Gorgeous Alien

The tablecloth is damp. No matter..sit outside and enjoy the smell of rain on freshly cut grass..lose at virtual poker and run out of games to play..look up sewing classes..don't book any..you know you're never going to actually sew, don't you?..stare into your cinnamon tea for an eternity, witness it get cold, colder, then really cold..reminisce on the taste of sugar..take a deep breath..wet grass smells like watermelon from your balcony..it always has...
Reassess, it's a favorite pastime..revisit your bank account, anonymous donations aren't unheard of..daydream, at night;it's important..donate some of the fake donation you just received, get rid of your virtual guilt..and now travel.
Travel without bags, with no emotional luggage..go to mars and meet a gorgeous alien..forget about men with fake yellow teeth who dare disappoint you..audacity..what a fab word! Savor it..roll it onto your tongue and enjoy it, just like you enjoy all words..you keep running from words but words keep following you..what an adventure..the thrill of a chase and the volatility of an abstraction..you recently even had a dream complete with a word to explain it..even your dreams now come with a title, with a label, with the utter stupidity of confinement..inescapable confinement..you've tried, but you are confined..the less you say it, the more pressured you feel to admit it..the past is just not easy to escape..a horrendous task with no aids, none in your present anyway..
Tidy up your living room, it's said to lift up spirits..go back to your balcony and light your cig...look up to the sky, witness the passage of a machine..pretend it's a shooting star and wish for mars, for your gorgeous alien and his pearly teeth..

White Noise

Wake up at 3 am, thirsty, disoriented..Take a look at your phone, nasty habit..In your drowsy state, foolishly decide to answer that blinking message..Believe you are capable of summoning reason, that water will magically reinstate your mental abilities..

Using Facebook as a notepad is my new level of lazy; I’ve been breaking record times on social media lately in fact. I clicked the one thousand’s like on some random post from a random publisher on the site a couple of weeks ago, and it sincerely felt like the highlight of that night for me. 

Aside from procrastination, I have recently found a sudden interest in superheroes and fairy tales. When series, movies and books started failing to fill those humongous voids in me, I turned back to the oldest trick in the book, daydreaming. 

Daydreaming isn’t an easy task when charming princes and farfetched fortunes stop being fulfilling. Beyond that point, daydreaming becomes an art in its own, it starts requiring chunks of imagination sprinkled with intellect and a shy sense of adventure. It’s hard to break free from clichés in this field. It takes absolute, irrefutable boredom to push yourself in the direction of making art out of what you’d always taken for granted. Suddenly you start focusing on your imaginary expedition and before you know it, you realize it has taken a life of its own; it needs to be nourished now. 

But what is art’s worth without a muse? And what’s the definition of a muse if not a torturous creature voluntarily subjecting you to mind games and psychological disconcertion? A muse has swag but does not realize it. It knows it has got something over you, but is unable to label it, for if you knew what swag is, then you probably don’t have it. 

Usually, the fact that someone is interesting doesn’t automatically make me interested. But in some rare cases, you may be the most boring or neutral person to the rest of humanity, but to me you’d be the incarnation of some sort of cerebral heaven hemorrhaging intellectual stimuli and heartbreaking inducements.

Am I too lyrical tonight? It’s the muse effect. 

One of daydreaming’s many side effects includes an obsession with finding the best way to manufacture heels for mermaids, because yes, there are many, many ways to do it. It also starts seeping into your regular dreams, the kind you involuntarily have while sleeping. Combining your newfound daydreaming habit with an insatiable taste for independent movies might also increase your chances of having nightmares versus pleasant dreams, well unless you don’t consider the fact that you had deprived children of available noses when they needed them in your dreams as vicious. 

Stop by the grocery store on your way home..Get basil, you need to fix yourself a cocktail as soon as you step into your place..Pick an energy drink on your way out from the fridge next to the register..It’s raining..Stand under the rain, sipping a Red Bull, and decide to revisit the nonsense you had typed at 3 am last night..Cheese, all of it, cheese..

I started counting on my new hobby to get me through the days. It felt like an automatic approach to compensate for the infuriating way my soul is being eaten every day. It felt right to let the daydreaming take over while I, little by little, lost my ability to defend the remains of my worn-out soul. 

Creative daydreaming can only last for so long though. When the candlelight flickering on top of your muse’s head gets blown out by unexpected winds, you start giving up on the very lifeboat you’d began to rely on to save you from the oblivion of giving up in the first place. 

The best way to save face is to explain how your senses were clouded by midnight thirst..That’s what your silly mind, fuelled by the flying effect of energy drinks tells you at least..Trust your contaminated instincts and type..

It’s about time you acknowledged your defeat. You are just as boring and pathetic as they come. Temporary brilliant solutions or none, you have failed in the end. 

Cheese..More cheese..Who are you really? No really! 

Go home, resigned..laugh your daydreaming out..Build an imaginary shrine of the muse in your head..Decide that the best fashion to drown your sorrow is older than the oldest trick..Make cocktails, you’re becoming good at those at least..

*Author’s note: this dismantled, devoid of any - and I mean any - sense or purpose, is brought to you tonight by Jack Daniels, DeKuyper and Davidoff.

The Hiker Dude

I want to make this a modern fairytale, but I can’t. Because it’s not. Because it won’t be. But because I believe in the magic of words, I will retain them in here and hope the readers who have been asking for a drop of something positive will enjoy.

Just for the spirit of enchantment, I will begin this with a once upon a time…

Once upon a time, I met a guy. We will call him the Hiker. Or the Hiker Dude. Yeah, the Hiker Dude sounds much better. When I first looked at him, I was lying down. But in the blink of an eye, I felt elated. It wasn’t his dreamy blue eyes, but his dreamy words that transported me to some sort of cloud. Anyone who knows me, or has ever read me, knows I have a special relationship with words (alas not tonight though, I am here typing because I can’t concentrate on a book I’ve been wanting to read for 10 years and finally found, so don’t expect any poetic sentences from the tips of these fingers tonight, but do keep yourself ready for some of the Hiker Dude’s magic nonetheless). His words opened the door to some much needed daydreaming, at night. He didn’t even have to make an effort, his words just flowed out of him, and he struck me as oblivious to his own powers. He probably isn’t, but he was humble about it in any case. All he did was tell me a bit about him. The more I asked, the more answers he provided, and I felt I could keep on asking forever. I felt as if my thirst could not be quenched, but I had to stop at some point and get back down to my terrestrial couch, sadly enough. 

A sentence here and a detail there. A fact here and a joke there. And a mighty, graceful stitch between all those elements was all it took to bewitch me. He didn’t say much, but at the end he didn’t have to. He didn’t try hard, and he didn’t have to either. There was subtlety, agility and elegance to all his descriptions. And that helped engrave his words in my memory somehow. The following may not be a completely accurate account of his portrayals, chronologically speaking or vocabulary wise, but it’s the best my brain can come up with on memory. I am going to be as loyal as humanly possible to his discourse, and I hope you will enjoy it…The Hiker’s words: 

“Let's see here, I currently live on the Hawaiian island of Kauai but am moving much closer to you, to where we are right now, soon… I am looking for awesomeness… I travel often, hike, camp, backpack, and go on all kinds of adventures... I am the oldest of 5 and I am very tight with my siblings… I work hard. I play hard. Sometimes I don't play hard if I find a great show to marathon on Netflix… I hold great value in the connections with my close friends… I like to play scrabble and am largely undefeated… I build things; it's very gratifying. I can fix anything. If I cannot fix it then I will destroy any evidence that I ever tried to… I will hold the door open… I love dogs. I love cats if they behave like dogs. I wish I were half the man my dogs think I am...Mountains and water are a primal requirement to live near. That last sentence did not begin with "I"… I just made a couch that has been nicknamed the "comacouch"...I'm addicted to frequent flier miles. I like to make up stories about people I watch at the airport. I tinker... French press coffee is my favorite... My favorite color is green and it has nothing to do with pot or money… I am protective over my favorite spoon. I used to be a vegan who loved meat... I maintain eye contact. I listen. I plan on being spontaneous and sometimes spontaneously plan... I do my own taxes and wonder why… I am on a first name basis with REI… My favorite wine comes from New Zealand... I am the opposite of clumsy. I stay up late and get up early… I know a lot of really bad and offensive jokes… CAKE wrote a song about my dream woman... Yard sales and treasure hunting are oodles of fun... I use a check register... I have a face. I love life and all the challenges it presents to let me experience the full spectrum of it... I look forward to meeting someone who is down to Earth but can go to outer space as well. I am wanting to find the woman to spend every day with and have some little ones and dogs.”

Is it just me or do those bits and pieces sewn together make him perfect? And for those of you who are wondering, I concur, he does have a face indeed. Not that I am incapable of imagining such a dreamy character on my own, but aside from the words, I’d probably mess it up, and he most definitely won’t be a hiker. He’s real though, too real if you ask me. 

And just when I thought he couldn’t be any more perfect, he took a piercing, immaculate look at me, and then proceeded to satisfy his own curiosity with a bunch of silly little questions. No more than 5 minutes later, he took out his notebook, and he wrote an impressive introduction about me, one that my oldest friends probably, no definitely, couldn’t come up with if they tried. The following is a very accurate copy of what the Hiker scribbled down that night about me, someone he had barely just met. It looks like a newspaper ad or maybe an out of this world CV intro. I love it. I will cherish that entry forever.

“My name is Mimi and it is a nickname for… Why you would just have to find that out won't you!... I love to read and am quite the bookworm… As an Aquarius I have a thirst for knowledge as well as a thirst to know why I have a thirst for knowledge...  I also possess some very powerful eyes. If I meet you in person I will be able to see your soul on the edges of them.  If you are not worthy then you will turn to stone but if you are, then you will melt into a puddle of joy… I work in a cutthroat industry but I like to leave my work at work and be more of myself when I'm at home. Sometimes that is difficult to do so I write a blog which helps ease the tension between my two worlds... I like big sunglasses, big earrings, and red.  I like red because it is the color of passion and I am in fact a passionate person…  I have a need for dynamic conversation and witty stimuli. If anyone has ever called you a dialtone, then please keep moving along...I work very hard and I like what I do… I also like to play hard to offset my career challenges. I have a primal need to be compelled….so compel me!”

Do not ask me where all this is coming from. Do not ask me who the Hiker Dude is. Do not ask me anything in fact. Just read those entries, appreciate them; appreciate one man’s talent and one woman’s inspiration. Leave it all behind you. Get over it. Get over it just like I am. Hold on to the fleeting optimism in those sentences. Preserve the memory of those blue eyes you have never seen but you’ve so often imagined while reading their creations. Don’t take any of it to the next level, for the next level simply does not exist. Be grateful you’ve reached the cloud, stop aiming for the outer space, at least for tonight, in respect of those of us who are disillusioned and don’t dare expect anymore. Sadly so, but rightfully so. Good night.

The Myth of the Paper Bag and How to Mop the Floor Without a Mop

Fall asleep on the balcony, feeling drained, empty..regret, then remind yourself it was your choice, your own conscious mistakes..Send 3 am messages canceling your morning appointments, and roll around in sheets you must change in the morning..Wake up from a timeless slumber, regret again, and then laugh at your regret philosophy..Try to think about random stuff to get your mind off of your own stupidity, let your mind wander and realize how random your memories really are and how your unconscious chooses to amuse itself..it takes you back to your second or maybe third supermarket trip in DC, to those very first bits of disillusion when you figured out that the use of paper bags in the States is just a myth and that you should've known better than to trust carefully scripted movies..you remember how you had wished your best friends were there to laugh hysterically at you as you googled "how to mop the floor without a mop" because for the life of you, you couldn't figure out how to use those complicated tools to clean their floors, you couldn't wrap your head around the fact that even things as trivial as mops would change now and that you had to adapt, sooner or later, one way or another..your phone rings, and you snap out of the aimless thoughts' vagabondage you had just force subjected upon brains already heavy with worries and doubts crushing a tremendous layer of dreams,passions and an abundance of unrequited love..it's time for your dreadfully lonely Sunday rituals to kick in..Cook, clean, do the laundry, notice a print on the wall, wonder why the shower curtain just fell off, smoke a cigarette or two or twelve in the sun, decide the word "zapping " is worth being googled one more time, make sure you are thoroughly right scientifically, man up and admit your defeat socially..miss your friends, call them, top off their burdens and make sure you shower them with virtual kisses before hanging up..shed a tear or two..look in the mirror, pity yourself..try to get out of the afternoon housewarming party you are invited to, fail..change the towels, take a shower, grab some fruits, get dressed up, look in the mirror, pity him..apply some lipstick, climb on those heels, go to the grocery store, grab some chips, grab some beer, call a cab, wait too long, cancel your ride, apologize to your friends, go back home, grab a book, head out to the coffee shop, try to read, fail to focus..recall your reputation for the zero amount of fucks you tend to give, send a telepathic apology to your best friend, text again, then regret it, and then remember your regret philosophy, and then laugh at it..grab your phone again, start pounding on the screen furiously, hope your battery doesn't die on you, write an article in your blog using your phone for the first time, be conscious you are treating it like a text, remember who was the first person to separate his text sentences to you with two dots, try to overcome the fact that you can't re edit this post, that you probably invented words along the way, that those capital letters simply don't exist tonight..think of the handprint again, realize that in spite of the torment it's causing you, it got you writing again, and it got you to do it more freely, more spontaneously, and ever more regrettably..look at that bird staring at you, and blame yourself for never learning how to be moderate, especially about your attractions, which you now think of as fatal..think about deleting the whole article, then remember your reputation and click publish..

Paris Paris!

It has been months since my trip to Paris, but I’ve been so taken with my move to the US that I never really had the time or the inspiration to give that beautiful city its right in my blog.

I was there to witness the celebrations on the National Day Commemoration at the Champs de Mars, I melted in the crowds in front of a fully lit Eiffel Tower, and then I went to meet my friends on what I will dub a pub trottoir in Montparnasse. While waiting there sipping blond beer and begging the waiter for more water, I took endless notes on my Paris experience, but alas, perfume spilled over the notebook in my purse and they are now lost in a multicolor aquarelle, but the memory remains. The details are awfully stained, but the big picture stands still in my head as I recall my long walks and my countless metro rides. 

My first surprise in Paris was to see people drinking more beer than wine. Could have been the summertime effect. In any case, I had no problem with that at all, because try as might, I still hate wine, and I will take beer over it anytime. And sure enough I tried wine again there for like the umpteenth time, but my answer is still no, my taste buds just reject it, even in Paris!

Paris for me was a parade of hunchbacked elders, warm suburban people and tourist processions. It was a carnival of the cutest little flowery balconies and the greenest boulevards I ever came to see. The wow effect was omnipresent throughout all the complicated trajectories I had to take, be it at something as monumental as the spectacular museums and churches, or while digging for little treasures at the Vanves flee market.

I stayed in Paris for a total of 11 days at my best friend’s apartment. I really couldn’t have asked for a more welcoming couple than her and her husband. They both made my trip a memorable one in all aspects, and I am forever grateful for having hearts big enough to share the sweetest little place in the whole of France with me. The apartment overlooked a huge breathtaking park that housed two schools and sunbathers at the same time. It was just beautiful!

Before I continue, let me get this out of my system: I was so unbelievably disappointed with the Eiffel Tower. For me, it was just a bunch of rusting metal that isn’t even that big. I know all the historical importance of the tour and everything, still, I wasn’t impressed, and I didn’t even bother waiting in that impossible queue to go up there. Otherwise, Paris was awesome!

Awesome for its magnificent architecture, minus Tour Eiffel. Awesome for the live music blasting in metro stations and on the sidewalks. For the familiar smell of fresh bread out of the countless boulangeries. For all the art pinning the walls and bridges surrounding the whole river Seine scene. For the bicycles on every corner and in every street. For high schools bathing in greenery and the newspaper stands wherever you walk. And most of all, for Montmartre and Place Pigalle.

Paris reeks of history, of marble statues and of chemically challenged monuments. I was shocked to find out on my first day that during summer, this city’s days become so long, but I learned soon enough to turn that fact to my advantage. I also learned that one euro practically has no value in Paris and that Charles de Gaulle airport seriously needs a better service department. I roamed Paris like a labyrinth, stopping by for meals of crepes and gauffre in colorful kiosks and never learning how to mask my stupid smile every time I saw a Lebanese restaurant.

Paris is the land of unisex hair salons and obnoxiously old, decaying nail polish on dirty fingers. It is the land of misplaced, odd McDonalds and problematic parking system. But it’s also the land of pedestrians, of respected disabled people, and of the Quartier Latin, housing the most inspiring bookstores and music libraries.

I fell in love with the little stores crammed in the metro, with the Moroccan corner stores and with the diversity Paris can offer you. I quickly realized how easier it was to negotiate with immigrants, especially when it came to ridiculously overpriced souvenirs.

Paris wasn’t as romantic as I had expected, but it made up for it with its Pont des Arts, with those beautiful engraved locks and with the Chinese couple taking their wedding photos at the Trocadero.  

I must admit I was baffled with the pubs and restaurants’ systems, which I would describe as bizarre at best, but it is part of what makes Paris interesting, of what makes me believe I would never be bored if I were to live there. I would still argue again again for my right to hold my drink in hand while walking inside a restaurant, I mean what kind of rule is that??

Paris in brief is the taste of the traditional versus that of the exaggerated. That sentence would sound a lot better in French, le gout du traditionel et celui de l’exagere, but it’s an English blog, and for that I am currently sorry.

If you are ever in Paris, you must pay attention not get robbed, pickpocketing is huge in the metro, and you also shouldn’t expect to hear Edith Piaff’s voice anywhere. Contrary to my logical prospects, the national events along with the pubs and clubs would only offer you English tunes for some reason.

Public cleanliness was a bit of an issue for me, I mean I never knew that I would ever see anything such as dry shampoo until I browsed Parisian supermarket shelves. I would also advise you against using museum bathrooms even if it puts you at risk of peeing your pants in the Louvres. Trust me when I tell you that it will feel less disgusting than using those restrooms.

I don’t wish to end this article on such revolting notes, which is why I will revert to the subject of friends. Once again I would like to extend my endless gratefulness towards the couple who was gracious enough to host me, and to all the lovely friends I was fortunate enough to make during my memorable trip!

To Paris, until we meet again…