to dare and say happy New Year this time? We said it last year and look what happened. Disasters and calamities all over the place. We jinxed it big time. But anyway, even early MAY YOU ALL HAVE A HAPPY AND GOOFY NEW YEAR.

Searching Other Guys' Luggages At The Airport

Hello and hi to whoever reads this. Today I started searching a stranger's bag at the airport by mistake and he...but wait let's take things from the scratch.

No matter how stupid this may sound sometimes I feel like I’ll run out of things to say. Like I won’t be able to write down a simple even honest sentence ever again and I’ll start sucking at what I think I suck less. A knight will come while I’m asleep tie me up and wake me up just to make me watch him having sex with an ugly witch on the next bed. Then chop my head off, take it home and use it as a cocktail pitcher.

Well, when in a situation like this I’m often in the dilemma of either writing down the last thing I have in mind with the hope that this move will trigger more and more thought, or save it cause that’s the last crappy thing I have and will ever think that will be worth of mentioning.

Anyway, a flight for me usually gets weird, awkward and goofy. Either there’s a kid crying or screaming right behind me, or I’m getting to sit on the aisle seat and every time the flight attendants pass me by with their cart, they hit my knee and wake me up like they do it on purpose. OR I fall asleep and wake up every two minutes checking if I drooled and made a fool of myself. BUT not this time.

This time the less predictable happened. No, I didn’t get blown in the toilettes or asked to fly the airplane after it was high-jacked by terrorists and John McClane called me on the radio to land it safely as his wife was in there.

I met a guy who I’d met before during a tram ride in Manchester 7 or 8 months ago. Now, it’s alright for you to think “why the hell you’d strike up conversations on the tram with strangers you weirdo?” and it’s alright for me to answer of course “because that’s what people do.”

I can’t spell the guy's name but he’s Finish. I get to sit next to him as there’s nowhere else for me to sit. I look at him and say “I think we’ve met before”. Hell I was on the aisle seat again, so I thought if I could get to talk with the guy I wouldn’t have a problem waking up every 10 minutes by flight attendants hitting me with their stupid carts.

He used to be in a “fast intelligent rock and roll slash punk band”. He tells me how he formed his first band when he was 12 and then got a record deal when he was 15 playing hardcore punk. He claims it was not that hard to get signed, as hard core punk was on the up back then and there weren’t many hardcore/ punk bands in Finland. “You haven’t listened to faster band than us” that’s what he claims him and his friends used to say. He also says that they managed to get a record deal cause they played like many California hardcore bands. “Like circle-jerks, black flag, you know that kind of stuff.”

The flight attendant interrupts our conversation asking if we’d like anything to drink or eat. I get a blueberry muffin and pretzels. He gets milk and tea and then he continues with his story.

Apparently he got big headed by signing at a young age and it didn’t work out. He keeps telling me stories about touring and sleeping on friends’ floors. Friends and bandmates of his not taking things seriously and just drinking all the time to the extent they weren’t “awake if they didn’t have a drink”. All that by scratching his goatee- which was long- and while I had finished my pretzels.

I didn’t have to talk. The more silent I was the more I think he felt obliged to fill that silence and he kept on talking. He’s a fast talker. With a bit of a stammer.And a weird laugh- he laughs in a high pitched voice while looking at you and then gets completely serious and stares blankly in front of him- But all in all, he’s a nice guy.

At one point I run out of questions and the conversation starts getting boring. I take out one of the magazines I’d bought – in which I read an article about sex addiction and a woman who ruined 2 marriages, cheated on both her ex-husbands repeatedly with her coworkers and had more one night stands that she can remember- and I offer him a magazine from my bag. He says he’s alright and that he has this ability to switch off his mind when he’s bored. 5 minutes later I see him picking up a crappy airline magazine. 2 minutes after that I can see his hand falling slowly. I look at him and he’s falling asleep. He struggles to stay awake. But he gives in and starts snoring.

We arrive in Manchester and I’m waiting for my suitcase when I see one which looked JUST like mine. It’s all wet like all the others but something doesn’t seem right. So, I kneel down and open it. In the top I find two shirts. I hadn’t packed any shirts. I try to find a way to open the main part of the suitcase when a guy probably 19 years old walks over and says “excuse me sir…I think that’s my bag” while my head was stuck in the main space of his bag.

I look up and then at the belt and see my bag. I stand up and say “yeap you’re right” and run and grab my bag. I bet he thought I was just waiting there to pick any bag I found unattended cause I open mine too to make sure that it’s mine.

Well I lied back up when I said nothing awkward or weird happened this time. But it wasn’t that bad.

As you can see, I picked the first option. I just arrived in Preston and settled in in my hotel room. They’re happy that Christmas is around the corner and they show it by playing “Jingle Bells” and other Christmas songs through the halls’ speakers. They even have Christmassy music in the elevator. But, despite the great Christmas spirit they have no wifi. “It’s down since yesterday. We were expecting the technician to come fix it today but he didn’t show up” said the semi-fat receptionist. But turned out she had absolutely no idea what she was talking about because the internet’s working just fine. My phone’s dead. My room’s phone isn’t working as well and they didn’t give me my gravy at KFC. Kernel I've been loyal but your troops betrayed me.

To top that there’s nothing worth watching on the 100+ something channels on the T.V here.

But I have my Christmassy tunes from down the hall, my cigarettes and my laptop. Oh wait no I don’t have my laptop cause I gave it for repair and the guy fucked it up even more so now I have my brother’s laptop. So I have my Christmassy tunes spreading the joy from down the hall and my cigarettes.

Till the next time keep goofing it up and bababooee

Bi Polar Bears And An Old Time Hippy

I’ve increased the number of cigarettes I smoke a day since I came back from the U.K. Could be the lower price. I’ve also gained weight. It could be the easy access to food anytime I open the fridge. I could now be easily called slightly obese but I like the way my face looks chubby and hairy. Boarder line healthy. One more cheeseburger and I step in the obese territory.

I quit an internship not because the people there were not nice. It wasn’t because I wasn’t enjoying what I was doing. I was just looking for something different and they were looking for someone with drive and motivation. So motivated and with that extra drive that only pisses pure Gatorade or Redbull.

Now the editor/ owner is a real something. She’s pretty for her age but she lacks the seriousness. She has that iced look in her eyes but she flinches too much. If she was playing the “two for flinching” game, her arms would be dead for all her life. She wants to seem friendly but at the same time she has that awkward semi-angry semi-satisfied look on her face, like her father barged in her room interrupting her first fuck just to tell her he wishes she could be more like her best-friend.

I don’t feel pity for her but I bet she feels betrayed for me not sticking around. Maybe just bummed out. Maybe she just kept her positivity and found another sucker. I bet she was a hippy when she was in her twenties.

P.S: Have you ever met a bi polar-bear?

Of Fractured Bones And H1N1

It's been 23 years since the first time. But as much romantic as it sounds or it might be me remembering, it's just as bad, as I still haven't figured out how to make more than 3 steps without falling on my face and landing in the most awkward of ways.

This, a week ago, resulted to a minor fracture just beneath my elbow, but being the baby I am when it comes to pain, I made my friends drive me to the hospital for x-rays and now I have it hang for almost a week now. It doesn't hurt that much anymore, but that little bit of pain and the fear of hurting it more makes me keeping it hang around my neck. One day, I swear I'll perfect the art of walking one day. Swear down.

But the cool thing is- and this one goes out to all the ladies- that I didn't get that from just walking. I'm a cool dude and I don't walk. I skate. I don't eat. I skate. I don't get laid. I skate. I don't like girls. I skate. I don't like boys. I skate. Anyway, I tried to do an ollie -skate still- and I didn't make it at first and I gave it another try - “cause I'm a sk8er guy”-. I landed on my ass, palms and elbow. So there you go.

Anyway I got an internship at a magazine and I'm waiting for a reply from another magazine. Hip hip hooray for doing work and not getting paid. But who am I kidding? I barely do any work. I write 2 or 3 articles a day and then I have all the time to clown around. But this has become less fun now days as my cat has grown older and is too bored of my games. Or so it seems. Sometimes he responds some others he just yawns.

Athens is fun minus the money problems. We found this bar the other day where whiskey costs 3.20 euros. Yup 3.20 and it's the worst watered kind of whiskey you'll ever find. First I thought it was just because the bartender had put too much ice in my glass and I asked him for straight the second time. Still, it was watered and tasteless. Kind of like that T.V show, Big Bang Theory. But can't really tell which is worse.

Talking of slightly fractured elbow bones, being bored and having nothing better to do, have I ever told you about that time I had H1N1? Well, it was Christmas 2009 when I got it. Right after seeing a band called Bellvue Cadillac. Seems like smoking at a small smoking area with everyone smoking around you it's not the healthiest thing one could do.

Anyway, it started with head aches and sore throat. Then chills down my spine and then dizziness and then slightly high fever. It was the season to be jolly that for sure. The fun thing is that I had to return to the U.K to hand in my last assignment, get my grade, pack my stuff and leave. So I was pretty nervous that I wouldn't make it, miss my hand in date for the assignment, miss my grade, leave all my stuff and get charged extra for the room I was staying in. Plus, I'd have to do the same class ALL over again. That I couldn't stand.

So, thank god the doctor said I could travel if I was feeling any better and the fever had dropped. And so it happened. I went back handed in my assignment and waited for my grades. I had two weeks to kill till my grades were out so that meant me staying there and wait.

So in January of 2010, I started going out with a friend of mine almost every Thursday night, blog more regularly, watch a lot of movies, read more books, drink more coffee than Brazil produces in a year and smoke more cigarettes than your grandpa has/had smoked in all his life.

One night as I was out at that club/bar I used to go, I met up with another friend of mine that we used to hang occasionally every Thursday night. She was cool and I liked her. Guess she liked me too, BUT she didn't know I spent my Christmas having the H1N1 disease. Which was a big deal back in the days.

So as we were hanging outside at the smoking area, talking about what we did during Christmas, and how we spent these holy days, at one point we kissed. Now I have no idea, why or how it stroke me but right after that I said with a big grin “you know I had H1N1 during Christmas...” took a drag from my cigarette and kept on smiling.

Then she pushed me slightly moved back a little and said “what's that? Is that that swine flu they've been talking on the news?” I casually said “yeah” and went on explaining how I had to wear a mask on the airplane etc etc but you should have seen her face.

I meant no harm, I didn't do it to upset her or anything and definitely I wouldn't do it to pass that on to her. But her face was more like “eww...and I just took a drag from your cigarette, let alone kissed you...you pig infected bearded unmasked weirdo.” At least that's what I read on her face. Then she said “if I have any symptoms in the recent future I'll know who to blame!” or something like that. As far as my face is concerned I bet it read, in a tipsy way, “yup I got to wear a mask on an airplane and the guy who was sitting next to me when the plane took off left and went to sit elsewhere and I got to have a full 6 hours sleep. How cool is that?”

We stopped talking a couple of months after that, guess we had nothing really in common apart from drinking, music and boredom.

On the bright side of things, as I said before, I got an internship of some sort and I'm waiting for a reply from another magazine. We have a gig on the 11th of November which by the looks of it, it does seem promising and on the 6th of December or something like that it's the graduation for my M.A degree. Now I'm off to bed and remember: learn to walk then run, don't tell a girl you just kissed you had H1N1 and Jesus Christ is waiting to high-five you at your local church so don't leave him hanging. Till the next time, bababooee and keep goofing it up.

FLIPPIN IN PHILIPPINES WITH A GUY NAMED PHILIP

Bad guys don't listen to real bad ass songs and ugly girls with hot friends won't introduce them to you because they think that they'll get prettier if they don't. Oh and before I begin, it's true that the grass can always be greener but that, only, away from the city, unless your mayor's doing a nice job with the parks.

It's been a long time but I had nothing to talk about and I was really busy doing other stuff like searching for a job and trying to do something productive with my time, hands and mind. Since nothing much have changed and it wouldn't be even remotely appropriate for the time and for me to sing “I CAN CHANGE THE WORLD WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS” . But after spending some time chugging water, smoking and listening to g-rap and in general bad ass songs I came up with this entry. So sit back, cuddle your teddy bear and read what I have to say.

I was searching for a job till I got a phone call from my uncle who told me that he knows a guy who owns a journalistic website and he'd like to meet me and discuss about a potential hiring. After calling up the guy and talking for half an hour or so, he gave me his office's address and we set up a meeting. At this point I'd like to add that I'm not very familiar with the centre of Athens, the bad areas etc apart from a couple.

So, on Thursday morning I dress up accordingly for a job interview and I set off. I get to the street where his office is supposed to be and start walking upwards to find the right number. I start walking through a park and five or six steps further in that park I hear “psst hey big guy...” and on the right and left of me junkies. Others sleeping, others talking, other bargaining and others shooting. I don't turn around and keep on walking. Further down I see a guy laid down his face pale white and his lips light purple to blue. Then some others started walking my way arguing with eachother so I considered appropriate to go at the other side of the park. Now don't imagine a big spacious park where you can walk around carelessly. It's a small beat down park and when I say I went to the other side I just switched sides and crossed over a little flower bed. That's when I passed by the guy I mentioned earlier who was looking fresher than Pauly D. From Jersey Shore.

I finally make it to the guy's office and we talk for an hour. After some getting to know each other talk and other different kind of small talk, he tells me to check his journalistic website and asks me to call him on Tuesday. Fingers crossed this will go alright.

So... “real bad/ tough guys don't listen to bad ass songs”. Take Rocky for example. He wasn't listening to gansta rap when he was training. Instead he was listening to the “Eye of the tiger” in which the lead singer's voice can go so high that instantly it makes it no bad ass at all. “Bad ass” songs these days consist of deep voices, threats, money, guns and maybe sometimes even some one getting “clicked”. Another example of a bad ass guy who didn't listen to bad ass music was John McClain. In fact the only bad ass song for John McClain is this one



Well to get to the bottom of this, the notion we have today about what's bad ass and what is not is really ridiculous and it wears out after high-school. The best example is a couple guys from my high-school that were the epitomy of cool back in the days but now no one has a clue where they are, what they're doing and very few are those who can say with certainty that they have accomplished something in their lives. So watching Scooby-Doo and porn and reading books is bad ass as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, point number 2 that I'd like to make is that girls and guys with limited potential in getting laid because of their looks, won't meet you to their pretty friends and if they do then expect the world to come to an end any time soon.

Bye for now.

P.S: FLIPPIN IN PHILIPPINES WITH A GUY NAMED PHILIP

In My Parallel Universe I Bet I Would Have Gotten Laid

Well it's been over a month now that I'm practically and officially done with any University work and I couldn't be happier, well actually I could be if that girl from last night that talked to me hadn't been dragged away by her boyfriend after him giving me a dirty look. But since this is going to look like another diary entry, let's take things from the scratch shall we.

Last night my friends who have a band and allow me to dick around with them and pretend I'm part of the group, played a live acoustic set at this bar. Well we played a 30 minutes acoustic set and it went below average at the point where the chatters from the crowd were over-taking our music. The only upper was that it seemed like they liked my intro song which is a completely stupid 30 seconds song saying “yes” and then a long “ooooo”.

Well after we finished playing, we hang around to see the other guys play their set and have a couple of drinks. The other guys' set was quite amazing. They had a guy doing beat-box, they were dancing, they played katy perry and other dance songs and they managed to fill the bar. At some point they even squirt the crowd with a water pistol.

Anyway, as we were outside of the bar getting beers and ouzo from the corner shop at some point I went inside to use the toilette. The guys who were playing were done and most of the crowd was either on the street or had left. I go to the toilette and lock the door. As I'm half way done, I hear two loud bangs on the toilette door. I finish peeing and I open the door.

There was a girl standing there and a pretty one too staring at me. I ask her in Greek why she was banging on the door and she says in English “sorry I don't speak Greek”. Then as a gentleman I am, I apologize and open the door wide open for her and tell her to come in first and then I'd leave. She says “no you first” and I insist. Long story short she gets hesitantly in the toilette staring at me as I walk out. And when I say “staring at me” I mean that stare of “I hope he won't jump on me and rape me” kind of stare.

I go outside and tell my friends wondering if I actually look like the kind of guy who would rape or even force finger bang a girl in the toilette of some bar. 30 minutes after that conversation with my friends and a bit drunker I feel someone tapping my shoulder. I turn around and it was her. She was way drunker than she was when she was in toilette but not pass out drunk. I think she was on the same level of drunkness with me.

Anyway, I say hi, again as a gentleman I am and she says “you're the guy from the toilette” or something like that. I agree and for some weird reason we start touching hands and talking. I've no idea why we started touching hands. And when I say talking I mean exchanging two sentences more. At that moment I'm pretty content with myself when a guy comes and grabs her from her waist and tell her to leave, leaving me standing there as she says “bye”.

But then on the other hand there was this other gilf, I mean girl, I also liked. She was wearing jean shorts, some kind of weird combat boots, a baggy short white t-shirt and a trucker hat and her name hopefully wasn't Bob.

Now, I'm sitting here typing this because I have nothing better to do hence the blogging and smoking. Now that you read my story you can all go back to what you were doing and I'm going to go back and play some playstation 3 and then some guitar.

Bye.

I'm Searching For A Job

You can get a job to quit a job and make money to waste money to go to that job and get a girl and eat food together and get energy so you can be happy the next day at your job.

Small Entry About Stuff

Well, I can't see the point of listening to slow love songs when down. At least not anymore. I used to when I was 15, I used to listen to all the mellow music a man in a mellow/blue mood could ask for, but not anymore. Unless I can relate to the song or it's a “love” issue that brings me down.

See a couple of years ago, might be three, a friend of mine told me that over thinking situations and things can be a major problem. Obviously that friend, was over thinking things and analyzing others way too much, quite like me. But I'm of the opinion that if you're going to do something, then do it right. So, one night over thinking my blue moods and my “cravings” when ever I feel blue to listen to mellow/love songs, I came to the conclusion that listening to slow love songs when I'm down is pointless cause I don't have a girlfriend and if I had one I would cuddle/have sex and OBVIOUSLY talk with her (just in case you were going to judge me)instead of listening to slow love songs alone OR listen to slow songs about heart-breaks again is pointless cause I'm not heart-broken.

So all and all I can't relate and it's stupid trying to relate cause these songs “mourn” or “praise” something completely irrelevant from what I feel when I'm down. It's like laughing out loud to a joke that someone from the group of people next to you at the bar said and completely ignoring the joke your friend said. Or bursting out laughing at a funeral and say cripple jokes at a disabled person's house. Maybe not quite the same but you see where I'm coming from with this. RIDING YOUR BICYCLE OPPOSITE THE ΟΝCOMING TRAFFIC FLOW IS WRONG AND YOU'RE GOING TO GET HURT nick.

P.S: Chicken wings and bbq ribs just get in my belly. I'll come back with a longer entry hopefully sometime soon. This one was cause someone told me you guys missed me.

Airports And Apple-Pies

Well, it seems that once you get used to something and you start to like it, then that something must leave and be replaced with something else that will take a couple of years to get used to and once you do then it'll leave again.

A flight from Athens to U.K, more specifically Newcastle or Manchester, takes up to 4 hours. Plus the waiting at the airport if your flight's not direct, say 6 or 7 hours. Terminals, passport checks, coffee, security check. All these seem so tedious but after the third time flying then you get used to them.

You get used to the loud always happy Americans with their huge back-packs and their face full of excitement cause they made it in Europe. They finally left their glass world and huge everythings and landed in a different reality. You get used to the straight-faced Germans and their creepy laughter. You get used to the French who will smile politely but won't speak any other language but French and when they do speak English then you hit Jackpot. You get used to the Greeks who will always talk about everything and everyone in their company will know everything about anything. You get used to the English, either getting dressed for a fashion show when at the airport, or in those tacky t-shirts with their nick-names on the back and their destination country. Tags so they can remember where they're going.

You get used to the expensive beer and meals. The different prices and the crappy burgers. The nice coffee and all the shops with all the touristic meaningless stuff that to me are there just to be there. The happy couples, the uncomfortable couches and chairs, the businessmen in fancy suits with one hand being the extension of their phone and the second of their briefcase. If they could they'd stick a 3rd one somewhere on the rib-cage area.

You get used to the questions: "How's England?!" "It's different, still there and floating", "How's London?!", "I don't think I like it, but I've only been there once or twice" "What's Amsterdam like?!", "I don't know I've only seen the airport but the airport's nice", "What's Newcastle like?!", "Different from Athens, I like it, you should go", "Why don't you stay there?! What are you thinking coming back here it's a shithole". Well guess I'm falling for shitholes. I hate this place but sometimes I love it and it feels like this place only hates me. That's passion right there right?

I still have a big blue suitcase right outside my front door, a red one outside my room where Chester sleeps on and has covered with cat hair and one down at the basement. It feels nice doing something for yourself and finish it. Just like masturbation but with lessons to be learned in the between and memories. It doesn't matter how it starts or how it ends. All that matters is the in between. Just like in apple-pies.

That Shinny Big Spot On The Top Of Your Head

I'm 500 words or so away from finishing the first part of my final project which from how it looks like, it's going surprisingly well and will be finished right when I set the deadline for it. Now that's a surprise for me as I have the tendency to leave things for the very last minute/second and clown around in the meantime.

Anyway, with this entry, since I'm only 500 words away from completing the first stage of a project that has to be handed in on the 19th of August, I will stick to the tradition that follows me since high-school and waste some time writing this entry.

As I was looking for more information for my essay on the internet, on news websites, porn sites and petting a big elephant with a beak who was standing on my left, I came to the realization that, from what I've witnessed my whole time since I got back, bald dudes have hot girlfriends or when they hang out they have this coolness that no one can come even close to.


My hair started thinning on the sides a while back so I stayed up all night petrified trying to remember if I had any bald uncles or grandparents from my mother's side (cause that's where you get the baldness from) and I didn't. Thank god for that.

Anyway, as I was saying, bald guys seem to be the new hip. The new ponny-tail kind of guys of the late 80's/ 90's. I still don't want to get bald and I still hope not to get bald, unless going bald goes hand in hand with superpowers like being ridiculously attractive or a 100% chick-magnet. Like you're driving in a shinny red convertible car of the latest fashion with brown leather seats, a gold chain on your chest, an unbuttoned black silk shirt and a big cigar in your mouth. You and your bald spot. Maybe a mustache too. But on the other hand I still don't want that as that makes you look like a 50 year old super rich pervert hanging outside high-schools.

Like A Mother In The Delivery Room Giving Birth To A Snotty Little Brat

Well, let me tell you something, to whoever reads this: you'll always be miserable if you don't kill that stuck up brat that lives inside you. That snotty little kid that doesn't want to go out and play because can't face the fact of a maybe loss. No matter where you are and where you live. The only way to happiness is the murder of that little shit.

Now that I got you scared and thinking that I'm either high, delusional, pretentious or whatever you want to call it I'll talk to you about someone that I used to call my friend and wasted too many words on.

Well, let's just say that he (might be a she) wanted always to win. Wanted always to be the best in everything and he was in a way. He always had the perfect hair, best fashion sense, always listened to the perfect for the time kind of music and always had a couple of girls running behind him and boosting his ego even when he was down. Now, some would say that even when he was down it was all pretend for a much bigger ego-boost by others. But either way his techniques seemed to work just fine.

But time flies by so fast and so high kind of like a G6 ( yup just like the song) that the things you considered important and cool when you were 15 or 16 when you hit 20's they've become meaningless and silly. Long story short all he got now to make him (her) feel important is a bunch of objects as trying to figure out what went wrong.

That arrogant little kid still lives inside him (her), no matter how grown up he looks or likes to act and it shows in every move he makes no matter how grown up that move might be. As far as I'm concerned I'm trying to kill that fuck for a couple of months now and the operation is going pretty well. It's mutilated but not down yet.

Right, I'm out to take a shower cause summer makes me sweat like a future mother in the delivery room and if it wasn't for aircondition systems I'd have lost 4 kilos in liquid. Till next time bababooee and keep goofing it up.