Here in the USA the moon is prettier than back home.
Why you ask?
Because you cannot see the stars.
Tuesday 24 June 2014
Unnamed #2
You're born, and you're pure.
Seconds later, when your lungs activate properly and you start crying, that's it. Game over. It's all downhill from there buddy.
You live your life, you experience good times, you experience bad times, it's called life.
Sometimes the bad times are more than the good ones and at those moments you tell yourself life sucks. Sometimes it's the other way around and you're happy, but I don't believe either state can stick around forever.
So eventually if the bad times get too much, you've suddenly had enough of this sucky life and you decide you'll start anew.
You'll remove your past.
You might find completely new friends, the old ones connect you to you.
You might move away, you don't need that old place anymore.
You might start new hobbies, the old ones never worked out okay anyway.
You might find new interests, you've had enough of these old ones.
You might start listening to new music, the old one was nothing special.
You might buy new clothing, fashion changes everyday.
You might delete all your Facebook pictures, you don't need them anymore you're a new you afterall.
And then you say "Voila."
But you can't start anew. That's the thing about the past, it's your past. You can't ignore it. It is your life. It is your experiences. They leave scars in different forms and shapes. Mental, emotional, physical, psychological. You are not your scars, but they definitely helped make what you are now. No matter what or how much you change, a part of you will always be affected by these scars, by your deleted Facebook pictures, by your old clothing, by your old music, by your old interests, by your old hobbies, by your old town, by your old friends... by your past.
Your life is like a blank sheet of white paper, pure. Then you start writing on it, and the ink makes it impure. But the ink also gives it life. The ink cannot be erased. But the more you write the less important the first few words seem, but they will always be there.
In the end, you are you.
Seconds later, when your lungs activate properly and you start crying, that's it. Game over. It's all downhill from there buddy.
You live your life, you experience good times, you experience bad times, it's called life.
Sometimes the bad times are more than the good ones and at those moments you tell yourself life sucks. Sometimes it's the other way around and you're happy, but I don't believe either state can stick around forever.
So eventually if the bad times get too much, you've suddenly had enough of this sucky life and you decide you'll start anew.
You'll remove your past.
You might find completely new friends, the old ones connect you to you.
You might move away, you don't need that old place anymore.
You might start new hobbies, the old ones never worked out okay anyway.
You might find new interests, you've had enough of these old ones.
You might start listening to new music, the old one was nothing special.
You might buy new clothing, fashion changes everyday.
You might delete all your Facebook pictures, you don't need them anymore you're a new you afterall.
And then you say "Voila."
But you can't start anew. That's the thing about the past, it's your past. You can't ignore it. It is your life. It is your experiences. They leave scars in different forms and shapes. Mental, emotional, physical, psychological. You are not your scars, but they definitely helped make what you are now. No matter what or how much you change, a part of you will always be affected by these scars, by your deleted Facebook pictures, by your old clothing, by your old music, by your old interests, by your old hobbies, by your old town, by your old friends... by your past.
Your life is like a blank sheet of white paper, pure. Then you start writing on it, and the ink makes it impure. But the ink also gives it life. The ink cannot be erased. But the more you write the less important the first few words seem, but they will always be there.
In the end, you are you.
Monday 23 June 2014
Real Men Love Cats
So after my wonderfull morning wake up call (look at previous blog post for details) I decided to go outside and take a walk during the day for a change.
I put on my favorite t-shirt (look at the title to see what's written on it), put the earbuds in my ears and departed.
I remembered seeing a small coffee house downtown that promised on they windowsill having the best coffee in Ocean City. If you follow this blog you'd have noticed that every time I use the word "coffee" in a post it is usually after the word "sucky" or "shitty". That would be caused by the fact that so far all the coffee I've had since arriving in the <i> wonderful </i> US has been falling in one of the two categories - sucky or shitty. So I was pretty excited about trying this new, hopefully good, coffee.
A brisk 30 minute walk later (I had to make a detour and get cigarettes) I was in front of the coffee shop. A thin elderly woman stood there cutting some sort of baked goods. I asked her about the coffee and she informed me where I can get cups, lids, milk and the actual coffee. The tiny cozy coffee house offered several variates, and I asked which are the strongest ones. The lady kindly pointed them out and told me which one she likes best. I chose the second strongest one and filled a large 16 oz cup with it. She offered me some milky ingredient and then I took a sip.
It wasn't shitty.
It wasn't sucky either.
It wasn't good.
It was great coffee.
It was the best coffee I've had since I arrived in the US.
It was better than most Bulgarian coffees I've had.
The lady kindly even gave me a discount as I work here in Ocean City, and I proceeded to buy a brownie as well.
Fuck, the brownie was awesome too!
I went outside found a nice shady place and sat there. I put on whatever Bulgarian music I had in my phone, looked at the ocean and while I was drinking the nice coffee, nomming the awesome brownie and smoking the cheap cigarette I pretended I was back home, looking at the sea. The water was too clear, it was too clean around me, and the benches were too not-broken, but it sort of worked out.
After that I proceeded and visited an art gallery, the only one I know of in Ocean City, and they had some awesome stuff. Lots of posters, lots of paintings, lots of pictures, a ridiculous amount of variety. I ought to take some pictures and share them with you guys.
Tomorrow morning I'm putting on this t-shirt again, I'm gonna visit the same coffee house, and I'm even gonna leave something in the tip jar, cuz damn finally I know where I can find good coffee. This is one of the best things that have happened so far and it made this one of the better mornings since I am in this place.
Thanks for reading.
I put on my favorite t-shirt (look at the title to see what's written on it), put the earbuds in my ears and departed.
I remembered seeing a small coffee house downtown that promised on they windowsill having the best coffee in Ocean City. If you follow this blog you'd have noticed that every time I use the word "coffee" in a post it is usually after the word "sucky" or "shitty". That would be caused by the fact that so far all the coffee I've had since arriving in the <i> wonderful </i> US has been falling in one of the two categories - sucky or shitty. So I was pretty excited about trying this new, hopefully good, coffee.
A brisk 30 minute walk later (I had to make a detour and get cigarettes) I was in front of the coffee shop. A thin elderly woman stood there cutting some sort of baked goods. I asked her about the coffee and she informed me where I can get cups, lids, milk and the actual coffee. The tiny cozy coffee house offered several variates, and I asked which are the strongest ones. The lady kindly pointed them out and told me which one she likes best. I chose the second strongest one and filled a large 16 oz cup with it. She offered me some milky ingredient and then I took a sip.
It wasn't shitty.
It wasn't sucky either.
It wasn't good.
It was great coffee.
It was the best coffee I've had since I arrived in the US.
It was better than most Bulgarian coffees I've had.
The lady kindly even gave me a discount as I work here in Ocean City, and I proceeded to buy a brownie as well.
Fuck, the brownie was awesome too!
I went outside found a nice shady place and sat there. I put on whatever Bulgarian music I had in my phone, looked at the ocean and while I was drinking the nice coffee, nomming the awesome brownie and smoking the cheap cigarette I pretended I was back home, looking at the sea. The water was too clear, it was too clean around me, and the benches were too not-broken, but it sort of worked out.
After that I proceeded and visited an art gallery, the only one I know of in Ocean City, and they had some awesome stuff. Lots of posters, lots of paintings, lots of pictures, a ridiculous amount of variety. I ought to take some pictures and share them with you guys.
Tomorrow morning I'm putting on this t-shirt again, I'm gonna visit the same coffee house, and I'm even gonna leave something in the tip jar, cuz damn finally I know where I can find good coffee. This is one of the best things that have happened so far and it made this one of the better mornings since I am in this place.
Thanks for reading.
Thursday 19 June 2014
Taking a shit in the USA.
This post is dedicated to my brother, Stefko Stefkov, and to his immense love of all rear-end related activities.
Wake up.
Drink shitty coffee.
Smoke a shitty cigarette.
Even here, the effect is the same.
You gotta take a shit.
Drink shitty coffee.
Smoke a shitty cigarette.
Even here, the effect is the same.
You gotta take a shit.
And you finally think. Oh yes, finally something that is the same as it was back home, the morning shit after the cig and coffee.
But it isn't.
You go to the can. You do your business and even from that moment things are different.
Why?
Because the food is different, so your shit is different, and your shitting is different. It doesn't matter if it's better or worse. I'm Bulgarian, therefore home made stuff is the best, and this ain't no home made shit. It's an American shit. It's freedom fighting shit. If it could vote, it'd vote republican. Your shit has the right to free speech, unobstructed by the government. You know what it would say if it could speak. It'd say "Shit." And then the American Anthem would play as BGM, and a huge American flag would descent to be the background to your freedom fighting shit.
Your shit, can carry a firearm. Second amendment bitch. Your shit believies that because it can carry around a gun, it is safer than other shit. It's not. You still gonna flush it.
But before you flush it, you gotta wipe your ass. And that is a whole different story as well. Why? Because the toilet paper is different...
You go to ANY supermarket back home, you're gonna have the freedom to choose between a minimum of 10 different scents of toilet paper. Here, in the land of the free, you have one common scent. Toilet paper scent. Very difficult to encounter the other types, you have to go to specialty shops to look for that scented motherfucker.
You wipe your ass in Bulgaria, your ass can smell like sea breeze, or like wild fruits, or like daisies, or roses, or lilies, or a bouquet of different flowers. It can smell mountain fresh, hell it can smell like a garden, which you'd think is the same as the flowers, but no, we've got so many different scents we run out of names. Your ass can smell like the wind, like mint, probably like a bakery, I don't know, I'm no toilet paper expert. Fuck Pocahontas and her "Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?" What about you Pocahontas? Can you wipe your ass with all the colors of the rainbow, cuz I sure can't here in the land of the wild and free, but my Bulgarian residents can. And they can do it in a range from 1 to much as much as 8 layers of recycled or non-recycled toilet paper.
But here... here your ass is gonna smell like only one thing. America.
PS: The toilets also flush differently.
Wednesday 18 June 2014
Dealing with invaders.
You may be disappointed to read that, I have killed neither an idiotic roommate, nor any other type of human being... so far.
I have however murdered brutally, by drowning mostly, about 30 flies. I hate flies now, I presume they hate me too.
Here in Ocean City, as in any other place during the summer flies appear, and they are annoying as little kid not getting what it wants and a toy store. I made fly traps with maple syrup and peanut butter, I have tried squashing them, chasing them with smoke, cursing them, nothing worked (oh what a surprise). Until, I discovered I am quite good at killing them with an empty peanut butter jar.
Approach the fly, trap in the jar with a swift movement, then proceed to fill it with water and watch the little fucker drown. So far, despite my best efforts the fucking door to the apartment still remains open from time to time, thanks to the aforementioned idiotic roommates. And as one would figure more things enter the "home". So far I have had to kill, remove from the premises, or chase away the following:
2 cockraches
1 garden spider
1 cricket
30+ flies
3 moths
indefinite amount of other flying miniscule easy to kill flying critters and ants
1 drunk African American
Still the question remains, is it that hard to close the fucking door...
Thanks for reading.
Edit: Make that 3 cockroaches
I have however murdered brutally, by drowning mostly, about 30 flies. I hate flies now, I presume they hate me too.
Here in Ocean City, as in any other place during the summer flies appear, and they are annoying as little kid not getting what it wants and a toy store. I made fly traps with maple syrup and peanut butter, I have tried squashing them, chasing them with smoke, cursing them, nothing worked (oh what a surprise). Until, I discovered I am quite good at killing them with an empty peanut butter jar.
Approach the fly, trap in the jar with a swift movement, then proceed to fill it with water and watch the little fucker drown. So far, despite my best efforts the fucking door to the apartment still remains open from time to time, thanks to the aforementioned idiotic roommates. And as one would figure more things enter the "home". So far I have had to kill, remove from the premises, or chase away the following:
2 cockraches
1 garden spider
1 cricket
30+ flies
3 moths
indefinite amount of other flying miniscule easy to kill flying critters and ants
1 drunk African American
Still the question remains, is it that hard to close the fucking door...
Thanks for reading.
Edit: Make that 3 cockroaches
Monday 16 June 2014
Taking a walk at 3am.
So as the title suggests I took a walk at 3am, which back home would be just 03:00 but apparently this here is called military time, and military time is a no-no.
On my walk four interesting, and that's stretching the term a lot, things happened.
1 - I was asked if I was an undercover cop.
2 - I found a cigarette, with a nice minty taste which I smoked.
3 - I met two girls, also work and travel students. The first was taking care of the other, holding her hair and massaging her back as her friend was throwing up big yellow chunks. As she was doing that the "caring" friend informed me it was a cheeseburger. They had apparently been here for only two days and it was a very nice place.
4 - I met a group of three - Evan (19), Christine (17) and tank-top-guy (also 17). They said they are here for senior week, a vacation week that takes place after graduation, and usually all the teens from the close-by places gather and party in the same places. Evan had girl problems and was trying to text the girl with whom he had these said problems with. Christine was trying to take his phone away. Tank-top-guy was smiling like an idiot.
The thing is though, Evan was surprised we don't have Big Red chewing gum back in Bulgaria, so he told me to meet him at 4:30pm (16:30) on 3rd street tomorrow and he'd give me a few packs. I said okay.
In 12:24 hours from now I'll be 6 streets away, awaiting Evan and his drunken promise.
Edit: I never got that gum.
On my walk four interesting, and that's stretching the term a lot, things happened.
1 - I was asked if I was an undercover cop.
2 - I found a cigarette, with a nice minty taste which I smoked.
3 - I met two girls, also work and travel students. The first was taking care of the other, holding her hair and massaging her back as her friend was throwing up big yellow chunks. As she was doing that the "caring" friend informed me it was a cheeseburger. They had apparently been here for only two days and it was a very nice place.
4 - I met a group of three - Evan (19), Christine (17) and tank-top-guy (also 17). They said they are here for senior week, a vacation week that takes place after graduation, and usually all the teens from the close-by places gather and party in the same places. Evan had girl problems and was trying to text the girl with whom he had these said problems with. Christine was trying to take his phone away. Tank-top-guy was smiling like an idiot.
The thing is though, Evan was surprised we don't have Big Red chewing gum back in Bulgaria, so he told me to meet him at 4:30pm (16:30) on 3rd street tomorrow and he'd give me a few packs. I said okay.
In 12:24 hours from now I'll be 6 streets away, awaiting Evan and his drunken promise.
Edit: I never got that gum.
Sunday 15 June 2014
On quitting your job, when the boss is an asshat.
Last Tuesday, the 10th of June 2014, I quit my job at Buenovita Pizzeria. I was told to come and collect my paycheck on Saturday, or even Sunday by my supervisor, as they would be busy on Friday, the regular paycheck day, and it will be more comfortable to collect it a day or two later. Today, Sunday, the 15 of June 2014 my boss refused to give me my paycheck and told me to return next Friday as "payday is on Friday."
Disregarding almost all of the douche-y comments that preceded the refusal for me to be given my paycheck, and disregarding the fact that that violates Maryland law (Md. Lab & Emp. Code Ann. 3-505), there was one thing that really ticked me off. He said that I didn't even say I'm sorry.
Well, Khachatur Martikyan (Khaichek)
I am so terribly sorry that you are a complete asshole.
I am so terribly sorry that you have a pole stuck up so far your rear that you have to tell your employees that you want to be friends.
I am so terribly sorry that you are in complete violation of Maryland law when you aren't giving me my paycheck.
I am so terribly sorry that I may or may not have left something in your food.
I am so terribly sorry that I had to watch how you treated that other guy who came to collect his final paycheck as well.
And I am so terribly sorry that I worked for you, you miserable great big bag of moronic shit.
Fuck you Khaichek.
Disregarding almost all of the douche-y comments that preceded the refusal for me to be given my paycheck, and disregarding the fact that that violates Maryland law (Md. Lab & Emp. Code Ann. 3-505), there was one thing that really ticked me off. He said that I didn't even say I'm sorry.
Well, Khachatur Martikyan (Khaichek)
I am so terribly sorry that you are a complete asshole.
I am so terribly sorry that you have a pole stuck up so far your rear that you have to tell your employees that you want to be friends.
I am so terribly sorry that you are in complete violation of Maryland law when you aren't giving me my paycheck.
I am so terribly sorry that I may or may not have left something in your food.
I am so terribly sorry that I had to watch how you treated that other guy who came to collect his final paycheck as well.
And I am so terribly sorry that I worked for you, you miserable great big bag of moronic shit.
Fuck you Khaichek.
( Md. Lab. & Emp. Code Ann. § 3-505)
( Md. Lab. & Emp. Code Ann. § 3-505)
Writings from before 06:00
One night a week or so ago, I woke up, cold sweat all over me, I took a shower and then scared out of my mind I sat down and wrote down a story. This is what I basically wrote down, thought I'd share it with you:
I wake up in the middle of the night.
People are sleeping all around me so I sneak out of the common room. Go pass the guy sleeping on the couch, enter the kitchen, pass the oven, open the fridge.
2 eggs, 3 sodas.
Need to go shopping.
I get a soda, go pass the oven, out of the kitchen, and into the bathroom.
I take a shower.
I put on a towel and get out.
Person sleeping on the couch, oven, fridge.
Then I go back to the oven.
34 minutes until 7:00.
Oven's clock is busted again.
I go to the fridge again.
2 eggs, 3 sodas.
Need to go shopping.
Out of the Kitchen, pass the couch...
How many minutes are in an hour?
I open the common room door.
There aren't 100 minutes in an hour.
People are sleeping all around me.
Why was the clock working as though there were 100 minutes in an hour.
34 minutes until 7:00.
I look all around me
There are people asleep in every bed.
Every bed.
I look at my own bed.
I'm still there.
I run out of the common room, pass the thing on the couch.
Then I stop and look back at it.
It's time it says.
Okay I say.
I didn't wake up in the middle of the night.
I wake up in the middle of the night.
People are sleeping all around me so I sneak out of the common room. Go pass the guy sleeping on the couch, enter the kitchen, pass the oven, open the fridge.
2 eggs, 3 sodas.
Need to go shopping.
I get a soda, go pass the oven, out of the kitchen, and into the bathroom.
I take a shower.
I put on a towel and get out.
Person sleeping on the couch, oven, fridge.
Then I go back to the oven.
34 minutes until 7:00.
Oven's clock is busted again.
I go to the fridge again.
2 eggs, 3 sodas.
Need to go shopping.
Out of the Kitchen, pass the couch...
How many minutes are in an hour?
I open the common room door.
There aren't 100 minutes in an hour.
People are sleeping all around me.
Why was the clock working as though there were 100 minutes in an hour.
34 minutes until 7:00.
I look all around me
There are people asleep in every bed.
Every bed.
I look at my own bed.
I'm still there.
I run out of the common room, pass the thing on the couch.
Then I stop and look back at it.
It's time it says.
Okay I say.
I didn't wake up in the middle of the night.
Thursday 12 June 2014
Original Facebook entries #6
USA.
The coffee here sucks. Sucks a lot, their normal coffee tastes like water, their strong coffee tastes like shit, which means that I have to put in the appropriate shit load of milk and sugar to make it taste like tasty shit. And to top it all someone drank all my shitty coffee.
The coffee here sucks. Sucks a lot, their normal coffee tastes like water, their strong coffee tastes like shit, which means that I have to put in the appropriate shit load of milk and sugar to make it taste like tasty shit. And to top it all someone drank all my shitty coffee.
Original Facebook entries #5
A week ago, I watched for 10 minutes how a fat woman was putting flip-flops on another even fatter woman's feet because the second one was too fat to lean down and put them on herself. It was sad to watch.
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