What’s on the menu?

Restaurant goers can all agree that visiting a place for the first time can be stressful. Will my party be seated near the restroom? What will the atmosphere be like? Will candles be used to induce romance even if I’m sitting by myself? What will they serve? Whatever it is, will it be fresh? Will it cause an allergic reaction or something worse? Will my neighbors be chatty and loud? Am I going to crave all the dishes served to everyone else except for mine? Will my co-diners eat their greasy meals with their fingers? Should I give them the green light to do so? Should I pretend to know how to use the knife and fork together? Must I feign a laugh and quickly glance over at my neighbors to see if they’re listening to my conversation with myself? Is alcohol a necessity to help alleviate the symptoms of e-coli poisoning? Did everyone enjoy what they ordered? What’s for dessert? Is dessert necessary after four appetizers, two entrees and the bread basket of initiation? Where is the check? Why are the waiters smiling so cunningly as they bring me the bill? Should I leave a tip on a meal, the cost of which could’ve fed the whole restaurant (including the nosy neighbors)? Is the tip already included under a clever service charge pseudonym? Do I leave cash or credit? Do I use my nice signature or scribble whatever letters I can remember after the brutal consumption of alcohol? Should I leave smiling if the service was bad or tell those poor bus-boys the truth and threaten deportation? Do I recommend this place to anyone else or keep it as my special secret? Am I the only one with these thoughts throughout the whole duration of dinner?

Sin-sational

I’ve recently been informed that the bad behavior a person exudes is not his fault, but the fault of some demon inhabiting the poor bastard’s soul. There is the demon of sloth, which makes us behave like koalas. There’s the green-eyed witch called envy which forces us to resent those in possession of something we crave. There is a gluttonous little devil making us consume everything in sight and make up excuses for it. And so on. Next time you notice yourself exhibiting the signs of improper conduct don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s not you, it’s them. Don't judge others too harshly. The subway molestor is probably having an inner struggle with his lust incubus as he gropes you from behind. In some cases there may be a few buggers co-existing in one person. I counted all my “flaws” and estimated that at any given moment around five close, personal friends (that’s what I consider them to be) are at the controls of my aircraft, give or take some occasional visitors (like when I have a psychotic screaming episode out of the blue). Sorry ladies it’s not PMS, it’s anger rearing its ugly red face with red eyes.

How could this be? Are we not the operators of our own machinery? Are we only driven by lust, gluttony, anger, pride, envy and greed (I will exclude sloth because there’s no drive there at all) interrupted by the occasional bathroom breaks? I don’t know for sure so lets take a look at the evidence, shall we?

Do you want to eat all the food in your fridge? No. Do you eat it anyway because it looks lonely? Yes.
Do you want to hit a wealthy, gorgeous person in the face? No. Do you do it anyway? Yes.
Do you think you’re the best person in the whole world? No. Do you act like you are? Yes.

The proof is astounding. Someone is forcing you to do things you don’t wish to do.

The good news? There is a way to get rid of your inner devils by making their life a living hell (you like that?) The way to go about it is by exorcising (not exercising so don’t worry sloths) the demons. Kind of like overthrowing a dictator.

Please contact your local religious advisor for more information.

Paranoia

The problem with being popular is that someone is always stalking you and/or trying to kill you.
Thankfully I am not popular and yet I still feel like I’m being stalked. I try my best to avoid the prying eyes. They’re everywhere I go. I get on the train, the bus or I walk the streets and cannot escape the glares I get from people. They scare me and I want to shield myself form them. I wear large black sunglasses. This helps except you can still see my eyes and the last thing I want the person staring at me to know is that I’m staring right back at them. Also the only time sunglasses can be worn are on a sunny day or if you’re blind. How unfair that the blind get double protection! They are walking around not knowing they’re being stared at and on top of that they wear sunglasses as if at any given moment their eyesight can pop back on at the push of some button. I also started wearing a cap, not just any cap but a Yankees cap. It’s pink! This backfired because now I have people looking at me thinking that I’m a hardcore Yankee fan when in reality I’m more of a cover my head from all the Yankee fans fan. The third measure of protection I’ve taken is to just simply run away. If I don’t like the way you are giving me the once-over I will run and make you look foolish. Once I missed my stop on the train just so the person who was staring at me can get off and I wouldn’t have to get off with them and have them continue to stare at me as we exit the subway. Instead I went an extra stop and was 20 minutes late for work because of it.

Does this smell like lunacy? I think not! For all you know the person who is staring at you is also thinking the worst possible evil thoughts and they’re all aimed at you. The people who stare at you never stare kindly but always seem to have an evil grin and I’m sure they’re not thinking about what to have for dinner either. I can’t speak for everyone but I personally do not like those evil eyes with their evil thoughts pointed anywhere near my direction. On some occasions I wanted to come up to the culprit and say: What are you looking at?” or more importantly “what are you thinking?” but I’m too afraid of them answering: “You’re the one with the huge black glasses and a pink Yankees hat you suspicious freak!” They would of course be right. Who am I to demand answers when I’m hidden behind glasses and a hat?

Close encounters

Alien abductions are not bullshit! They do occur. I am of the opinion that we’ve all been abducted at least once in our lives. Sometimes they take you back for the second time if they enjoyed the jokes you’ve been telling them while on the operating table. “Did you hear the one about the aliens?” No? Let me fill you in.” They must have a sense of humor and it better be more evolved than ours. That’s some serious pressure to live up to their expectations. I don’t know about you but I’ve been throwing together some materials just in case they unexpectedly arrive so I won’t be caught off guard. As soon as I see flashing lights outside my window I’m gonna grab my folder full of provocative, cutting-edge entertainment specifically tailored to alien tastes and start waving frantically to signal that I’m ready.  I bet they’ll be so surprised! The last guy they visited was shocked, scared and even tried to run. "What’s wrong with this woman?" they’ll think. She looks like she’s genuinely interested to come aboard. Well, third window from the right, come on down! Once I’m up there I will give them some good old American names and start utilizing my time in (under) the spotlight the right way.
Upon my return I will be a local celebrity. “How was it up there?" "It was alright". "What did you guys talk about?" "Politics and religion, the two safest topics".

After my trip it will be established that aliens are benevolent and people will be hanging all kinds of posters outside their houses to attract attention. PLEASE TAKE ME WITH YOU I GOT NOTHING GOING ON HERE will be sold at every grocery store on the block. The aliens will be sorry they came in the first place. Their plan of secretly abducting us for medical research is seriously being tempered with. They are now viewed as a ride at an amusement park. They will become agitated but then mellow out. Who are these creatures so easily willing to abandon their planet and go through a million light years of immigration, learn a new way of communication through their belly buttons and marry out of their species when their parents specifically narrowed it down to a white, Jehovah’s Witness?
Our planet will become the most visited in the whole universe! Whoever came will fly away spreading the word that these people need to be observed because "nowhere else will you find a more peculiar and fascinating place as Earth" (according to the Twilight Zone narrator).

A touch of optimism

It turns out that most of my writing is misconstrued as being overly pessimistic. I admit that I’m a glass half-empty kind of gal but if the audience requests a healthy dose of jolliness who am I to say no?

It just so happens that I saw a bunch of “optimistic” shows on the History channel about 2012, doomsday, and the 5 million ways the Earth can seize to exist so I am in the perfect frame of mind to regurgitate something positive and motivational.

I would like to start off by saying that life is great. It really is. Even if you’re a homeless, disease-ridden sucker, there is hope for you yet. My problem is that I am annoyed all the time. I can’t stand most people, places and the overall state of affairs. The obvious solution has been staring me in the face all along- stop watching the History Channel! That shit can really do a number on your psyche. After being informed that the Earth will end in 2012 what’s my motivation to get out of bed? None, zero. I wanna lay there until December 30, 2012 and then jump up and run all my errands on December 31st right before the big KABOOM. I also need to exclude the very poisonous channel called A&E because it leads me to believe that the USA is full of all sorts of addicts. Thankfully these lost causes have one thing in common: they are the only rotten fruit in their families. The rest of the brood are caring, selfless, generous souls who like to stage interventions. The most optimistic part of all is that the intervening counselors have all been down that road before and are now back to stop others from going down the same path. Why would I take advice from a recovering addict? Because I'm an optimist! If they say they've recovered then I have to take their word for it even though I know they’re just one step away from smoking crack with their clients as soon as the cameras stop rolling.

Aside from excluding all those putrid shows, I also suggest to never buy self-help books. Those can really bring out your cynicism, instill false hope and cause unnecessary motivation. On second thought, if you’re a gullible, easily influenced creature you are free to enjoy your "guided" existence.

The best way to stay healthy and optimistic is to plug your eyes and ears like those "See no evil and speak no evil" monkeys, preferably at a young age before enough information registers in your puny brain.

Utopia

I am all for a perfect society. People lounging on the beach sipping Margaritas. Everyone is beautiful. There is no war, disease, famine, old age or other nuisances. Negativity is out the window. Shiny Happy People is forever playing in the background followed by Love Shack. All humans have a sense of rhythm and innate dance skills. Intelligence, or lack thereof, doesn't concern anybody. Happiness seeps though the land and fertilizes it. No trace of sadness, anxiety or other psychiatric disorders is present. Love is all around.

In the middle of this serene atmosphere an unexpected explosion occurs and shakes everyone up, releasing the contents of Pandora’s box. It is most likely caused by one unsatisfied customer of such a society. Because no matter how wonderful things are there will always be that one individual who'll want to change things "for the better".

At the office (slight exaggeration)

I’m stuck in an office all day. There’s nowhere to run. I always expect the unexpected. At any moment someone’s head can pop in and start giving me instructions on how to do my job followed by how to live my life in general. That’s how I spend the majority of my day, talking to random heads. If they don’t catch me in the office they will make sure to run into me in the copy room or on my way to the bathroom or as I run for the elevator. Can’t they see that once I’m moving I am not willing to stop and chat? The way I look at them should make it pretty clear. They either don’t care or they don’t see the blatant hatred behind my piercing stare. Every time I turn the corner I’ve developed a habit of poking my head out first to make sure that I don’t collide with anyone and as luck would have it someone I’ve been avoiding successfully for a week will be popping out their head as well. “Oh hello, how are you"? "Great and you"? "Good". "Well I’m glad that’s over. Talk to your head tomorrow, same corner same time.” It could be worse. These heads can sneak up on you. As I’m making copies and staring at the ceiling I get startled by a voice and before turning around I try to make the connection between what I hear and the head it actually belongs to. I try not to turn around. The insolent head just interrupted me from my reverie and forced me to divert my attention to what it’s got to say. So say it then and get out. I don’t have to turn around to see you. 99% of the time I know who you are so no need for me to witness your facial expressions, your arm gestures, and the overall appearance you’re putting out there today.

All these attempts at slithering around the office unnoticed are further weakened by my exterior. I am a tall, attractive girl who likes to wear nice, noticeable shoes with high heels. If you don’t see my head approaching then you will definitely see or hear my shoes. They are bright and lovely. Someone always has to comment about them. “Those are some serious shoes, Diana". "Thank you". "Where did you get them"? "At the store". "Which store?" "Payless". "They’ve got a huge sale, you haven’t see it?” or “I’ve got shoes similar to yours"! "I’m sure you do". "I got them at Payless like you recommended". "I got mine at Barney’s and I’ll let Prada know that Payless is also selling their shoes now.”

That sums up the conversations I have with people at the office and my feeble attempts to keep them at a minimum. Old employees are already set in their ways but I can still influence new ones. From now on I will place my tips on their desks to let them know in no uncertain terms that I do not appreciate being caught off guard so if you see me looking out the window during work hours just walk on by. Nor do I appreciate any talk about my shoes, my wardrobe or anything pertaining to the entertaining and enigmatic subject of Diana.

Chillin’ in medieval times

I’ve always felt that I was not born in the right era and belong elsewhere. Don’t get me wrong, the modern times are as good as it gets but sometimes I wish time travel was possible. I would program my machine to around 1500 AD, Europe. Undoubtedly I’d immediately be labeled a witch because of my Nostradamus-like yapping and general scare tactics, along with a disheveled appearance, but all is fair in time travel.

Their dress code would be the best part of the whole experience since all the women had to show cleavage, whether they had some or not, and nobody relied on Victoria Secret push-up bras. Corsets were tight and the dresses long, guaranteeing a small waist and a hint of virtue. For the wealthy, (which is the circle I’d like to pertain to since I travel in style), the hairdos/wigs were extravagant and the jewelry blinding. The earrings, watches, and chains of today’s rappers don’t hold a candle to the bling of the royal families. I picture getting set up with a man dressed in business casual attire: a wig, capri pants, white, knee high socks, and rings on all fingers, while I wear sweatpants and a messy bun. We would go hang out  by the pond adjacent to his castle and feed some ducks (I'm no gold digger but if I'm doing all this traveling his ad better say "castle owner").

Which brings me to the next best thing: the gardens with all the little alleyways for secret meetings. Taking a stroll in one of those would definitely put the most unromantic person in the mood to write love sonnets. If my writing career wouldn’t have taken off then, it’s definitely hopeless now.

Another wonderful aspect of that era is that women (and rich people in general) had nothing to do, because they were unemployed, but gossip and plot revenge all day long. I’m not talking about the kind of gossip that little old ladies share with each other. These were some serious and potentially dangerous conversations with the consequences of facing the guillotine. No biggie. Everyone really had some balls. They didn’t have recruiters calling them to inquire about their employment status because there were two options: executed or still plotting…If I knew that my plot to overthrow Bush and replace him with Obama could result in torture and then beheading I’d keep it to myself rather than calling all my friends over for a party and divulging my true opinions in a drunken stupor. I’d have to give up partying and drinking altogether and sit home with my dress to impress and potentially homosexual boyfriend.

Leave it to me to point out the darker side of this seemingly innocent period. As we all know by now, I am extremely paranoid, and having someone constantly taste my food for poison before I eat it would not sit well with me at all-especially if that someone would always topple over dead. On the other hand, if that kind of tactic doesn’t beat Weight Watchers, I don’t know what does.

Come to think of it the bad outweighs the good. Besides the danger of “treason for no reason”, there were numerous diseases to worry about. The plague was almost as bad as swine flu. Nobody wanted it but if someone sneezed in your face and you didn’t have a mask then congratulations, you just saved a bunch of money on your horse  insurance. Again, this proves the courageous nature of these folks. They stepped over corpses rotting on their premises and never bothered to remove them for fear of being sued.

Admittedly I’m not equipped to deal with all the hazards people back then faced. Vacation plans cancelled, no refund.

Dedicated to Fighter, my late pet fish

I learned a valuable lesson from my fish. No matter how many staring competitions you win (he always won), no matter how many circles you swim around the bowl called earth, and no matter how many worms (nasty experiences) you ingest-you inevitably get sucked into the drain and end up in the sewer. On the bright side my average time for not blinking has gone up considerably.

The modern woman

Today’s women are constantly on the run they say. They are running from themselves as children, adolescents, mature women and then stop, turn around and attempt to run backwards from the old, graying image staring back at them in the mirror.

I see women rushing to and fro and think where are they all going and why is their movement causing more eye-darting than I’m accustomed to? Training for marathons they are not. Olympics are out of the question. So what gives?

What is awaiting the typical woman through her “unique “path called life? Enjoying childhood while anxiously anticipating to be a grown up. Enduring adolescence while battling the metamorphic changes happening to our beloved bodies. Exhaling during twenties that the young, vibrant and finally grown person has emerged while secretly wishing for late adolescence. Cautiously entering our thirties, with a slight longing for the previous decade and a new set of responsibilities. Attempting to trick our forties by injecting wrinkle-resistant bacteria into our somewhat used and battled selves. Fencing with our fifties to prove that we’re still good enough to be in our thirties. Suffering through our sixties as the same demon who wreaked havoc in our teens reemerges to start putting our bruised, diseased and helpless bodies through the final ringer. Accepting our seventies and eighties because that is when eternal peace finally sets in. No more wishing for your younger days. No more worries. No more fears.

Reality check

If you are one of those cheery people who wakes up in the morning thinking you’re gonna have a nice day, think again. Your day is not going to be that great, you may have a fender bender or a full-on collision, and the whole world may come to an end any minute now. Still jolly? Try walking around with some anxiety for a change. It does a body good (without giving you a white mustache). You’ll be more prepared for the worst when it occurs-and it will, don’t you worry. I bet you’re one of those optimistic fools who really needs some convincing. You probably turn every negative situation into a positive one. That needs to stop. Your boss gave you too much work because he hates you and not because he thinks you can handle it. Your coffee spilled on your favorite suit because you’re a klutz and not because you need a new one anyway, and your significant other is running late because you’re not that interesting to be around and not because they got “held up”.

When you walk on the street, don’t just look straight ahead. Danger may come at you from anywhere so always glance around you, let your pupils wander sideways and even above to make sure nothing hits you on the head when you least expect it. It’s my friendly piece of advice to you. That’s what friends are for.

I’m just kidding. Everything will be alright. If yoga taught me anything, it’s the fact that with a few futile attempts at a headstand, accompanied by deep, heavy breathing, the monsters plaguing you change apartments.