The Booklynite Blog


Sometimes you just happen to live through a shitty day. Here’s yesterday for me.

Got to work half an hour late because traffic was humanediously horrific. I just made up a word – humanediously. Not a real word, and means something along the lines: human, pissed, seriously. Because real words are not enough to describe the state of annoyance when you wake up at 6, and still don’t get to work on time.

Once I got to work, the day started with the usual – this project is dragging behind deadline, that one never got started, and we have about five more in queue to be completed yesterday, while performing cartwheels. Which stopped bothering me after a while, and I learned to see a form of beauty and zen in amidst all these stressed, and yelling people. Most of the days. This one was not one of those.

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So this time I made it. I made it to the Chelsea Art Galleries on Thursday. Because there was a time, not so long ago, where I didn’t, and wrote about it here.

And here’s some neatly organized material that I prepared for you.

My definition of neat might be somewhat obscure

First off, try not to make it too obvious that you’re there primarily for the free alcohol. Meaning don’t drink at the first gallery you visit. Walk in, walk around, convince your head that art is your true interest and passion. Who knows it might actually work. Second gallery is fine, just don’t run to the alcohol stand right away. Make an honest walk through of the whole gallery, and just slowly edge yourself towards the pouring lady, with a face expression ‘this art you have here is incredible, I’m thinking of buying some or all of it.’ Once you have the drink, do a second walk through of the gallery, occasionally pausing and commenting on pieces, as if you have a clue. It helps if you speak foreign language because than you can just be talking pure gibberish. Once you’re done with the drink, walk away, don’t go for seconds. Who knows, maybe after a certain amount of drinks they force you to buy something. You don’t need that in your life.

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Some highlights from the past few days.

I got to play a game of chess on Saturday. And it’s been a while since I did that. And yes, I can play chess; I even once represented my school in a chess competition. Go ahead, be impressed. Till this day, I carry that piece of information as if I’m a goddamn Olympics champion. So anyway I played a game of chess and I lost. To an 11-year-old. Now, if that’s not the way to ruin your self-confidence, I don’t know what is. And I am prepared to accept hand written letters of condolences in my mail. I need them, people.

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Because what would be a more suitable topic to talk about on Easter Sunday than me? Nothing. Jesus would approve. Probably.

When I was about 6 years old, I used to love the sound of piano. I was also convinced I’m a medieval vampire, and liked to creep behind people in my little nightgown, while whispering ‘FATHER’. This second part is not true. But piano music I did like. To the point where I would pretend I’m a pianist, and sit at home banging my hands on random surfaces, thinking this shit is easy. Arguably the scene was hilarious, or disturbing. I’m not sure which. And so I begged my mom to sign me up for piano lessons. But she was busy with work, and house chores, and other adult people nonsense, and just kept saying ‘we need to check if you have a musical ear first.’ And I was like: ‘fine, take me to the doctor let him check my ears’. Because that’s just logic. And she would just laugh and leave it at that.

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So, I actually went and did something semi-professional for you guys – I conducted my first ever interview, mind you, with a poet. And he’s a real person, and he writes poems, and I have been following him on Instagram for a while now because they also happen to be really good. And in a world of Instagram, and shitty posts, this counts for a lot. He also has 10K followers, so that’s a celebrity for yall.

This was conducted via Instagram messenger, and might have been the world’s first ever Instagram interview. So, casually making history. Just saying. Also, this won’t be my usual nonsense rambling, and we’ll talk about some serious topics. Put your smart cap on.

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Ok, so yesterday I was supposed to do a round of Chelsea Art Gallery hopping and get some superb material for you. I wrote about this great indulgence us, New Yorker’s, have here. And it’s where you get to go check out different stuff people call art and drink free booze. And this all is probably a big conspiracy where they get you buzzed enough until you’re tricked you into thinking ‘why yes, I do think this piece of wood stapled to the wall is beautiful.’ Or maybe some stuff they have on display truly is beautiful, I’m not sure anymore. They’ve got to me.

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Ok, so let me start by telling you that I’ve discovered a great restaurant last week on a Tuesday. And I didn’t have any context to put this into to tell you about it earlier. I don’t have much of that now either, but you have to know. And I’m not getting paid to do this, so this somewhat adds to my credibility. But, finally finally in our neck of the woods, a decent restaurant opened. And I mean we have a number of good eateries, but whenever my friends and I decide to go out in style it always has to be either Manhattan, or Williamsburg, or at the very least Bay Ridge. The rest of Brooklyn, or most of it, is still lurking in the dark ages when it comes to fine dining. I am ‘proud’ to announce this is still true, except this one place – Wise Expresso Bar, on Coney Island. And this pace was nice. We walked into a very pleasant, stylish atmosphere, it had a smart, to the point menu, and reasonable and underscore that – reasonable prices. The two of us ordered a bottle of wine, some appetizers, and a salad that we shared. Because forever diet. And our bill came up to $66. Now, whenever there is a bottle of any sort involved in an order, expect to leave a quarter of your rent, and a left kidney. But this was different and I genuinely left that place happy. You have gots to visit, people.

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So, I’m about to verbalize probably what everybody is thinking while going through their Facebook feed. Just because it’s Thursday, and you’re welcome.

BTW this does not apply to my Facebook friends who are actual friends. Otherwise we wouldn’t be friends.  Even if does apply to you, you get a pass because I actually like you.

Approach with a good dose of humor.

15 pictures of a baby doing pretty much the same thing. I mean I get that your baby is cute, but I’m scrolling through pictures thinking there is going to be a culmination of some sort. Like maybe the baby will become Jesus or something. But no. You get to the end and it’s just still there, same baby with a slightly more tilted head. And you go that’s it? Not fair.

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So this weekend was all over the place for me. It lacked all rhyme and reason. And not that I’m complaining, but here’s what I mean.

Friday was a girls night out. And I love those because I love my girls. Ok, maybe I don’t love love them, but I don’t hate them either. That counts for something, right? I am kidding and what I mean is that we don’t have the urge to spend every, waking day together, but do manage to enjoy each other’s company during these rare get-together we have. And in a world of shitty people this means a lot.


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So I’ve been debating with myself whether to write about this or not, but since I have been bursting at the seams with emotions, I might as well share. So, not to brag, but to make you all feel jealous, I have recently become a proud owner of my first luxury car.

Those of you, who’ve been with me for a while, might know about my troubled auto motor vehicle past. Or go on and familiarize yourself with it here. And it’s a little sad and pathetic, but also kind of funny.

But I had my lease expiring this week, and flash back a year ago, this was supposed to be the moment of great relief and happiness. But, alas, wonders happened. My ass got used to the comfort of not having to walk much. And instead of turning in my vehicle upon lease expiration, and reverting back to the comforts of public transportation, I got myself a new lease.

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This past

So I’ve been debating with myself whether to write about this or not, but since I have been bursting at the seams with emotions, I might as well share. So, not to brag, but to make you all feel jealous, I have recently become a proud owner of my first luxury car.

Those of you, who’ve been with me for a while, might know about my troubled auto motor vehicle past. Or go on and familiarize yourself with it here. And it’s a little sad and pathetic, but also kind of funny.

But I had my lease expiring this week, and flash back a year ago, this was supposed to be the moment of great relief and happiness. But, alas, wonders happened. My ass got used to the comfort of not having to walk much. And instead of turning in my vehicle upon lease expiration, and reverting back to the comforts of public transportation, I got myself a new lease.

weekend, I happened to be visiting New Orleans for a few days. And here’s how that went.

I was driven from the airport to my place of stay by a taxi driver. Attention – a happy taxi driver. My flight was delayed by two hours, and I arrived at 1 am, and this taxi driver was just so upbeat and alive. Right away he told me how awesome their city is, that rents are cheap, work is plentiful, people are awesome, nightlife is crazy and fun, and he’s going to live forever. This last piece I added in my head, but taxi drivers are supposed to be bitchy and lost for directions. This one had a GPS maybe that helped. So to put it short that night I went to bed intrigued. But before, a toilet paper bow tie welcomed me into the fine city of New Orleans.

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So, this past weekend we were blessed with some semi-normal weather. Meaning, it was fairly warm and the air was filled with a light scent of winter’s death. Meaning it felt as if spring is fairly close. And this time is always exciting. Because biological rhythms or whatever, but you do tend to feel more uplifted, and hopeful, and maybe even nicer. Or not. You might very well just remain an uplifted asshole.

Sunday, we decided to go to Manhattan to check if our walking abilities were still there, and didn’t rot away over the winter. Chinatown we went to. And I haven’t been to Chinatown in a long time, and can’t say the reunion was sentimental. It’s just the same –  loud and crowded. And no a place for a lady, unless you need to buy cheap souvenirs. We did stop by  to have some Vietnamese soup at this place Pho Viet Huong. And it was exactly the perfect experience to have on that day, in that place.

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So, this Saturday was my sister’s baby shower. Some of you may know that I have an eligible sibling for such an event, meaning a pregnant sister who’s getting real close to the whole breathe-and-push day. And curse, breathe-and-push-and-curse. I’m pretty sure she’ll be the curser, we’re related and there is a strong predisposition to this assumption.
So my mom and I were the ones who organized the whole thing. Mostly because when you’re related you don’t get to choose, but also mostly because we really wanted to. And boy, were we nervous as shit. You have to understand, this is the first child in our family so everything seemed like a big deal. Even when it wasn’t, we made it into a big deal because that’s just how our family is, and also that’s how people die from heart attacks at age 35.

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While most of you, sports enthusiasts, get excited about snow, and start pulling out your snow gear, giving it kisses, preparing and ironing it, or whatever it is you do. And while I get excited about snow too, the only snow related activity I am willing to accept into my life is going down a hill on a plastic bag. Because I don’t own a slate, otherwise I would totally use it instead of a plastic bag.

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Ok you guys, Happy coming up Valentine’s weekend to all. Hope your male counterparts made some predictable restaurant reservations and bought some predictable red roses. Because no matter what, we girls dig these things. And shout out to all single people on these days of celebrating love and relationships. We feel sorry for you and good luck. But I’m kidding, you rock – single people! Enjoy, and more like we’re all jealous of you.

And I personally didn’t make any plans because very exciting news happened. And I can’t tell you what it was, but this was exciting. Don’t worry, I’m totally telling you. But it’s very exciting, so you have to promise to remain calm and collected.


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So I’ve been sick these past couple of days. Nothing lethal and more like a common cold, and more like a pain in the ass. Or more like a pain in the head that coincidentally feels like an ass because it can’t function properly. But I decided to ‘power through’ this one = load up on medication, and show up to work, and sneeze in a 5 mile radius, and then make mental bets with myself on who’s getting it next. Ah, the guilty pleasures.

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So this event actually happened a while back, but I didn’t write about it because at the time I was still giving birth to the series on Israel. And since not much is currently happening in my life, except the usual go to work on the weekday, get hammered on the weekend, or not, really depends on the week, I’ll tell you about it now.
I got a chance to attend a really fancy party. And I mean fancy. It was a closed event, in a restaurant, in Central Park. And I was the plus one, that’s how I got in. And I can’t give you any names because some of the people were semi-famous, meaning not Hollywood famous but famous in ‘certain circles’, whatever that implies. And needless to say the venue was gorgeous and we were welcomed by a waiter with a tray of champagne, which was too damn predictable, but very much appreciated.

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So lately, the predominant topic of conversation for me and my friends has been THE weight gain. Holidays happened to us, and now by the end of January we’re all paying for it. Somehow the festive spirit spared nobody, and generously gifted those extra lbs into our thighs and faces. And the conversations usually sound as such ‘Hey, how’s everything? So, how much did you gain?’ And then you’re usually either a little bit happier or a lot more sadder, depending if they’re number is higher or lower than yours. And then you predictably start swapping latest workout routines, starving techniques, and seriously considering that liposuction surgery again. If that sounds just about right, I have little reassurance to give you as I would very much appreciate some myself. As I sometimes find myself wishing for a fairy godmother to appear and be like: don’t worry little, fat one – here’s a magic fridge that will be forever empty after 6. Cinderella had it all wrong with her wish and the ball.

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So, we had our snow storm on Saturday and it was great. Meaning it was on a weekend, and we were released of having to secretly/not so secretly wish for the work day to get suspended (most people at least). All you had to do was cancel whatever plans you might have had for Saturday, and be antisocial without fearing Facebook ‘s judgment upon you. Sleep in late,and not fix your hair, and wear something oversized and ridiculous looking. I didn’t make these rules. It’s universal.

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So, it’s been back from vacation and very much back to work. And I’m happy to report that transition went smoothly with only occasional suicidal thoughts. Also, winter decided to make a sudden appearance, which was also helpful (no, it wasn’t). And it’s funny when you live in a geographic area where seasons change, year in and year out, and you still go ‘goddamn it’s cold’ during winter. I am no exception and arguably I have more right to do so than others. Because my pale, white-girl face turns into a brightly-colored monkey butt. You know what I mean:

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Continued from here and here

It’s been challenging for me to finish writing the series on Israel because I have told ‘about my trip’ to at least five different sets of people by now, and I’ve sort of had it. But not your fault and I bet you’re dying to know what else happened. So you be my honorable, sixth, and final set of people.

Here we go

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Continued from here

Day 3

Slept in late again. This time arguably because of the time difference. By the way, time difference is a son of a bitch. Just throwing it out there. It’s real and you will feel it. Especially once you need to go back to work again. It will hunt you with a vengeance.

Anyhow, this day we went to the Carmel Market. Which is pretty much exactly what you’d expect a market to look like. A noticeable difference were stands with zillion spices.  We didn’t stop nor buy anything, but at some point I really did wish to be one of those crazies who are like an encyclopedia on spices. Then I’d whisper some rare name to the stand owner so he could be like ‘yes, yes, I have it’ and pull it out from underneath his left armpit. Because that’s his secret hiding place.

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So, I’m back from vacation. In case you missed the part where I said I was going away, that’s what happened. And in case you noticed lack of new posts and missed me, I missed you too my dearest dear. In case you didn’t miss me, fuck you.

I was away in Israel. And the reaction I got from a lot of people was ‘Really? Why?’ Because it’s one of the few places that don’t officially celebrate Christmas and New Year’s. And because it’s in the Middle East where bombs fly and people get murdered. And because it’s the country full of Jewish people relation to which I have none. Putting all these logical reasons aside, it just so happened.

Arguably this post will be really long, even longer than the one on Italy (by the way I seem to be traveling exclusively to the countries starting with an ‘I’, presumably India, Iran, Iraq are next), maybe I’ll split this into several posts, I could technically just decide at the end and skip this part where I’m thinking about it. It’s called editing. I’m learning.

Day 1

Day of our arrival. We boarded off the plane and stepped onto Israeli land full of excitement and enthusiasm for new adventures. Not really. After 15 hours of traveling, with a connecting flight through Rome, I was pretty damn exhausted, irritable, and somewhat stabby. A huge menorah was right outside of the airport and I said ‘should I take a selfie, or will I have plenty of chances to take selfies with menorahs during this trip’, which was only a slightly racist thing to say. Then I saw palm trees, and was all like ‘well hello, Miami.’ But it was nothing like Miami. We were met by some friend, who’s couch we were to surf during the next week and a half, and when I expressed out loud my inability to place what the surroundings look like, I was assisted with a rhetorical ‘It looks like Tel Aviv.’ And so it did.

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So in anticipation of my coming vacation, all I can talk about is, well, vacation. Remember that I have a sister, she’s pregnant, and she just came back from Jamaica. She was nice enough to share her experiences. I sort of demanded them out of her specifically for this blog. So, you’re welcome

Here we go.

Last day of vacation in Jamaica. As usual, there’s that feeling: I wish we had just one more day… This time though the feeling is also mixed with something new, something I’ve never experienced before [severe diarrhea?]. The anticipation of a miracle of new life, the life I will give [now, is this a modest self-referral to being the creator of miracles or what]. The nervous feeling of the unknown  upcoming changes. The realization that next time our vacation will include a party of three [that’s going to be a one expensive miracle].

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So it’s Holiday season in case you haven’t noticed frantic shopping people around you, and in case your office is not decorated in a stylish manner that classifies as ‘Christmas threw up here’ (hint: that’s what my office looks like), and in case you were able to tune out all the Christmas songs everywhere, which if you were – do share your secret for the sanity of human kind.

Also, I’ll be going away on vacation in about a week. Or actually one week and two days, but who’s counting. And my brain has been mostly going BAMBOLEO for the past two weeks. Which is weird because I don’t even speak Spanish. Anyway, it’s been hard even to keep up with the blog. Having said that, email attacks that I’ve been receiving lately with offers on the best possible gifts have inspired this.

Gift suggestions are for reals.
Personalized photo blanket – because wouldn’t you like to snuggle in your own face

6 Bottles of Premium Wine with 2 Glasses – I’ll take those, you can drop the glasses

Personalized Engraved Genuine Leather Wallet – because if you ever lose your wallet people will just use those engraved initials to find you. But seriously who engraves shit anymore, we’re not in 19th century.



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OK, so I’m not completely sure what brought upon these philosophical and useless thoughts I’m about to lay upon you, but get ready. Last night, I actually discovered a great sushi place in my neighborhood. And it was really good and ever more so surprising because you never expect anything good to happen in your neighborhood. The place was Chikurin, do check it out if in the area, and order yellow tail jalapeno, don’t even use your brain processes, just do it.

Anyway, I woke up this morning in a good but sort of melancholic mood. Not likely sushi related, more like a year end self assessment review. How I did this year, what’s my score on life performance, what is life performance score, and who decides on that anyway. Because I would like to meet that entity and have a little chit chat. And then somehow I got into thinking about life in general, and getting older, and the following list of facts was born.

Here it goes. You’re an adult when:

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You know how you can tell you had a busy week. If you get home on a Friday night and this time nothing, and I mean nothing, is alluring enough to get you out of your blanketed cocoon. When you cringe at the idea of getting dressed, and going out, and seeing other people. When you snuggle with your cat, and giggle, and try to get her to high five you because you’re both home comfortable and content. Or in other words that corporate world has done it, they have broken my spirit, and worked me into exhaustion. That actually sounds like an excellent tombstone sign ‘they have worked me into exhaustion, in my death I blame: and then the list of all my bosses past and current, and some of the colleagues, or actually most of those too.’ And then the next scene would be their faces full of shame, mumbling ‘I wish I could have valued her more, oh how I wish…’



Have you ever been temporarily dumped? Not dumped for forever and ever. But like when you make plans to see someone and spend time together and then they leave for a week. Because supposedly work emergency. Arguably this is even worse than being permanently dumped because then you get to be mad, sad, and move on. Here you’re dumped for a while you go through mad, and sad phases but then you don’t get to move on because they come back and you’re sort of glad, sort of still offended, sort of not sure how the hell to act. Just theoretically speaking. Sort of.





So this post is actually part of The Story of Me series, and this is Part 8, but I actually came up with a title for this one. Call it inspiration.

I got my second job at the age of 15 and this one turned out to be somewhat permanent. With a wide variety of fabulous minimum wage jobs available at this age, I actually got lucky and got to work in a medical office as a surgeon assistant. Kidding. I was working the front desk because nobody does surgeries in offices. Otherwise, I would totally assist.

This started off as a summer job, but then they apparently liked me, offered to stay, and continue working part time after school. At the point I was stupid enough to agree, instead I should have said ‘go f*** yourself, and let my parents pay the bills.’ In exactly the sentence structure I just described.  Because nobody tells you that ahead of you there’s not a bright future full of possibilities, but an endless amount of work duties, and plenty of poorly reimbursable job experiences.

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Firstly Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. Let’s get that off the chest. Or as my dad likes to call it Happy Sexgiving. I did just use word dad and sex in the same sentence and somehow my mental health is mostly intact. In all fairness, he does so to be funny and clever. And it probably was clever and funny the first time around. But we’ve been living in America for 10 plus years, and celebrating Thanksgiving/Sexgiving the same amount of time, so this joke mostly gets on our nerves now.

I have mixed feelings about holidays. Mostly because there are a lot of things you’re supposed to do, and a lot of times nobody remembers why exactly, and just call it a tradition. And I’ve always had an issue with following directions, especially the ones of unknown origin.

Like for example why turkey? And I have a theory: most likely a long time ago turkey overpopulation crisis happened (let’s call it turkey zombie apocalypses, just because), people killed off a bunch of them (because real problems get solved with guns), and then nobody would eat them (because let’s be honest people, that meat is tough no matter what you do). And then somebody went ‘I know, let’s make it a Holiday, give it a catchy name, and throw in a reference to Native-Americans because that’s just good publicity.’ And the tradition was born.

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So what I learned this weekend is that taking selfies with cats is hard. In other words my weekend was not very much productive. I did go shopping on a Sunday and bought myself a smart looking tweed coat. But then the same purchase contained an ugly sweater. You know, those ridiculous-looking Christmas-themed sweaters. Mine makes annoying, jingly sounds too. I have no explanation for this last purchase. Unless, maybe I’ll wear it underneath my smart looking tweed coat and surprise my co-workers and potentially get fired. I justified to myself that I’m going to throw an ugly sweater party, but so far I’m the only one with an ugly sweater and parties take time and energy to plan. So, I’m the only one on the guest list too. I’m sure that’s going to work out just fine.

I actually know fully well why the weekend was not productive. Because I went out until late on Friday. Like late to the point it was already early. Early in the morning. And it’s a good idea to go out like that in case – never. It’s never a good idea because your sense of time and gravity gets distorted and we sort of live in a world that abides by the laws of time and gravity, and once you lose those – you start taking selfies with cats. Which is hard, people.

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I went to this thing called Sleep No More. And it’s hard to call it anything because it’s a lot of things and none of them at all. It’s a haunted house/play/show/mystery/five floors, so wear comfortable shoes. If you go on the website for this event it doesn’t give you much information, and that’s done on purpose to leave you guessing, and sort of unsure of what to expect. But I’ll be giving you insights because I can, and because I didn’t sign anything so hopefully no jail time will be involved.

The building used to be a historic hotel. You get there and they take away your coats, including bags, and cellphones, and strip you naked. The last part is not true, but you most definitely feel vulnerable without your phone. You do get the option of keeping it, which I went for, but truthfully I advise to go for that prehistoric, phone-less look – it adds to the effect. Then some good looking actors (that are also really tall, and I’m tall myself, but they’re event taller, so like freakishly tall) give you masks and take you in an elevator and set you free in an insane asylum. And it’s a make believe insane asylum. It’s just rooms with bathtubs and hospital beds, but boy do they have a good set designer because it’s a very believable insane asylum.

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So, the events in Paris happened and they were tragic and horrific. And I didn’t want to write about them mostly because I don’t do tragic, and also because enough has been said. I myself spent a good amount of Friday night glued to the news coverage and going through Facebook prayers that we all know have magical powers of healing (they don’t, it’s called sarcasm).


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Let’s get back to our what now happens to be a semi-regular section – ‘What that spam comment said’

I wrote about my feelings for the spam comments here and here. And if you haven’t read it, you should. Because this is not a democracy.

Anyway, here is a rather lengthy comment I got and I have to tell you I read all of it.


Because it’s full of flattery and even though I’m a reasonable person and understood it to be untrue, I couldn’t help making myself believe especially nice sections.  Here’s what I mean: ‘If all webmasters and bloggers made good content as you did, the internet will be a lot more useful’. I know, right? It’s hard to disagree with this line of thinking. After all, I do have a whole section called useful and not so useful information. It’s like you’re talking to my soul, spam comment.




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So, after being a stay-at-home Susan this past week (choice of the name was completely arbitrary, no offense to Susans), I was ready for some loud music and questionable choices. In a setting that didn’t involve my apartment. And so I met up with a friend on Friday night and we went for dinner, some good girlfriend chat, and mostly good live music. And it was supposed to end somewhere there but instead turned into a bar hopping spree. I would say unexpectedly, but I have a strong reason to believe my brain was plotting this all along.  Four bars later and at four in the morning, I was back to being content with life. And not feeling the need to murdering anyone, except my liver that could probably claim planned homicide, if given the chance to comment.

But they work! You put your phone inside, download a special app and dive into virtual reality. I haven’t been this excited ever since 3d printers came out, or ever since I was able to fit into size 4 pants again. You get the idea. The whole thing is still an experiment because they require special type videos that are expensive to produce. So even if you’ll be able to get the glasses, there isn’t much to watch yet. And although I would prefer teleportation better, it is neat to live during the age where soon enough the only reason for human contact will be insemination.



So once in a while you get those days when you don’t feel like doing much. Going to work doesn’t count because that’s just autopilot and you do it regardless of your feelings. With all the progressive stuff going on in the work field, at let’s say at big tech companies, you hear about free snacks, gaming rooms, standing desks, free gym memberships and what not, I say the only thing they need is about 30 days a year off for the reason something along the lines ‘because I didn’t feel like it’. Somebody give me a company and make me a policy maker.

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First of all, being sick during the fall is a must have look. The sour throat, the runny nose, and the red and watery eyes that’s how you know you’re in the trend. So, if you’re missing out go and take a few rides in the subway during the rush hours. You’ll be sure to come across some bacteria infested person generous enough to sneeze right in your face. Although to be fair, that’s not how I got my cold. It just sort of randomly materialized. Maybe because I’m so #trendy. Anyway, I have been sick these past couple of days. And on top of being awful it’s a great excuse not wash your hair, and not to clean your house, and postpone that gym trip yet again. It’s like going back to the roots of careless existence. You’re welcome.

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Let me start this with a Wednesday. Because I can.

So, Wednesday was a date night. And I was taken to a French restaurant. And when I was told I’ll be taken to a French restaurant I rolled my eyes, but only in my mind. Because I immediately wanted to follow with a question ‘Will we also hold hands while gazing into the sunset, while braiding each other hair, while signing in harmony?’ But instead I politely accepted the invitation, and might have said something about the whole thing being lovely. I think I read on the internet that’s what ladies are supposed to do. My date also knows about this blog, and will most likely be reading this, so I don’t even know what was the whole point of my make-believe, lady-like behavior. Touché.

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If you ever wander how to spend your hard earned money…try googling ‘how to spend my hard earned money’. Which I actually did just now, and instead google gave me numerous suggestions on how to save my hard-earned money, along with a definition that ‘hard-earned money’ is money that you had to work hard to make. Which is not exactly helpful, Mr. Obvious, and is sort of exactly the opposite of what I was looking for. So, I’ve done some thinking.

A good way to spend your hard-earned money is to save it. In the larger scheme of things it would seem as a bright idea, but then saving sort of goes directly against the logic of spending. So this option is completely irrelevant.

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So here’s a message update from my sister on her pregnancy. In case you’re a newbie, the idea for this section originated here.

Babies don’t like to be poked [this is the title she came up with. And I was intrigued immediately. I mean, I know my sister for quite some time, and technically I understand she’s not the type to go around poking babies. BUT. In the back of my mind, I was like ‘Ooh boy, I wander if the pregnancy hormones took over and she’s on a loose.’]   

But then, who does? It’s like that “poke” option on Facebook that I never understood & just got annoyed with [exactly as I finished reading this, evil part of me was like ‘you should definitely go poke her on Facebook. Now.’ But then good part of me suggested ‘Yes, yes totally go for it.’ I didn’t, because apparently I have a neutral part, more commonly referred to as responsible behavior.]

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If you’re a female, chances are you have been in this situation. You know that dress/pants/shirt that you do fit into, but not exactly. Like you can put it on and zip it and if you stand perfectly still on an empty stomach in front of the mirror at home, you think ‘yup, this is fine. This will definitely work, I wonder why I don’t wear this more often.’ I’ll tell you why. Because chances are as a human being you don’t just stand still all day, you move! More importantly you sit. And when you do, you feel your ribcage pushing against that piece of garment, pulling it apart at the seams, and silently yelling at you ‘what the hell were you thinking?’ And you’re like ‘I totally skipped dinner last night, and did 10 sit ups. This world is cruel and unjust…and I think I’ll suffocate by the day’s end.’ That’s what I’m wearing right now. And I got distracted by these thoughts as I was getting ready to tell you about my weekend. So, I apologize in advance if this post will be laced with hints of pain and suffering.

Anyway, this past weekend was actually great. Arguably, torture dress I decided to put on today is the payback. Universal balance must be maintained (said somebody in Matrix, or some other movie, or not at all (I am not a reliable movie references source today)).

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Remember how I told you I enjoy reading occasional spam comments, mostly because I don’t get many other comments, but mostly because they are truly entertaining in their absurdity.

Here’s a rather sentimental spam comment I got.


It reads: ‘I am continuously searching online for ideas that can benefit me.’ Not sure how I play into this picture but good luck, spam comment. I wish for thee to find all thee seeks. On another thought, it seems to be really egocentric in looking for personal benefit only. Whatever happened to the greater good of humanity? I suggest you go and rethink your life values, spam comment.

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OK you guys, I saw Jenny Lawson tonight. Those of you who don’t know who she is, well you suck. No you don’t, but seriously you should read her books. She has only two and they are an average reasonable book size. Plus they’re super hilarious, so you should definitely go for it. I’m a fan. And I have my reasons, which you can deduct from my post Who is Jenny Lawson.

But today, she had a book reading and signing for her new release Furiously Happy. And I wasn’t going to go at first because I’m a lazy fan. And also because I follow her on Instagram and feel like I know about her personal life too much already. With that thought, while feeling border line I-can’t-take-this-shit no more at work, I stumbled upon information that the event is tonight. And I texted my sister, who conveniently is also Jenny’s fan, and on a wave of mutual madness and enthusiasm we decided to go.

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Let’s continue this thriller -biography section (for a complete listing go here)

I got my first job when I was 14. I was sitting home by myself, it was cold outside, and I wasn’t in school. I don’t remember why exactly I wasn’t in school, probably some type of break, who knows. So under unknown circumstances, I was sitting home alone and decided that I’m sick of relying on money from my parents, and having to explain myself (because, you know, at 14 you’re practically an adult), and thus I needed a job. I was fully aware that I can’t be expecting great working environment with a benefit package, mostly because I didn’t know these things existed at that point, and mostly because I knew with my limited set of skills I could only expect wages on the lower-end spectrum. See, I was very much in tune with realities of life. So, I found a newspaper ad for a job giving out flyers, called it, and after a relatively short conversation was informed that I’ll be picked up in a few minutes. I didn’t have a cellphone because times like that actually existed, I also decided not to inform my parents and make it a surprise. I seriously thought of the whole idea as a great surprise. I imagined brining my share of income to the household, easing my parents’ burden, and practically saving the whole family – somehow, my minimum wage earnings were supposed to achieve exactly that.

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So, the other day I went to wash my car for the first time. I’ve been through the process before, but never behind the wheel. And I had to do this because my car has been through a generous banquet of bird shit. Meaning, it looked like a good number of birds got together, had a party, and choose my car as their hate object. Somebody needs to tell those birds that’s not cool. Anyway, it was bad to the point that I could hardly see through my back window (and wouldn’t know if somebody was following me or not, because that could happen). And I came up with an easy fix. Took my Windex bottle from home, some paper towels and viola – the problem was fixed. Which did not happen, because apparently Windex only leaves huge, white residue marks all over your windows. Which in return look like you’ve been trying to tint your car windows with chalk, and some help from a toddler. So unless you’re going for that look, don’t wash your car windows with Windex (and I vote for Windex to have such disclaimer on their bottles).

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So, this weekend we survived another hurricane (hurricane Joaquin, if you missed it). Well done, everybody. Everything went according to plan: hiked up media frenzy well in advance, dire warnings and scenarios of death and destruction, some rain and wind, and congratulatory celebrations on making it through yet again.

I decided to celebrate by going shopping on a Saturday. And that went well. Unless, you’re like me and start second guessing yourself and weighing your excitement for new things versus the money you just spent that you could potentially grant you a rent-free and mortgage infused life. And that thought gets complicated, unlike new clothes that are simple and ready to wear. I also discovered a new store, Cotton On, which is actually Australian and available only throughout selected malls in New York, but it’s totally hipster worthy, so keep it on your radar (the prices are admirable, that’s in case you make your own money and these things are important to you). I also, made one ridiculous purchase (because that’s sort of the rule of shopping) and got me one of these hats:

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So work days can be rather daunting, especially Wednesdays. It’s that day that’s neither here nor there. Previous weekend is done and forgotten, next one is too far to anticipate, so you’re in a limbo of misery and self-pity. If that just describe you, snap out of it drama queen. It’s just another day. Listen to the birds outside and be grateful, or if you can’t hear birds listen to the sirens or office printer making copies. I don’t know, improvise.

I met up with some people this Wednesday at St Marks, East Village. And it’s a worthy neighborhood; if you’ve never been do go. It has some typical open front markets selling useless Chinese-made products, but also a bunch of bars and restaurants and some unique stores. Like Trash and Vaudeville store that sells punk rock and other counter culture clothing. Something you could buy and secretly were at home. Or just have it in your closet as a silent reminder of that rebel that reconciles cash postings during the day. I, however, was not able to get my special piece of garment because we were told we had to check in our bags at the entrance, a request that gave a feeling of corporate bureaucracy more than that of chaos and anarchy.  Maybe we looked like especially gifted shoplifters but they wouldn’t let us pass. So away we went in our normal clothing.

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Ok status update.

Below is the email I got from my sister because we’re cool like that and communicate via email (inappropriate remarks in parenthesis are from me):

So, my pregnancy app asks me to write some memories once in a while (of course there is an app for that). Today it asked about grandparents. I’m sharing this with you.

The grandparents are over the moon excited!!! [So, the first thought in my head was: what is she talking about, our grandparents are dead. Well good thing I kept this to myself (well sort of) because then I realized she meant our parents that are to become grandparents (and those are alive) and that makes sense and is not as awkward as talking about dead relatives.]

They’ve been wanting  [for whatever reason auto correct was suggesting I change this to ‘They’ve been WANTED’. I am dead serious. Do you know something about my parents that I don’t, auto correct?] a grandchild for a long time, and this will be their first!

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If you ever wish to know what it’s like to be homeless and live in your car, all you need to do is drive to Niagara Falls from New York for the weekend. Because your liar GPS will tell you the drive is 6h, and you might be thinking it’s a road trip and it could be fun, but what GPS doesn’t know is that humans need to pee, and humans make unnecessary detours, and humans get stuck in traffic. So, F-you GPS for not thinking that through. In the very least, it could have a disclaimer as such: warning, estimated time will apply only in case you’re willing to pee in a container inside your car, while eating a prepackaged sandwich, without losing speed, in fact, you’ll probably be required to break speed limit at some point to arrive at this outrageously, non-realistic time I just estimated for you. Because the actual drive time was about 9h long. On top of that, you eventually end up in Canada, which is not exactly your Cancun, Mexico (its worth).

In case you can’t tell yet, I was the complainer this whole trip. You know that one person that says things out loud that everyone else is thinking. I don’t think my efforts were appreciated.

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So, I have a sister. And she’s not a brother because she’s a she. I’m not sure how she feels about this, maybe she would rather be a brother, the question never came up. I’ll clarify and keep you posted. This sort of leads you to thinking that she maybe had a sex change operation or something. Let me be clear – she did not; she was born that way, hey! (I sang that in my head because that’s a Lady Gaga song).

Anyway, none of that was relevant. Having a sister is kind of cool, but then I never had a brother so maybe having a brother is even cooler. Just contemplating life’s possibilities. My sister is 6 years older and due to original financial status of our family classified as poor, she was also my babysitter for the good duration of my beginning life. Because parents had to work, and having 6-year-old watch a toddler made perfect sense. She says it wasn’t as bad because I was a cute toddler and she liked me. But then I grew up and started talking, and things changed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still cute but I also tend to disagree with her on pretty much everything, and so we fight. We fight as siblings do, maybe somewhat above the average norm, but in the end of the day…I was supposed to say something heartwarming here and I was totally going for it, but then I still wish I was the only child most of the time.

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So this weekend was most magical because I happened to watch two great movies. That hardly happens with one movie and if that’s not magic I don’t know what is. Here they are: Frank, and What we do in the shadows. Both are comedies, more specifically dark comedies with a dark sense of humor, the type you’re not supposed to admit in the public. So watch them alone, and don’t discuss them with your colleagues at work. Fair warning. Or then if you meet somebody who watched and enjoyed these same movies, you can exchange a look of mutual understanding and the type of I-think-we’re-better-than-most-people attitude. Not that you’re better than anybody because we are all humans equally beautiful and deserving, but let’s say some are more than others. But otherwise, we’re totally equal.

Then on a Saturday we set off to visit a Japanese Stroll Garden, and well stroll in it. While on the way there, we accidentally came across a collection of old railroad carts. Which turned out to be a smallish open-air museum with an enthusiast on site, who for a $4 per person fee gave us a personalized tour. I’ll admit, I made a fair attempt to run through the whole thing free of charge because the gates were open and nobody of authority was in site at first. But my companions were somewhat hesitant and slow in reaction and we ended up paying the $4 fee. Just saying, if you’re quick ad organized the whole event can be free. In the end, it was totally worth it as we got some pretty in depth history about railroad system in New York. Not that I was looking for that knowledge in my life, but now I have it. Also, they had some vintage advertisements plastered inside the carts, and those were cool.


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So, office life – it’s like being stranded on an island with a bunch of random people in tight clothing. Only a lot more boring. There is a feeling of being busy: answering phone calls, and shuffling papers, and going through meetings, and implementing new processes, and increasing productivity while decreasing costs. But most of the time it feels exactly like aimlessly paper shuffling with smart titles.

And then, a day comes and the following email conversation happens.

Last night, I received an email from a person holding a fairly important title. I feel this piece of information should be mentioned (he’s also from a state institution but I think I might have signed something that prevents me from going into detail on that (otherwise I totally would)). And the email was a really long thread of conversation between their employees and ours, over a span of about one month, battling something out, I could only assume because I didn’t read it. Judging from the length of it, I reflexively typed my arguably most favorite work phrase (both on the receiving and dispatching ends) ‘we’ll look into it’, and left it at that.

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The Story of Me Part 6

Continued from here The Story of Me. And yes there are 5 more parts to this.

School started. To this day I’m not sure how we got myself signed up. But we sort of located the nearest school and I think mostly using our hand gestures explained that we would like to partake in this fine institution of theirs to which they handed me a schedule and advised to come back on a given day. The school was your typical public Brooklyn high school. And it is typical for me now, but at the time it resembled fenced off premises for starting off criminals. And I am not exaggerating in this case – we had to go through metal scanners every morning under the kind and watchful eyes of the security guards that were also ever present on every floor. In all fairness, I don’t think they had actual weapons. Also, I was not a witness to any murder or live shooting, so I guess you can call that a victory for the public education in New York.

I hated that place with a passion, but soon enough I found like-minded individuals and we started skipping classes together, so it all became better. Until, parent teacher nights came and I would get exposed for my irresponsible behavior, get in trouble, undergo some sort of punishment, and continue skipping classes until the next parent-teacher get-together. This would become a sort fun cycle all throughout high school. Arguably, not exactly fun for my parents who were running out of ideas for punishment.

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In case you were wondering what’s it like to have a blog it’s actually kind of fun. It’s also a lot like being a madman and talking to an empty room. So, if you would describe yourself as a fun madman by all means you should have a blog. I am volunteering my services in helping with the set up. Or better yet, I will publish anyone able and willing to get out there into the wide web. In all seriousness, message me in the suggestions section.

So, one of the perks of having a blog is getting spam comments. A lot of webmasters complain about them and I honestly disagree. There are boring ones offering to improve your site speed and visibility and increase your penis. And then there are those:


‘German made hearing aid batteries’ – the title by itself gets you hooked immediately. Because you know German engineering is behind it, and German engineering is reliable and you’re confident about it. Customer trust won immediately. Now, is that a great marketing tactic or what? Hearing aid – that’s of course not for everyone because your hearing might be just fine. But what if you were looking to amplify your hearing and here comes this German company with a reliable product and it gets you thinking, right? Maybe you can buy these and save them for when you’re old and start having actual hearing problems. You’re thinking ahead and planning for your future, your parents would be proud. Hell, you’re proud of yourself already. But then it ends with ‘batteries’. And you’re like ‘Darn it’ now I need to buy a hearing aid separately because you can’t miss out on this great offer for German made batteries. What if it’s exclusive and by the time you need actual batteries for the hearing aid there will be only China made ones. You don’t want that in your life.

Then the text of the message. ‘This won’t work for Outlook 2007’ – the hearing aid won’t work or the batteries? I’m confused. And I wander which Outlook version I have. But then I’m told that my ‘older version of Outlook will be upgraded no matter what’ and at least that’s covered, and I don’t need to worry about my Outlook version anymore.

‘Rechargeable batteries undergo self-discharging when left unused’ – all true. That’s just a useful piece of information.

‘Most likely you will first be familiarized with all of the parts of the hearing aid’ – now, you not only need to buy a hearing aid but to familiarize yourself with all its parts? Watch your tone, spam comment, you’re getting pushy.

What have we learned here?  Hearing aids apparently work with Outlook 7 BUT not older versions; however automated update is guaranteed so technically don’t worry about it. But, in case you’ll be having trouble with your hearing aid you might want to check your Outlook version and/or spam folder. Don’t worry about the batteries too because there is a great German company that makes them, its name is undisclosed but I’m sure if you just google German-made-hearing-aid-batteries company you’ll come up with something.

I reality we learned nothing useful here, people. But the offer to publish anybody with some clever text on any topic imaginable still stands.

P.S. Here is a link to some great deals on hearing aid from Amazon 



So, this weekend was the Labor Day weekend. You’re welcome, if you missed it. Although if you did, that probably means you had to work and it didn’t mean jack shit to you. Our hearts go out to you non-normalized working schedule people.

For the rest of the heard, I hope many got the chance to get away and do the farewell summary things. Although, chances are this heat will stay well through October and we’ll be doing the LAST swim, BBQ, or whatever other crucial outside activity for the last time at least several more time. Besides, internet is full of suggestions on what to read, and what to see, and what not to read, and what not to see to avoid the fall’s season blues. So I’m sure, if you follow all the couple of thousand life hacks closely and keep your wits intact, it’s all jolly times from there.

I started my weekend with a dinner on a Friday night with a couple of friends. Which wasn’t much significant, as we all behaved decently (I know, what the hell). But the place was nice, they had a live DJ, food was excellent, service exceptional and I thought I should share this one with you. Tis was 1001 Nights, Mediterranean cuisine, and it’s on Sheepshead Bay (there aren’t any sheep, or heads. At least, not that I’ve seen). It’s not your typical hipster location, but do check it out if in the neighborhood.


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How do you beat a story about Italy? With a story about Bahamas. That’s how.

As I’ll be telling you about my yet another vacation, that actually happened some years back, but was awesome regardless.

Why you might ask? Mostly not to think about the audit request currently laying on my work desk, but also for entertainment purposes to you, people. But mostly to avoid that audit. I’ll get to it. I promise. Eventually.

Anyhow, so to the Bahamas I went with a mad captain and a collection of 7 other slightly lunatic people because how else do you describe a decision to cross the Gulf of Mexico on our own, and live on a boat for a week. And I don’t mean cruise ship people, I mean boat.

Or catamaran is the proper term
Or catamaran is the proper term

Why? Because it was cheap and dangerous. I think that was the logic behind the trip.

The crossing was actually just really long (about 16h) no storms were involved so it was also really boring. But we did catch some tuna on the way, and it was the first time I tried tuna in such a freshly served state because we ate it raw. We did clean the guts and stuff, we’re not complete animals, you know. Point being, it was fresh and good.

Snacks jumping around us, we reached our destination point, which was the Island of Bimini. Not exactly the mainland Bahamas because those are further down. But it was still gorgeous with turquoise water and white sand beaches. The sight of which made me ready to cry, in a romantic way, sort of from an emotional overwhelming of feelings from observing such beauty. What can I say, I’m a tender soul.


The way to describe it?  It was incredibly tropical looking, like on TV. And we did a lot of swimming, snorkeling, and some diving. Inside a rotting ship wreck. Without professional supervision. With a collection of local wildlife around us. If you’d maybe add some sharp knives and fire that would complete our trip. I think we really set out to test if maybe fate was done with us for good. In a nutshell, it was fun. And now that I think if it, we did have sharp knives.

Sapona wreck
Sapona wreck

We lived and slept on the boat. Sometimes on deck. And you can be pretty damn sure that sleeping underneath open sky in Bahamas is kind of awesome. It was also with 7 other people so not recommended if you like your privacy much, or if you get stabby tendencies with others. Those same faces will not change much for the duration of the trip. They might get somewhat more tanned but that’s about it. So choose faces that go with you wisely.

We ate a lot of fresh seafood: conch, and lobster, and aforementioned tuna, and this one time barracuda. I have no explanation for this last one, it wasn’t even that good. But fresh seafood was for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and spam was in my dreams. So, there’s your life wisdom for travels far and close – pack spam.

So, the mad captain (not sure if he’ll be happy with this title) is an actual person who makes frequent trips as such, and takes all the suicidal, adrenalin-seeking, adventure junkies on board with him. For a small ransom of course, arrr (that’s a pirate sound).

Feel free to reach out for more info @ Viktor Popov on Facebook.

P.S. I’m fairly out of vacation material. I almost promise.



As promised, vacation chronicles.

This is going to be a rather long post, so take breaks or something.

Itinerary: Rome, Venice, Milan (with slight alteration towards the end, stay tuned.)

Rome Day 1

Right off the bet the trip didn’t start off that well. Because I arrived to Rome scoring a sad panda look (for non-make up wearing people it’s when your mascara does dark circles around your eyes). This was all because I decided to wear one of them eyeshade masks on the plane, thinking I’ll look cool. The joke was on me, as I went through passport security looking like a crying hooker.

Self-esteem slightly damaged, we arrived to Rome center via the train (helpful tip: Rome has trains) and wobbled our way to the hotel. Because the streets are covered in cobble stone, and despite their initial aesthetic appeal, your feet will learn to hate. Speaking of feet and hate, we walked 12 miles on the first day. Which was kind of stupid because that left us almost nothing to see on the second day. Also, the sole of my foot turned into a giant blister which meant I was limping the rest of the trip and we limited our walking distances to about 10 miles a day (which means we’re crazy and we still walked a lot).

Initial impression of Rome was mixed. Maybe that’s just how history looks – nostalgic and disappointing. Something important was there, it’s not anymore, but there are walls to prove it. Maybe I’m just being an asshole.

ancient Rome

Don’t get me wrong all the historic attractions, monuments, and statues were impressive and grand. Sometimes they felt unnecessarily big, even the trees, mostly of course grand, but also just ridiculously fucking huge.

very monumental
very monumental

Rome Day 2

I woke up with a thought ‘oh goddamnit, we have 6 more days of sightseeing’. Beach side vacation in Mexico seemed very appealing at that point.

But we loaded up on some expresso, which I have to say was really good, and I came to regard as tiny shots of life forces that coupled with curiosity make you cover impressive geographical distances.

The day started off at Villa Medici that scores an excellent view of the city, and makes it perfect for a morning selfie.


Then we saw a bunch of other ancient elaborately arranged piles of stones: piazzas (plazas), churches, and obelisks. That look like long narrow pencils or penises, whichever. That is obelisks do. Piazzas and churches look exactly like they sound.

twin churches, Rome
twin churches, Rome

Fun fact; don’t bother to learn any Italian because almost everybody understood English. And I did just fine using three words ‘Ciao, quanto, and grazie’ (eng: hi, how much, thank you).

Food is good, so just eat. Don’t expect too much variety though, because in Italy they mostly serve, surprise – Italian. We are spoiled with choices in New York, and towards the end it did get a bit repetitive and sort of ‘I can’t take any more pasta!’ So pack some spam. Kidding. They actually sell spam in stores there.

The best impressions were from wandering through the streets. Although probably not recommended if you don’t have a GPS or a reasonable sense of direction. The city is pretty big and the streets are European and confusing.

just a street

Venice Day 1

Now, this definitely was something unlike anything, in other words, impressive and gorgeous. All the buildings, architecture, canals, and boats, and even painted poles sticking out of water – it was all there. It was also rotting and soon to collapse one day, but hey not my problem.

Venice, Grand Canal

There weren’t any cars because there aren’t any roads. All the going-abouts are done via boats, even public services such as police, and delivery, and buses, which are not actually buses but are boats that in general sense behave like buses and follow specific routes. And they have a fun name ‘vaporetto’. Do vaparett yourself around Venice (I’m coining a new term).

There are gondolas, of course, all over the place. Every local resident seemed to have been a gondolier. But they’re expensive and I don’t imagine them being much different from a ride on vaporetto. So save yourself some bucks and spend them on drinks.

Speaking of which, a must have drink while in Venice is Sprits, which is a drink that originated in Venice and arguably stayed there because I haven’t heard of it anywhere else. It is a combination of local liqueur Campari, and seltzer, and some other secret ingredients.  It serves as an excellent subject matter for picture taking that is sure to put your Facebook community into fits of jealousy, which in combination with the drink itself is an excellent way to end your day.

I’m jealous of myself

Venice Day 2

Slept in late because by this time, you start realizing that life force is a very much measurable and limited unit of energy.

Regardless of which, you can’t sit still for too long because you’re in Venice for Christ Sake. And getting lost in the streets is simply magical. Until, you start walking in circles then it gets a tad bit annoying. Streets are narrow and a lot of times lead to nowhere or lead to beautiful discoveries.

Such as this one time we could hear somebody playing a violin in their home. Maybe they were actually paid to sit at home and play violin for tourist’s amusement, but I like to believe it was some poor, hungry music enthusiast (poor and hungry are requirements).  Or this other time we were having lunch in a small restaurant and a bunch of kids started playing soccer, legitimately with an actual ball, not a video game. Maybe they were a paid tourist attraction as well. A lot of things were too good to be true so I’m going with a conspiracy theory.

Venice, classic

By this time, I noticed that every shop, restaurant and bar was playing American music, which was kind of annoying and ruined the whole sound track of our trip. At one point, Britney Spears came on with ‘Oops, I did it again’ and that moment you knew we are definitely doomed as human species and the end is near.

Venice Day 3

All the major attractions covered, this day was dedicated to aimless wandering, which meant covering every inch of the city left unattended.

We went to check out Biennale di Venezia, which is a famous exhibition of contemporary art. It’s sort of the birthplace of all contemporary art. Or in human words all the strange and weird things with a nametag art get their start there.  Don’t worry it’s only twice a year, it ends October, and you should be ok to go after that. One thing that I found pretty kick ass was this.


Then we went to check out a local cemetery. Just because it’s part of a life cycle, people. And it didn’t feature crowds of tourists, probably because it’s not an obvious point of destination. And we found a grave of a prominent Russian poet, Joseph Brodsky, not that you care, but now you know.

The day ended with some rain at the city’s most famous Saint Mark’s square, which was sort of gorgeous in it of itself. I might be romanticizing somewhat much, but fuck it. I think it’s allowed when you’re in Venice.

Piazza San Marco featuring rain

Milan Day 1

So this was our last day before we left and it was supposed to be in Milan, but it sort of wasn’t. Because we met with some acquaintances and they took us to the sea. Two hours’ drive away to be exact, not that I was counting. The city was Genoa, right on the shore of the Mediterranean sea, and it was breathtakingly beautiful, if you will. Plus no walking was involved, so this was a day very much anticipated and appreciated.


Then we had dinner in Milan, at a cool market place. It looked like something out of Williamsburg. Milan itself reminded of a European type of New York – business professionals, and hipsters, and immigrants. Home was calling.

Oh, and we stayed in a hotel that was inside a museum. That’s what you call going out with a bang.

And finally the end.

What I leave you with is – nothing. Make your own judgements, besides I’ve typed enough here and if you got this far, be proud of yourself just for that alone.

P.S. Gladiators, I salute you! (that’s a movie reference)



So yesterday was the gallery exhibition I mentioned about on Facebook, which was pretty exciting because the studio was nice and freshly painted. I know this for a fact because we had to stop by, on a business matter, a day before the opening and they were painting it. Which tells you this was no joke, otherwise they would have left the crumbling walls and called it a rustic look. So the studio was Root Studio in Williamsburg and it was featuring five photographers that were chosen on a competition basis, theme: travel, name #workinprogress.

This was also no regular drink-and-stare-at-art event for me because I got behind the scenes access through @twisted_mind who was being featured in the exhibition. Which pretty much meant I had to show up an hour early and help hang the pictures. Not that I’m complaining, or am I.


I have to say the layout and set up of the studio looked like somebody actually made an effort to think, which was nice and refreshing in this cruel world of ours. And the staff people that assisted us were accommodating and friendly. Shout out to them, no names, we kept it anonymous.

Also, the curator of the show was Mickey Boardman whose name told me nothing, same as to the security guard who almost didn’t let him through. But google lent a helping hand and I recognized seeing his face before as many of yous probably did too. (at certain points he was an arm’s reach away and I resisted an urge of going for a grab, because it’s frowned upon in this society, or so I am told).

The beer was flowing freely until the moment it stopped flowing freely because they ran out of it. Considering the sponsor of the show was the beer company, you might think of it as a tad bit embarrassing. Or maybe that night just saw an especially active coalition of drinkers. We’ll never know exactly and this secret will stay safe with me and the internet.

Also, I got to meet another really cool photographer Frank Marshal who still uses film. And you would know this about him because his website is called Apart from being good at what he does, he is also bold and funny. And really bad at drawing because what in the world is that supposed to represent?


Overall, it was a great night in a cool place with nice people. Maybe I had one beer too many because my perception of the evening is suspiciously positive. I’m not sure what the gallery is/will be displaying next, but do go check it out. In the very least, remember – it’s freshly painted.

P.S. As a side note, having a day job and rubbing elbows with hipsters until 1 am don’t go well together.



This weekend had a German theme to it. Because it started with grilled sausages and ended with a fascist car that reminded me of Hitler. But I’m running ahead of myself.

Not much else German related actually happened. Grilled sausages did happen, as part of a desperate end-of-the-summer attempts to grill everything there could possibly be grilled because in the words of Stark family ‘the winter is coming’ (Game of Thrones reference, in case I have to explain myself). And who knows what’s waiting for us in the winter maybe not starvation but also not BBQ ribs. So, feel free to start packing back those pounds because soon enough we are about to get saved, in the form of large sweaters. Don’t do it too fast though because there still Labor Day coming up and who knows you might get invited somewhere fancy. But definitely let loose after that. I’m not saying you should get fat, but if you were considering it – that’s the time to do it. You’re welcome.

In any case, it’s not easy to eat much lately because it’s so damn hot still. I’ve written about the heat before. There is not much to add, other than a fact that it’s still here.  Oh, and there actually was the air quality alert, which I guess was meant to alert you not to breathe, and which I’m sure saved many innocent lives (I don’t have any statistical data to support this claim).

As a side note, do not agree to do anyone, any type of favor, ever. I try to make this my life’s mantra but sometimes I get tricked into situations of providing assistance onto others. More specifically, do not ever agree to help editing somebody else’s research paper.   Mostly because it’s time consuming and boring, and mostly because your ass cheeks will get sweaty from all that computer sitting in this weather. I’m talking from life experience here, people.

After doing this and that without much enthusiasm and success on Saturday, reluctant but condemned I agreed to leave the house on a Sunday, and go visit an antique car show. I have never been to a car shows, let alone the one with old cars. And somehow the ideas of sweltering heat and ancient piles of metal completed each other. Apart from feeling like a hyperactive ball of sweat glands, the show was actually cool.IMG_20150816_142025

And then I saw a car that looked like a fascist car, and reminded me of Hitler, and I just had to take this picture.


P.S. Don’t hold me accountable for my actions. Any of them.



This post is actually not entirely about yoga for the homeless, but hey it’s a catchy title.

I think I’ve become some type of culinary critic. Or rather not a critic since I don’t criticize, because I’m nice and cool like that, more like a person that goes to random restaurants and then writes about them. Hey, people have different hobbies. I’m not much good at anything else. Except dancing. Somehow, I ended up with a set of moves worthy of a well-paid stripper.  But back to the food.

Last night I was taken to an authentic Korean place, by a person with the ‘inside knowledge’ (or somebody who knew what to order to make us look cool). And you would know it was an authentic Korean place because it was located on the street named Korean way. The place was called Pocha 32 and I did not receive an explanation as to what happened to the other 31 Pochas.

The entrance was hard to notice and we actually bypassed it at first. So when you got, stay on the lookout for a door that’s easy to bypass. The place had simpleton décor and no white people in sight. Our server tried to come up with food suggestions suitable for us white people, but we ordered the right things, and she gave us a look of approval. We had some type of stew with noodles and other hard to identify ingredients, which regardless of the origin were really really tasty in combination (I couldn’t come up with a better description for my experience than typing ‘really’ twice (so you can be assured it was tasty. Really)). As for drinks, we had half of watermelon filled with some type of alcohol. It was called soju. All I know is that it tasted like fruit punch and sent me into space travels, but only in my head. And here’s photographic proof (not of my space travels, that of the food).20150812_191644

Also, you can be assured a place is authentic if there is a sign on the bathroom door that tells you to push it really hard. I wonder how many people must have been defeated by that door for the sign to originate.

On the downside, the place was located right in the midtown and the streets were swarming with people. Tourists, and workers, and other most random persons. I say random because at some point we bypassed a gathering of individuals that were doing an activity I named ‘yoga for the homeless’. Because it looked like some type of exercise, on yoga mats, right on the street and they all had a homeless look to them. Maybe that’s exactly what it was. In that case I am happy there is some sort of health activity program for the homeless. I support the cause.

Also, try not to suffocate in the subway station while waiting for your train to arrive. Because at the 34th street stating it felt like they had some air-sucking machine at work. Maybe it was some type of social experiment to test the human limits of survival. That would explain it.

P.S. I am debating on creating a whole separate section dedicated to restaurant-going, but I can run out of money, so I won’t.



There comes a point when you’ve spent enough time in the city to feel like it is gnawing on your life forces. And you jump at the opportunity to spend the weekend in the woods, away from it all. And you drive there all ready for a blissful rest. Just as you start getting closer you immediately turn down the car windows and convince yourself that the air already feels different. Realistically, this is upstate and not some sort of nature sanctuary, civilization is still very much present, people drive cars, and burn fuel. But no, the air is different, with incredible healing powers, almost like magic.

And you have a late dinner outside (because by the time you get through all the traffic it will be a late dinner whether you plan it or not). And you sit taking in the quiet and the sounds of nature, disrupted only by occasional distant firework sounds and some people blasting music. But it’s ok, you tell yourself, it is way louder in the city. And you call it an early night, mostly because you’re ready for your restful sleep, and mostly because there is nothing else to do.

Wake up without a slightest hint of hangover on a Saturday, which you think is amazing. Until you check your Facebook feed, and see all the dressed up people from last night, with drinks in their hands having/pretending to have incredible times, and you feel a slightest tinge of jealousy.  But only a slightest because you have all day at the pool today. And nothing beats a pool day in the woods. Actually a pool day on the rooftop in the city sort of beats it, but nothing like nature, nothing like nature (you sort of mumble to yourself throughout the day).

And then you sort of go into this mega relaxed state, borderline laziness, which makes a dip into the pool seem like a chore. And you start thinking that maybe you should move out here because nothing beats this laid back rhythm of life. And you could totally get used to this. Until, you go buy something from a store and a laid back local takes ages to ring you out, and you think that people get murdered for this type of behavior back in the city.

But you heroically carry on with this enjoyment. And you and your companions keep repeating how nice this is to each other, almost as if trying to convince an invisible audience. Until, one person wanders off and plugs a TV in, and everybody else pull out their tablets. And somehow Facebook feed gets even more exciting. Once in a lifetime events all over the city. And you’re silently crying inside and return to repeating your quite mantra ‘nothing like nature, nothing the nature.’

You have another early evening (yes, because it’s freaking boring), and another restful night of sleep. Wake up irritated, probably because your body haven’t experienced this much of sleep in the last three years and doesn’t understand what’s happening. Spend some more time at the pool, mostly to kill time and not to give off how anxious you are to get back. You’re not checking Facebook by this time. Because it hurts too much.

And then the city comes rushing back into your life with its noises and smells and you vow to appreciate them a little more now, or at least to complain a little less.


P.S. And to think at some point in life I was threatening to move into a farm. So long, chickens and cows for that matter.

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Well, actually not exactly ultimate and not exactly a guide. More like a recital of my evening spent there but here it goes.

So, if you’re into good food and happen to live in New York – good for you. If you live elsewhere…well, I don’t know travel a lot or something. As a well-known fact New York has a collection of well diversified restaurants because of all the immigrants that come here and start making their food, because American food sucks. As a result you can easily find a good spot and familiarize yourself with any kitchen from around the globe. That is if you know how to use yelp. Otherwise, you’ll probably be going to that same sushi spot somebody recommended to you years ego, and it’s good, but it’s also pretty much your only place of exploration.

So. Get a Yelp app and visit a restaurant opening. Or just go to the place I went to, which was Moku Moku – a place so good that they named it twice (I actually don’t know how the name originated). This is a Japanese place that serves a version of real Japanese food (I’m assuming this is true because I wouldn’t know otherwise) that doesn’t involve sushi or furthermore rolls (it’s a safe bet to assume that Bagel roll did not originate in the province of Kyoto). So, apparently Japanese people are into skewers because that’s what we ate. Servings were pretty simple, small bite sizes so you got to try different things. They gave us four types of salt and we got to be mad scientists and pair it with different foods. And I got to try two new vegetables: okra and shishito. And I quickly snapped this picture for you.


All in all, I approve.

Then we went walking around which should be done with some caution in Bushwick because at some point of endless wandering we found ourselves surrounded by projects. Which I’m not being racist, but it’s kind of hard not to be racist when you’re surrounded by projects. Found our way back to the fair skinned people, stopped at some place to have drinks. Which were really good, and original and I wanted to share the name with you, but for the life of me I can’t remember it. So, here’s your project – identify a place somewhere in Bushwick, not far from Moku Moku (a place so good they named it twice (I can’t get this phrase out of my head)) not far from projects, with cool drinks.

Then we checked out some painted walls, which Bushwick has plenty of. Not much else, but these are there.


Found our way to Bodega, which is sort of a staple of the neighborhood because they have good wine and also because Google Maps points to them when you type ‘Bushwick Collective’. So, in the very least remember the name in case you find yourself in ‘cool circles’.

And right before we were about to hop into a subway, we stumbled upon a comedy show. Which was completely free, mostly because these were starting off comedians, and mostly because they weren’t exactly funny but the experience was still cool.

So, go and explore this neighborhood, or some other neighborhood. I really don’t care much.

P.S. All the time I was writing this I was debating to changing the title of this post to ‘A place so good, they named it twice’. This phrase will haunt me forever.



Want to hear something strange, and funny, and touching at the same time? I went flower picking on the weekend. I kid you not. Out of nowhere, a friend of mine just said ‘hey, I know this woodsy spot, it has a type of lake and we could just go and pick wild flowers and stuff’. It required some driving, so I was the primary decision maker on this adventurous trip, to which I said ‘ Well, I don’t see why not? I must warn you though; I’m really good at making flower crowns’.  I swear we were both completely sober.

So, on a wave of mutual madness we drove to a woodsy spot, with a lake, and went looking for wild flowers. In case you decide to follow the same strange idea, do know that August is not the best month for flower picking. Apparently it’s off-season or something because we could hardly find any. Also, it turned out we are not the best nature loving people as we kept shrieking away from every single rustle in the bushes with an occasional outcry ‘It’s coming to get us!’. We did manage to scramble some type of a bouquet and I took this highly romantic picture.


On the way back, in the car my friend said ‘I can’t believe you agreed to go flower picking with me’. Well, anything for a friend. Anything unless it’s moving, feeding pet spiders, picking somebody up from an airport (I always get lost in the airports), and sharing the last piece of anything. In that case, count me out.

What else. I went to the movie theater to see Antman. The only reason being, I had free tickets that were given to me at work as a reward for outstanding performance. Upon receiving this great honor I had an itching urge to say ‘you do realize I’m not five years old, right?’ I didn’t. But if by any chance you’re currently an employer and consider giving out movie tickets as rewards…Just don’t. We have an inside joke, that if you do even better than outstanding performance, you might earn yourself some opera tickets and a happy meal from McDonalds. Now, that’s a way to boost office morale.

Anyhow, I have accumulated a number of these movie tickets and finally decided to utilize them. I can’t come close to describing how awful this Antman movie was. Your typical bad boy on the path of righteousness for the sake of his little daughter, with a couple of dumb/supposedly funny sidekicks, hot, new girlfriend, and don’t forget the bold villain. I just saved you a couple of hours of your life.

On a Sunday, I went to get my manicure/pedicure done as I usually do. But this time I decided to treat myself to this spa package session that I normally refuse. And for a good reason. Because all that happened is they took longer to do what they normally do, I assume, to create an impression of everlasting relaxation, which in turn only annoyed me. Then they put some ointment on my legs and rapped them with cellophane, which gave me some sort of allergic reaction and blotchy skin. To top it off, they lit a tiny scented candle, and charged twice the usual price. I came out more irritated than after a busy work day. Beware of the spa pedicure scam.

P.S. So, I was trying to find a funny picture that would match my spa experience, ended up typing ‘fuck scented candles’, and google gave me that…download







Continued from here The Story of Me

So, after the initial excitement settled down. There came some more excitement. Food related. Coming from a post-soviet union country, a lot of western products were deemed as evil and taboo. Now, we had an unlimited access to them. Potato chips were the object of my undivided love and committed attention for the longest time, which in the end cost about 20 extra pounds. Ok people, to prove my point – I have an actual photo of me with a bag of potato chips, one of them ginormous bags from Costco. I am not sharing the photo because it’s kind of embarrassing now.

On the down side I did miss my friends a lot. Probably not because they were such great friends, but because in that present state I didn’t have any other ones. I wrote them letters. Actual, hand-written ones…because we’re cave people.  In all honesty, we didn’t have a computer for the first time being. Since this was summer, school didn’t start until September, I spent most of my days in the apartment with my bag of potato chips. Which wasn’t half bad so don’t feel sorry for me. My letters back home however contained little entertainment value, as I didn’t have much new information to provide. I mean, how many letters can you write describing the same bag of potato chips?

This did change sometime mid-summer when we got a commuter with an Internet connection. I’ve used a commuter before so this wasn’t a big deal, but never the internet part. So on a warm summer day, I was home all by myself and I fired up the internet. This was still dial up, times were different. Ok? And after the horrendous screeching and squealing – I was in. Somebody from above yelled at me ‘You’ve got mail’, and I got goose bumps. But that was it. I had no idea of the practical use for the internet and after a couple of minutes of pointless staring, I logged off, and played solitaire. My letters back home gained some excitement – today I was in the internet.

I watched a lot of American television. Because my parents refused to pay extra for the Russian TV, but also refused to pay for English tutoring classes, television was supposed to become my life coach before I go to school. Also, having been taking English classes back home, after which I was well versed in English phrases such as: ‘The sun is shining’, and ‘London is the capitol of Great Britain’, I was expected to ace this whole language barrier thing. On many occasions, my parents demanded translation to the shows we were watching. And after growing tired of making weak attempts to explain it’s not the same as reciting the poem ‘Why do you cry, Willie’[actual poem: Why do you cry, Willie? Why do you cry? Why, Willie? Why, Willie? Why, Willie, why?], I just started making stuff up. In all fairness my two phrases in English were two more than they knew, so you can’t blame them. For the longest time they believed my made up translations. I got caught eventually because the movie plot didn’t fit.

P.S. Well, apparently I might have started a trend.  article-0-1425283B000005DC-920_224x587










Do you know how you can tell you’re becoming a grown up? If you find yourself after work on a kid’s playground catching a toddler going down a slide. That’s how. I don’t mean just any random toddler. Because if you’re doing that there is something wrong with you. I mean your friend’s toddler, that same friend who shares your memories of days with questionable choices and who knows enough information to potentially put you in jail. For a short period of time, nothing too crazy.

You’re also a grown up if you mutual decide that a walk to the playground is also a good exercise activity. Not exactly a complete work out because you’re still lazy for that, but you also can no longer be blissfully ignorant to the state of your health. Either because by this time you have developed some sort of chronic condition that demands your attention, or either because you finally start feeling guilty for wearing your body down and it’s sort of time to give back.

The conversations don’t change much though. If before it was talking smack about people at school, now it’s talking smack about people at work. This runs in a natural course in between occasional gooing and cooing to the toddler. Here, I’ll visualize this for you. ‘And then this bitch turns and says…*smile to the baby* aren’t you a cutie…so this bitch says…’ Can’t give you any additional details on this topic as the people from work might be reading this (and if they are, imagine them doing guess work exactly which bitch I’m referring to).

Do know you’re becoming a grown up, if afterwards you decide to have a glass of wine. Not just any wine, but you know exactly the type and the maker of wine you are currently in the mood for. And you might even have a little discussion on whether to go with the one from Chile or California. Rewind five years back and presence of alcohol and price were the only deciding factors. Also, at the register you don’t pull out a pile of money everybody chipped into. You have another cute argument on who’s going to pay. And you insist it should be you because you’re coming to visit, and you’re a guest, and you have manners.

What else? You don’t eat chips with your wine. Or any dry/salty/packaged snacks for that matter. You have fruit with cheese because it complements the wine.   I can’t believe I just typed that because I used roll my eyes at that phrase. But it’s true, goddammit.

And then you leave before midnight because it’s a busy day tomorrow. Wake up after a reasonable amount of sleep. And feel just fine. Because that glass of wine is not eating away at your organs. Maybe growing up is not so bad.

P.S. I hereby officially declare my friend’s child a Gerber baby.    IMG_20150728_200825











Remember that day when you were excited to see temperatures climbing up? Well, that day is gone and over and now comes the day when those temperatures turn you into a complaining, sweaty, sad, little person.  You’ve probably went on that camping trip, and seen fireworks on the fourth of July, got a sunburn, went to visit that friend with a pool and experienced enough mosquito bites to place you in a limbo of waiting for this heat to be over with. And Christmas holidays seem very appealing now. And maybe even Halloween. And the whole summertime excitement is overrated anyway. All in all, you know the feeling.

You might be still making weak attempts for some outside activities, as we did this weekend. We went to the newly furnished Brooklyn Bridge Park. This used to be a completely unappealing industrial zone. And now it’s a park. It’s like magic. Probably more like a lot of funding and hard work but I prefer to think of it as magic.

It seemed that a lot of people shared my idea of the magical status of this place, as every available inch on the pavement was squirming with a live person on it. You would think it was the architect’s idea to make a park out of people. The heat and close proximity to other people had a slight feeling of hatred in the air that no amount of breeze could take away.

The park was supposed to be featuring some interactive art pieces. We elbowed through some sweaty people and found one.  I give it the status of decent because I got to have split personalities.IMG_20150726_134725

After which we retreated, found a park with a sprinkler thingy and declared it to be the highlight of the day.IMG_20150726_141132

Then we had some food. Because food can fix all the problems in the world. Except obesity, I assume. Made another park-visiting attempt. This one was in Queens and was also meant to feature some sculptures (Socrates Sculpture Park). And it did. Like three of them on a 4 by 4 space and it was difficult to imagine who came up with the name park for the place. More like – tiny piece of land with stuff. But it was nearly empty and that made it into a cherished spot on the planet.

And yes at certain times it felt as if your eyeballs were sweating. Maybe they were little tears of desperation. I’m not sure.

P.S. I just found out that New York has Cooling centers. I’m dead serious, actual quote ‘Cooling centers will be open Wednesday and Thursday from 8am to 8pm.  Please call 311 to find a Cooling Center near you.’ I challenge somebody to check it out and share the experience.



Continued from here. Don’t be lazy pants and read all previous sections first.

We landed. Due to previously intelligently conducted arrangements, we had some people that were meeting us at the airport. These were not relatives, nor acquaintances but some people from my mom’s hometown that migrated to New York some years back, were identified by some word of mouth, haunted down and asked for help. For whatever strange reason they agreed. However, now I know that once an immigrant it will become your automatic duty to assist all the new arrivals. I’m letting you in on secret local, native-born residents. That’s how we survive. So, if you want to stop immigration, you would need to cut off the source of assistance, which would be impossible because we’re already here. Na nan a na na.

Anyhow, not only these people met us but they acted excited to see us. And we acted excited to see them. We were probably just excited in the general type of sense, sort of we made it this far, and they just happened to be the physical objects on which these emotions could be laid on. But we started hugging each other and slapping one another on the back. After we got that out of the system, we hopped into a yellow cab. Drove some distance away from Manhattan. This was nighttime already and I only saw some vaguely glimmering lights. Was told that is New York. Became somewhat skeptical of this whole moving to America thing and for a good reason. Because then we arrived to Brooklyn. Now, nobody shows you this shit in the movies. Or maybe they do and I just never paid attention to that part, but I was expecting high-rises obviously. In my understanding the whole city consisted of them. And then we unloaded in Bensonhurst…and four-story buildings were the best I would see for a while. Seriously. I decided to deal with this misunderstanding later. Here’s a fittingly depressing, actual view from my window.20150721_202356

I’ll skip the part of how, but by the time we arrived we had a rented apartment waiting for us. Wait for it. A two-bedroom one. Now, recall form before up until 13 I was used to living in a studio with all the immediate members of my family, and some. This was an incredible twist of events. I think for that moment I started believing in God, miracles, and unicorns. My sister and I got a separate room with an absent door that could be visible form living room at all times, but still. We each got our own bed. Now, don’t cry for me Argentina but we shared a bed with my sister up until that point. Eww, I know. There are people that poor. So having own bed and somewhat private premises was pretty fucking awesome.

To be continued.

P.S. I think I got one of them air-conditioning colds. Which sucks and makes you feel there is no justice in the world. I’m probably being a tad too dramatic.













The highlight of this weekend was heat. Some other things happened but this was in between moments of ‘omg, I’m about to pass out’. No amount of being outside, or in the shade, or near the water, or in the water could have saved you. This is the famous New York heat that makes you feel like you’re a lobster in a boiling pot of somebody’s dinner or an eternal sinner that finally died and reach the bowels of hell. I just re-read my descriptions…somewhat extreme, and I bet you won’t want to visit New York in the summer. And you shouldn’t. Visiting a city built on a pile of garbage in the summer is dumb. Visit it in the fall when the garbage gets cleaned away. No, it doesn’t. But it stinks less.

Fate had it that I had to be a part of a kid’s birthday on a Saturday. These creatures seem to be making a re-occurring appearance in my life. I don’t know what this means, just an observation. But this kid was somewhat on the older side. I won’t be able to reiterate the exact age, but it’s in the range where they can talk and can still be easily distracted by junk food and candy, as opposed to opposite sex. It wasn’t bad at first as a bunch of them just roamed around doing whatever it is they were doing pretending adults don’t exist, which was exactly what adults needed. Everything went smooth until Piñata happened, and they temporarily turned into insane vandals.

During these going-ons, I decided to listen to a podcast. Which would mean I would be physically and visually present but also not completely wasting my time on this earth. Several places I heard about Mark Moran’s podcast, called WTF. The name appealed to me immediately. He had Barack Obama on his show so you can guess I’m not lying about it being popular. Honest truth- didn’t think much of it. He curses but that’s about the coolest part of the show. Do be a suspicious, cynical asshole and check it out for yourself.

Be amazed by me because on a Sunday I woke up at 8am specifically to go on a morning run (!). Which I did do on a nearby beach and it felt great but it also felt like being a smoker and an asthmatic is not the best combination. Pride of my accomplishment put me in such a good mood that I got talked into visiting Vanderbilt Mansion that day. Which was partly educational, partly unnecessary (remember heat and stay in air-conditioned premises). One of the cooler things to note, they had several rooms full of random collections with artifacts, animals, weaponry and what not. It didn’t make much sense at first, until we realized with the absence of internet collecting physical things was the way to know anything about them. We dubbed these as the earliest form of Google.20150719_130013

Do appreciate this fact people and utilize internet with the greater purpose. At least on some special days.

P.S. Don’t forget to be a rebel.20150719_133309











So, I went to a French restaurant on Tuesday. No special occasion happened, although coincidentally enough it turned out to be Bastille Day too. From what I recon, it’s the type of French Independence Day. Let’s not bother ourselves with too much world history.

I got pretty excited since I have never been formally introduced to the French cuisine before. I mean I heard enough about it. And I sure did watch a lot of Food Network. It’s a type of obsession I have. Watching other people mix ingredients, whip up fabulous dishes, and provide advice on best ways to preserve foods; advise I shall never follow. It calms my nerves. Maybe because for that period of time I’m not being bombarded with information about terrorist attacks, world hunger, inevitable financial crisis and latest celebrity break up.

Anyhow, my Food Network marathons seemed to have paid off, as I was familiar with practically every ingredient on the menu. I may have never seen them in real life, or further even tasted any of the elaborate names but I was confident with my choices of beef tartar for appetizer and pan roasted scallops for an entrée. Now, it is always a good idea to go with the daily specials but that day they were serving oxtails with gnocchi (I’m not making up these names, I’m telling you this is just too much television) which I immediately dismissed as too heavy of a choice for a lady on a light summer evening. Well, fancy me.

The place was Juliette’s in Williamsburg. I feel almost guilty and ashamed for myself, but I have nothing bad to say about it. The interior was nice and cozy. The place was welcoming, and friendly to the point that it scared you into thinking it can’t be possibly all good. Some shit is about to go down and ruin your evening. But it didn’t. The food was great, wine tasty, and the company impeccable (wink, wink to my date).

Now, I don’t have any photographic proof for you because you’re not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to have casual conversation, eat the food without a twinge of satisfaction and act as if you live in such restaurants. We did however manage to take this video

Credits to @twisted_mind. Completely unrelated to the occasion but we both found to be disturbingly fascinating.

Then we went walking on a hunt for a bar. Came across a street fair with glittering lights, played silly vendor games, and hopped on some rides. Really? As soon as we saw the street fair we immediately turned the other way, and found shelter in a dingy but awesome bar. We knew it was awesome because it featured candles with Saints on the bar stand.


The bar was Union Pool with fittingly inappropriate interior. It served as a nice reminder that life is not all about fancy dinners at restaurants. This is either a deep thought or I’m making up excuses for our bar choice.

P.S. Do be ready to utilize one of your lateness excuses for work the next day. Memories of the awesome night won’t let out of bed easily.



Let’s start this with a Thursday when I went to visit my friend who is a proud owner of a one-year-old, meaning a child. I’ll be honest; I have mixed feelings about children. Not children in general, I’m fine with those. Especially the ones that can already talk because the most random and bizarre things come out of their mouths. Truly entertaining, if you ask me.  But let’s just say I have not yet had an urgent need to reproduce and give this world another version of me. One’s enough.

And then, when I have a rare, confused thought that motherhood is the topic to consider, I go visit my friend. I get the latest updates on child growth and development, issues to face and problems to avoid, as well as various parenting techniques currently on the market. Which I listen to intently because none of them apply to my life. And I walk away thinking, I really don’t believe I have the right to complain about anything. One problem that will disappear from your life is the question of decorating your living room because most of your furniture will look like this.2015-07-13_14.19.32

Advise to take away from this. Do have a friend with a kid. It’s practically free (because how can you not occasionally spend money on tiny, ridiculous, baby outfits) and effective way to get your ‘parenthood fix’.

Then Friday came. Exhausted but determined for the weekend I came home and fell into an unscheduled, troubled nap. And would probably be completely at peace in such condition, but was rudely awaken by a friend (this is a different person now) and shamed into getting together for at least couple of drinks. Because it’s FRIDAY night and you know, it will like never happen again until the next Friday, which means a whole set of additional 7 days. Unthinkable. To put this story short. The evening ended at some night hour after a good amount of kitchen talk and guitar singing.


I’m utilizing my awesome Paint powers here because she was not happy with the way she looks. If you’d see the original photo, you wouldn’t blame her.

Most of the Saturday was spent in a rehabilitation mode. Until hunger got the best of me and I went out for dinner with some friends. One thing led to another, and there we were driving in a yellow submarine (which was actually a cab, but might as well have been a submarine for us) to an exclusive Manhattan nightclub, which probably defines every Manhattan nightclub as all of them claim to be super exclusive. I was assured by my companions, this one’s different. It’s wasn’t. We went to Cioelo in the meatpacking district and it turned out to be closed off premises with alcohol and dancing people. Which for me is pretty regular. Music was good, so there’s that.

P.S. To leave you with something thought provoking and scandalous watch this movie Only Lovers Left Alive. Not much scandal to it, it just happens to be really good.



Continued from here and here (in that order, if you wish for it to make sense (your call, really))

I was going to end my travels to America there, and skip to when we landed. Which would be a logical thing to do. But then it was my first time flying and what the hell might as well share with ya’ll (somehow, a southern accent seemed appropriate here).

Getting through security was very intimidating. I think at the airport security school that is exactly what they teach them – to look intimidating. I can’t get over the feeling to this day. Every time I go through a security check, I feel like breaking down and pulling a bag of heroine out of my asshole (no, I do not normally carry heroine in my asshole).

But I did have a stuffed animal in my hands. A grown ass thirteen-year-old (because since childhood, I am what you might call, large boned) with a stuffed animal in hands. And the reason I had a stuffed animal in my hands is because it didn’t fit anywhere in our luggage. It wasn’t even mine, it was my sister’s. I had no emotional attachment to it, and would have gladly dropped it in the nearest bin. But it was my sister’s precious gift. And her being 19, with a stuffed animal in hands, might have attracted some attention from already suspicious security. So, I generously offered my services. And that thing went through all security conveyor belts. I dutifully put it in along with other people’s handbags and laptops. People gave me sad and for some reason understanding looks. I carried on.

The plane ride was actually exciting for me. No dirt for you here. Thankfully, I am not afraid of flying. I got a window sit. I was flying to America and running Hollywood stardom scenes in my head. My sister however. I had to stop the sentence there. Just so you understand. She was leaving her boyfriend behind, and the many many friends that appeared to multiply uncontrollably ever since we made an announcement of us going to the U.S. and A. She was leafing through the good-bye wishes her friends wrote down in a pretty notebook made, I assume, specifically for such purpose. Not the smartest thing to do, if you ask me. Naturally, she got emotional and sad and started crying. A lot. I, in a spur of comradeship, pulled out the same sad notebook put together by my friends. Read through it. Now, keep in mind that my friends were thirteen-years-old. A lot of the writings were just damn right ridiculous. My soul was not touched. I didn’t feel emotional to the slightest bit, but I did not give up. I took my sister’s notebook. That stuff was hard core. To the bone type of thing. So there we sat crying and reading over my sister’s notebook. Hollywood stardom scenes kept playing somewhere in the back of my head.

P.S. Here is a childhood picture of my sister and me. I am the smaller one (but she’s the skinnier one now…)



Firstly, try not to get teary from the title of this post.

So, I’ve been somewhat away from posting for a couple of days. Long weekend and all. But I’ve also been dutifully collecting material for you. Let’s call great consumption of foods and beverages that. 4th of July. How shall we describe this great tradition of BBQing,  waving American flags, burning stuff and fireworks?  As exactly that.

It may also serve as an excuse of random people coming together in great fits of enthusiasm and comradeship. Such as your neighbors. Whom you may want nothing to do with all year long, other than a polite wave in their direction. If you’re having an outside cook out use caution, as the smell may draw in these  people. Your other option is to cook something unappealing to an average sense of smell. Otherwise, be ready to utilize all your collection of ‘small talk’ conversation topics and do some ‘ooh aah’ over how big their kids got.

Also, don’t be fooled by their friendliness over your shared meal and unreasonable laughs. They will ask you to turn down that music. Even though you may have an ex – inspiring DJ in your crowd spinning his stuff, the music will become especially bothersome. You are to dutifully turn down that volume and settle for a pictureIMG_20150704_200047

If you have a water of body nearby, go for a dip. And show off that pale, office body to the sun. Do have burn alleviating treatments ready cuz that shit hurts. Participate in some outside sports activities. But depending on your level of alcohol consumption, and coordination of movements skill you might be better off on the sidelines.

Then do a random thing and go to a bunch of yard sales. Look at creepy stuff other people bought and you want nothing to do with. I challenge you to give me one reasonable explanation of this purchase:


Or hit the mother of all jackpots and come across huge boxes of comic books collectibles. This evening was well spent.


P.S. Don’t forget to spend an unreasonable amount of money on shopping, under the pretense that it’s an exclusive sale never to be seen again.



So, I have a friend whom I meet with almost exclusively only on Wednesdays. This tradition did not begin intentionally. It originated from impossible overlaps and complications in our busy schedules and hectic lives (rolling my eyes). We were never able to coordinate a different day to meet. So, eventually Wednesdays became our thing. In all honesty, I’m not even sure why we’re friends. It’s that type of situation where two people that couldn’t be more different meet, sort of look at each other, think ‘there is nothing in this person that resonates with me’, and then think ‘I guess, I’ll just stick around to see what happens’. And that’s how great friendships forge and exist on a Wednesday schedule. But how are you different, you ask? Well, she’s blond – I’m not (both in actual and metaphorical meanings), I’m tall – she’s not, I’m good looking, she’s…you get the idea. Kidding. We are both really good looking, maybe that’s our bond right there.

The activities we do together are also somewhat non-logical.

Last Wednesday, we have agreed to meet in the City (that’s how cool people call Manhattan) and just have a nice walk and pretend we live there. This is a nice tradition we have and I like to tap myself on the shoulder for it. And that’s what we did. We got Starbucks, and I took this picture:IMG_20150624_180009

Then we decided that Starbucks wasn’t exactly cutting it and went to a rooftop bar on the 5th Ave to be ladies and have cocktails. We managed, thank you very much.


After which, home was a really valid option but the night was still young and some unassuming pub seemed to have blocked our way to the subway. Some number of beers later, at 2 am we were giggling at our yellow cab driver who was attempting to inform us of the non-smoking status of his cab, under the normal circumstances. We assured him, circumstances were out of norm.

This Wednesday, we were having none of that nonsense. We met at the gym lounge. Don’t be fooled by the name, it’s not an actual lounge in the normal type of sense. They serve fresh made juice there. Over which, we caught up on the local gossip of the past week and were ready for our workout. Had a nice yoga class session and walked out into the warm summer night. Decided that we’re somewhat hungry and sort of deserve it anyway. And ended the night nibbling on unhealthy portions of fried Turkish food with healthy doses of beer. Because it’s summer, and girls just want to have fun, and insert your excuse here.

P.S. She’s getting married today and I’m not there to support, probably because today’s a Thrusday.



Recent collection of me and my car adventures have inspired this post.

If you are currently the if-I-only-had-a-car type of person, pay attention to this. By chance, I ended up being a sole and proud owner of a leased car. It was not a conscious decision. I was intoxicated when I signed the lease. Kidding. Let’s just say the circumstances of the situation are somewhat complex and none of your business. Point being, I have the damned thing. The question of its damned status is unmistakable.

Now, as any good girl I did get my driver’s license at 16 but have been successfully avoiding getting behind a wheel since. I am waiting for the teleportation to become a reality and don’t want to get stuck with an unnecessary set of skills. Or in the very least cars that drive themselves which should be in effect by now, if you ask me. But in all honesty, let’s just say out of many talents I poses driving was never my thing.


If you ever have trouble imagining how to spend a cloudy, gloomy weekend, just buy yourself some furniture and spend the whole day putting it together. Throw in the mix your boyfriend’s mom, that you met for the first time, and that should be complete. You might detect some irony in my words, but in all honesty I can recommend furniture assembly as a nice ice breaker. Everyone is occupied with instructions and providing the best interpretation of what attaches to where. That is if you know what you’re doing. Otherwise I suggest you rely on some expert help or hire some Mexicans (I’m not being racist, I really do regard them as hard workers). This activity will also easily replace your normal workout routine. And the strangest body parts will hurt the next day from assuming positions that otherwise are not normally performed. I’m still talking about assembling furniture, you imaginative perverts.




Continue from here The Story of Me – Beginning

We got in a car and were driving from Western Ukraine of my home town Ternopil (look it up) to Warsaw. Then we were getting on a plane to New York. Why our travel arrangements were so elaborate perplexes me to this day. But that is how it happened. The drive was uneventful. What is worth telling is my first brutal introduction to the civilized society we were about to join. Our driver was an unfamiliar man who made a business out of driving people to Warsaw who were flying to America. Apparently there existed an active stream of such. Probably, somebody at one point decided this was the best idea ever, and was really good at promoting best ideas ever, and it just went viral. Don’t ask me.




Summer is officially here and the pressure is on. The pressure to have fun. Because during winter you have the ability to complain about weather wrap yourself in blankie and carry on getting fat. But summer is the game changer. All of a sudden, you feel the need to be doing something. But wait, not just something it has to be fun and exciting. You need to fill up that reservoir of ‘Fun Memories’ tank to keep you going through the dark times of winter. This is the time when all of a sudden you have the need to see people. Socialize, so to speak. Help each other with the ‘Fun Memories’ tank (because you know they’re under pressure as well), make questionable choices, talk load, and laugh a lot.



Let me add some additional justification to the part ‘book’ in the name of this blog (those of you first readers of this blog go here and here to gain a better understanding of what’s happening (and yes, I am tricking you into visiting more of my posts, you totally got me)). Anyhow, another book I will be forcing you to read is Let’s Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson. There will be an unexpected twist to this post but I can’t tell you what it is yet because that’s sort of what makes it unexpected. Here is a neat little picture for you because humans are visual creatures.





Now that I have this blog, I feel like I owe you a report on my weekend. No cemeteries this time, only abandoned psych ward. Here it goes.

On a Saturday, I was trying to renew inspection on my car. If you’re currently not a lucky car owner, do know that apart from the actual car cost, car insurance, gas money, occasional tickets and towing incidents (that actually happened), you also need to get your car inspected every given period of time. And if you happen to forget to do



Go out and walk, Brooklyn. The warm weather is upon us. Who would have ever expected that, it’s only June. And after leaving that precious office space, 5 o’clock sharp, you get to see some daylight now. So much so, that you might feel encouraged enough to leave closed spaces all together, meaning your home, meaning on a weekday, meaning without special planning and months of preparations. You can believe me it’s summer if I came home and instead of assuming a compfy position behind my laptop, because I-am-oh-so-tired, I changed and just walked out into the light. It felt nice. Just to be outside not going to/from work, running an errand or being super preoccupied with the next thing from your to-do list. I panicked a little because it felt crazy to be doing something without a ‘grand’ purpose to it. But my brain immediately mapped out the route in my head that I shall follow, while aimlessly wandering about.




I went to the cemetery today. No, nobody died. Or actually a lot of people previously died. Because that’s how cemeteries get created.  But none of them were of relation to me. The weather was shamefully gorgeous today and what better way to spend it than strolling through a cemetery. Bare with me, this somehow will make sense. Also, this doesn’t mean you go to your closest resting place and wonder about, although if that rocks your boat probably go for it. I went to a historic pace in Brooklyn – Greenwood Cemetery. It’s gigantic with plenty of green wood as the name suggests, old elaborate tombstones, and a handful of famous people resting in piece. If you get over the fact that you’re surrounded by a bunch of dead people, the place is really serene. And guess what?! Quite. It’s like an outside library. Or its like your typical conventional park but with no people in it. All to yourself.  Although, BBQing would probably be frowned upon. And it should be rightfully admitted snack time doesn’t exactly crosses your mind while there.


So, today I got a rejection for yet another corporate interview I attended. Some back story would be appropriate here. I’ve been looking for another job for about a year now. Sad, I know. Not because I’m unemployed, quite the opposite. I am fully employed, earning a fairly life-sustaining salary. But certain days arrive and I appreciate the fact that guns are outlawed in New York. Otherwise, if I had the access to them shit could go down. Now that I think about it, I probably wouldn’t even be the first one to put them to use at my workplace. I guess what I’m saying is I support gun control.










Well kids, today I will tell you about arguably the most Facebooked attraction in the nearby city area. Grounds for Sculpture park in New Jersey. Please accept my deepest apologies for talking about New Jersey. Not particularly a worthy state. I just single handled ruined slightest chance of having any New Jersey audience. But this must be. For if you live in New York, you must not like the New Jersey State. You’re expected to make smug remarks about it, such as calling it “The Garden State’ knowingly shaking your head with a mean facial expression. I do not know how and when this started, nor do I care much about validity of this argument. Let’s just call this blindly following the herd.




I’m sure many of you are eager to know more about me. So, I’m creating a new piece to my blog. I shall call it ‘The story of me’. I’ll be posting my memories as they flood back to me. Stay tuned and they might even follow chronological order.

So, where does one’s journey begin in life? The first memory? First lost tooth? Getting your period (for girls, I would imagine its wet dreams for boys (don’t quote me on this)). Did you think I will provide you with an answer, or arrive to a logical conclusion here? Not that type of post. But it seemed like a proper introduction. A bit short. I will stretch it out some more now.




Do you wish to tap into your RocknRolla without having to OD on recreational drugs? Well, visit, Williamsburg then. Even if you’re not the person who ‘wants the fucking lot’ there are plenty of people to look at that seem to be wanting exactly that. The sort of collection of RocknRollas with an unknown source of income. Because I highly doubt any of them have daily duties to report to, and let’s be honest there simply can’t be enough I’m-an-artist jobs to go around.




Call me the events goer. Because I’ll be telling about yet another artsy thing I attended. This one was in Queens. We seem to be covering NYC geography from all angles so far. Except for Bronx, don’t expect to be reading anything about that part of the jungle any time soon. Maybe the Bronx Zoo. That is, in case I somehow decide to partake in the illicit drugs consumption and travel two hours to see momma bear.

So what sort of amazing thing you went to again, you ask? This was a ‘Night at the Museum’ at MoMA PS1. Not to be confused with regular MoMA that is located in Manhattan and is known by all, more or less educated people. This is actually a completely, physically unrelated building located in Long Island City, which in return regardless of the name Long Island is located in Queens. I’m not doing this on purpose, I swear. So after some frustration as to where and why and what is happening and how we get there, we got there.




I had a friend recently who got upset because based on the name booklynite, she was expecting this site to have something about books. This one’s for you, upset friend. Coincidentally and luckily for everyone involved, I do read books. And I even have one of them things:


I will share with you on my latest obsession, which would be Charles Bukowski. Now I’m not a literary critic, so don’t take everything I say here to heart. Take only some of it. But I will tell you this guy became my favorite right after Dostoevsky. A sort of modern day Dostoevsky with the lack of higher education and really bad manners. Make what you want out of that. Born in Germany, lived in LA, died in 1994. His writing contains a lot of, what one would call, crude scenes describing the life of an alcoholic, who hates his job, and participates in plenty of sexual intercourse. I know. You can thank me later.



So well into the work week as I was dragging myself to the office, I couldn’t help but think there just has to be some benefits to having a ‘real job’. Call it a streak of optimism or temporary madness. But here is what my brain came up with:

  1. You get to pay your bills– a bit on the obvious side
  2. Stops you from partying too much– you have somewhere responsible to be from 9 to 5
  3. Saves you money– see above, stops you from partying too much
  4. Allows you to pay taxes – and feel like a contributing part of the society, for once
  5. Randomly calling in sick, gives you a thrill of adventure
  6. Fills your closet with smart pants, jackets, and shirts – that otherwise would never find their way into your closet
  7. Gives you a great topic for conversation and bitching, while out with friends

Feel free to hang these at you work station for motivational purposes.

P.S. To add more optimism to this post, here is a picture of an actual work project I had to do:20140930_162724



IMG_20150508_113706[1]Now apart from Brooklyn, this fine city has another four boroughs. And one of them, arguably, might be even more familiar to some than Brooklyn. Yes, I’m implying Manhattan. The place where we all imagine ourselves living whenever we say we’re from New York. But when asked to specify where exactly, we say ‘Brooklyn’ – and people respond ‘Oh’. And ‘Oh’ it is. But let’s be frank, who needs Manhattan with its overrated glamour, pompousness, and grandiosity at all times of day and night. Well, anyone who can afford it. But I can’t, so I’ll keep on saying Brooklyn is the best place to live – a perfect balance of places to visit, and quite streets to wander in without having to speed walk at all time. For if you walk slower than 10 miles per hour in Manhattan – you’re a tourist. (in case you’re wondering how fast 10mph is, the average walking speed is 3mph (I looked it up)).


Now that we talked about Brooklyn Museum, and Brooklyn Botanical Garden, the natural course of events would be to talk about Brooklyn Aquarium, right? Possibly. But I won’t.

Not many of you may know, but it was my birthday this past weekend. You couldn’t have, I forgive you. And no, I’m not going to tell you about some off the hook party with heavy drinking, and inappropriate patting. Don’t get me wrong, I did get completely and utterly wasted. But let’s just say it was in a more quite, homier type of way. I was at my boyfriend’s home in Long Island (imagine, I left Brooklyn behind on my birthday) with a couple of friends, two balloons, and one bottle of Jameson (large one, of course). But this is not the point.
What I wanted to share with you is the gift that I requested, and got for my birthday. It is a record player. Why do I feel it’s important to share this piece of information? Well apparently record players are making a comeback, and the trend is exponentially growing. So if you consider yourself somewhat hip, it’s like a must have now. You’re welcome.




Now that you have read about the event I didn’t attend, I figured it’d be appropriate to tell you about the one I did go to. And yes, it was in Brooklyn. So far so good, thumbs up for the consistency (don’t expect this to always be true).

The event was Sakura Matsuri Cherry Blossom Festival at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Yes, I did jump on that bandwagon – spring, and pretty, flowering trees. Don’t be hating. A girl has got to keep her feminine side going.





All right. Let me justify the name of this website (misspelled, but still) and write something about Brooklyn. Brooklyn was founded in 1683…kidding. We’re not going that deep. Just yet. Although some background on history eventually wouldn’t hurt (the year is true though, I did look it up).

What could be a more fitting subject topic for a blog on Brooklyn, than going to the Brooklyn Museum for an exhibition of a Brooklyn-born artist? Nothing (and yes, because all three contain the word Brooklyn).






The main idea behind this blog is, of course, to talk about me. I would like to say there is a more prominent idea behind this, such as to promote thought processes (in various directions), and healthy (or even angry) discussions between people of different backgrounds, but I can’t promise you that. So, no. This website will mostly be about me. The way I see and experience life. And you my dear friends, will be privileged enough to comment, and hopefully learn something. Maybe not, but it will kill time and take you away from waiting on FB updates. God knows, we’ve all been there. When you have thoroughly examined all the FB feeds, photos, suspiciously-sourced articles, liked all there is to like and feel helplessly lost (that is, after instagram, twitter, and pintrest were checked as well). You may see this as your safe heaven. No need to take your eyes away from the phone, and look at people around. Or pretend to be reading something, not to look at people around. You may actually be reading something here.

Why do I feel I have the right to share and publish my ideas? Let’s just say my ego is bigger than most. That should cover it.

I will not be following a particular structure, nor there will be much logic to my postings. So the more surprising. You’ll never know what to expect. I will start off, probably, by describing my early life. That way you can form a better educated stereotypical, judgmental, and bias opinion of me.

I will not be providing you with helpful guides, life hacks to improve your health, videos on folding laundry like a ninja (why would ninjas fold laundry anyway), or how to make a lamp out of used plates (although this one might actually work…somebody is totally stealing this from me). I will not be selling you anything. At least not until this website becomes popular. Then, you can most definitely expect pop ups with hot singles in your neighborhood. You’ve been warned.

I feel like I might owe you an explanation as to the name of this website. Firstly, this was supposed to be a, but I misspelled it (true story), and realized my error after the money has been paid. Secondly, Brooklynite by definition (Wikipedia, of course) is someone born and raised in Brooklyn. I have not been born here, but I have been raised in Brooklyn. So I’m only half-lying. And I liked this name. Given the facts above, I’m calling this a destiny and leaving it at that.

I am an immigrant (more on this exciting topic later). And I do live in Brooklyn. (spoiler alert: you can expect the general tone of postings to be immigrant-Brooklyn related) Technically speaking this domain name permanently disables me from moving anywhere. At least, for the duration of this blog. Which is not a problem at hand, considering my current lack of options aka absence of financial funds. Should you consider this to be a guide for immigrants? If you choose so. I am not making this my priority (see above: lack of structure, not a help book).

Another reason for creating this blog is I have always wanted to be a writer. But upon some research, I discovered that it requires time and skill. And who has the time for that anyway. Also, I have been encouraged in the past to start writing, particularly by my sister. Based purely on the text messages I send her (yes, I will include them later on). So, I am referencing this as my source of credibility. You be the judge. But if you have something negative to say, keep it to yourself. Let’s be realistic, I monitor this site. All such posts will be deleted.

However, do feel free to send me constructive criticism (key word being constructive). And whatever else funny ideas popping in your head while in the shower. Apart from providing you with the chronology of my life, I will be giving takes on events I deem worth my while, or topics you request my valuable opinion on. Let’s keep this open-minded, casual, and grammar free. Enjoy.

7 thoughts on “The Booklynite Blog

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    1. milanyk

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      best of luck

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