Fucking Wonderland

So I know it's rather ambitious of me to expect anything from a country that can't even make a proper cocktail, but am I crazy to be annoyed at the guy who beeped at me this morning?

Because the thing is, I was walking on a sidewalk (or what passes for a sidewalk here - which is another blog entry entirely), a sidewalk he was trying to DRIVE ON. And apparently I was in his way, walking in the designated pedestrian area RIGHT NEXT TO A PERFECTLY USABLE - AND AVAILABLE - STREET.

And the beep was not just any, "Hey, I'm behind you so watch out, beep beep." It was one of those annoyed beeps, the ones that last just a second longer than necessary, telling you the person feels that you have violated their right of way.

Sadly, today is not the first time this has happened. You would think that after having lived here for a year, I would have gotten used to those little nuances that make a place "special," but I haven't had a proper martini in a year either and I'm in no mood to be generous. My middle finger did feel very generous though, and came out to play. In a friendly salute to the jackass DRIVING on the sidewalk. I may be losing my mind, but at least I haven't lost my manners.

Why I can't stand the general population

So, I'm not sure I'm up on all the cultural differences between Americans and Greeks, but I think that under normal circumstances, most people would react the way I did.

We were invited to a birthday party thrown by an acquaintance of my boyfriend at his house. The usual, dinner, drinks, cake, good times. I didn't know anyone, and my boyfriend only knew the birthday boy. I figured we'd manage.

Turns out, certain types of people like to have certain types of fun, that may not be suitable for everyone. Food? Sure. Drinks? Obviously. Cake? Yum! Porn? Girl-on-girl blond boobie sex porn? Um, I'm not quite sure what to say.

I was expecting to go to a dinner party with other couples. Well, there was dinner. And there were other couples. Hell, there were even some single girls milling about. Not one of the men there was single. So I'm starting to wonder why WHY on earth they would think it's appropriate to put on some good old fashioned porn in the middle of a birthday party.

And why, after ten minutes, am I the only girl with enough balls to be like, "OK, enough with the porn guys," while the rest of the women sat squirming, with averted eyes, trying to pretend they were fine with it, when they so clearly were becoming really upset. I figured what the hell, I'll be the obnoxious, big-mouthed American. Again. It's obviously not a stretch.

A couple of the guys tried to act like I was being a prude, but I wasn't falling for it. For god's sake, we're not horny teenagers anymore and we can all have sex just about whenever we want. It's not appropriate to put on lesbian porn in the middle of a dinner party when more than half the party is uncomfortable.

Even the teachers I work with agree with me, and they're too stupid to understand much of anything. I mean really.

Mental note to self - add Crime Fighting to Skills section of resume

So, along with my many talents of house-girlfriend-ery and ass scratching, I can now add crime fighting to my list of accomplished skills.

We just got back from a trip to Italy, and I actually stopped a crime from happening there. That’s right, I know you’re surprised, but I used my super-human strength, panther-like reflexes and unparalleled ability to make life-altering decisions in the split of a second to stop a pick-pocket from stealing a girl’s wallet from her backpack.

I won’t tell you the details, but let’s just say creating a scene was involved, which is really something out of my element.

The Mayor of Milan is going to name a street after me and he presented me with an official State Medal (which matches perfectly with my Super-Hero costume – nothing but style in Milan!).

I spent the rest of my vacation signing autographs, kissing babies, saving cats out of trees and dumping large quantities of money into the Italian economy for shoes, bags and belts. I know, there’s no end to my generosity.

Sadly, it's still all Greek to me

So my job hunting has been quite unsuccessful, and I therefore decided to fill my downtime with some Greek classes.

I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to learn something other than “I fuck your village” and “Your donkey is better looking than your wife.” Let’s be serious, a girl needs some everyday terms too, like, “I’ll take one in every color,” and “Do these come with five inch heels?”

So for eight glorious weeks, I attended Greek classes with three Germans, an English couple, and a girl from Mexico. Needless to say, our group comprised of a wonderful and invigorating expanse of cultures, (professional drinkers), languages, (“Prost!” “Cheers!” “Salud!” and “Bottom’s up!”), ideas, (“Hey, why don’t we have a drink after class?”) and ways of life (“But it’s only 12:00 in the afternoon.” “Well, okay. Let’s wait a few minutes.”).

I must say, I was rather successful in the class and performed exceptionally well compared to the others. (I out-drank two out of three Germans, the Mexican girl, and occasionally went head-to-head with the English woman).

It’s really amazing how people (alcoholics) from such different reaches can come together for a few hours a week and connect (drink all day) and work with each other to learn how to get by (get each other home drunk in the middle of the day without being arrested for public disorderliness).

I can’t wait for Level II Greek to begin in September. I feel the class will present a whole slew of new and exciting challenges (Shots? Drinking games? Strip poker?). Ahhh, the possibilities are endless, and my future looks bright (bleary).

Clearly Related

So yesterday, I get a phone call at 10:30 a.m. my time from my baby sister, which means it’s 3:30 a.m. her time, on a school night.

I answer, and I all hear is, “I’m a crazy bitch. A CRAZY BEEE’ATCH!” Obviously, this is going to be a good story.

Apparently, her boyfriend of a year and a half decided to stand her up at the movies, and instead picked up four random girls from the street and proceeded to play beer-pong with them and his roommates.

Needless to say, this did not go over well. And so, my little angel might have accidentally let the air out of his tires. Knowing he had to go to work the next day. Um, and also knowing he doesn’t have a spare. Oops.

My girlfriend asked me what’s the worst thing I ever did to a guy, and since there are so many examples, I chose the one I happened to remember off the top of my head.

One night, a few years ago, an old boyfriend, his cousin and his wife and I were out for a night on the town. Driving my car back to Long Island from the City around 4 in the morning, with his cousins in the back seat, my boyfriend decided to take issue with the fact that I was polite to someone who tried to pick me up that night. And proceeded to call me a WHORE repeatedly.

Last time I checked, politely refusing the offer of a drink from a guy that doesn’t know I’m at the bar with my boyfriend is not what I consider whorish behavior. If I had given the guy a blow-job in the bathroom, then we’d have something to debate.

But since my boyfriend was quite adamant that I was, in fact, a whore for being nice, I waited until we were in a suitably dangerous, industrial part of Queens before I convinced him to pull my car over and let me drive.

Once he was out of the car, I jumped over to the driver’s side, locked the doors, and drove away. His cousin’s wife started screaming immediately, so I threw them out of the car a block later, and then proceeded home.

Of course, they managed to get back, even though they were about half an hour from his car. Can’t win them all.

It’s good to know that insanity in this family is genetic. It’s important to have special moments and memories in order to bond with your siblings. It’s what separates us from the animals.

How to lose friends and piss people off

So I pretty much hate people in general. Not specifically so much, more of an overall dislike of the masses.

And it’s nice when my hatred is reaffirmed by specific examples. Ridiculous, unbelievable things that don’t happen to normal people happen to me. Being “normal” might have something to do with it.

I previously wrote about how a Greek job website listed “Jewish” as a language and I thought that was funny. I also posted something very similar on a Jewish website I joined, which has my full name, my picture, my location, blah blah fucking blah.

As with most of my posts, someone from Greece decided to write me a ten paragraph diatribe about what a jerk I am, how bigoted I am to dare say something negative about the Greek culture, how utterly irresponsible I am to say such things, and to generally just shut my mouth. All anonymously, of course.

Since I’m rather experienced at dealing with these charming people who clearly have fulfilling, well-rounded lives, I decided to be nice and explain that I really didn’t mean any harm and it was all written in good fun.

Thank goodness for me, Ms. Anonymous was gracious enough to forgive my unforgivable behavior of criticizing her obviously superior culture, and she proceeded over the span of approximately two months to try to make friends with me through this Jewish website via numerous emails and helpful “hints” on how to get on here. I figured, better to be polite to Anonymous-Nasty-Comment-Leavers because those bitches are crazy.

Turns out, Anonymous-Nasty-Comment-Leaver is NOT some random woman here in Greece. Oh no, ANCL is actually my former college roommate; yeah, not only roommate, but best friend. We lost touch a few years ago and on a whim, she decided to Google me.

And once she found me and didn’t like what I wrote, she joined the Jewish website (she’s not Jewish), created a fake profile, wrote me a nasty comment, and then spent two months ANONYMOUSLY writing me and trying to be friends again before admitting who she really was.

Who does shit like that?!?! Um, Anonymous-Nasty-Comment-Leaver crazy bitches! Of course, I was so excited to finally get back in touch with her, I decided to make our reunion really poignant by telling her to take her crazy bitch self and FUCK OFF. I hate everybody.

Stupid is as Stupid Does; Hi, my name is Stupid

So there’s something disconcerting about being in someone else’s territory all the time, but that’s what happens when you move to another country to shack up with your boyfriend.

You have no memories of your own in that place, no restaurants you went to with friends, no vacation spots, no street corners you slow danced on with boys, no ex’s to run into.

Thing is, the person you’re with DOES have all of those things, and I don’t have a problem with most of those things. Except the ex thing. I don’t want to be anywhere near an ex, because let’s be honest, it’s not comfortable being in the same room with a woman who knows what your boyfriend’s kisses are like, or, to be more honest, knows what it feels like to have his penis inside of her.

Imagine how disappointing to find out you have to go to a wedding attended by an ex. And not just any ex, but The Ex Ex, The One Whose Name Shall Never Be Uttered Unless You Want Your Face to Melt Off Ex.

But I had a game plan, which has served me well in the past, it’s called Avoidance. Good plan, perfect plan, WHEN YOU KNOW WHICH GIRL TO ACTUALLY AVOID.

But, if you’re an idiot like me, you spend half the night avoiding an entire section of the room, and pointing out who you MISTAKENLY believe is The Ex to girls you know, only to end up in the bathroom, unknowingly chatting up The Actual Ex for TEN MINUTES. The Ex who knows very well that you are the current Keeper of the Penis she once knew so well.

And you’re not understanding why your boyfriend’s cousins are staring at you like you’re insane for speaking to what seems like a perfectly normal girl, and not a woman purportedly capable of ripping the heads off her young, dicing them up and serving them as an aphrodisiac to Hitler and Genghis Khan before enjoying an ass-to-mouth gang-bang.

The sad thing is I probably wouldn’t recognize her again unless she walked up to me and said, “His penis does feel really good. Enjoy my leftovers.” Which I’ve been told is just like her. It’s important to wake up everyday with something to look forward to.

The "Cradle of Civilization" has some 'splaining to do

So I’m looking for work in Greece. And of course, in today’s job market everything is on-line. Fill this out, check these boxes, pick any of the following that apply, blah blah fucking blah.

Ah, the languages section. Please select all languages that apply, use the “ctrl” key to select more than one. OK, “English,” check. Um, Farsi, Farsi? No, no Farsi. OK, next, Hebrew, where’s Hebrew….German, Greek, Italian. What, no Hebrew? Really? Italian, Japanese, Jewish, Norwegian…wait a minute, did I just read that right? JEWISH?! As a language category on a job hunting site?

We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

What the hell is Jewish as a language?

Do they mean Jewish, as in the Language of Guilt and Nagging as Perfected by the Matriarch for the past 5000 years? Maybe they mean Jewish, as in the annoying, “Oh. My. Gawd!” you hear all over the streets of New York. Or, maybe they mean the secret language Jews use when we’re busy killing Christian babies and using their blood for our Matzo during Passover. A Greek actually accused me that that's what really goes on, and I shouldn't try to deny it. The Cradle of Civilization indeed, my friends.

By the way, you're all invited to my house next year for not-so-secret Christian baby-blood Matzo. It's a family recipe perfected by my ancestors, I swear, you'll love it!

Glutton for Punishment

So I decided, rather idiotically, to attempt ONE FINAL FORAY into Athens in the hopes of making some friends.

I invited everyone EVERYONE, all 200 members-everyone, of my ex-pat group to Friday afternoon coffee in my very cute part of town.

Email replies galore, “Sure, I can meet you at 3”, “I get out of work at 5, so I can be there at 6”, “I’ll be there….can’t wait.”

Based on the numerous and varied responses, I set the time for 5, figuring those who wanted to come earlier can come at five, and we can chat until those who could make it later would arrive.

By the way, it’s a good idea to make sure you’re on speaking terms with your boyfriend (the only person you know) when you decide to invite over 200 people to meet you for a cup of coffee.

Because when you’re sitting alone, FOR OVER AN HOUR, waiting PATHETICALLY for people who are CLEARLY NOT COMING, you would have at least one person to beg to join you so that you don’t look like the OBVIOUS LOSER YOU ARE.

I’ll remember that for the next time I try to set up coffee, which will be the third Friday of NEVER.

Mr. Opportunity doesn't know my name

So I joined a new website and no, it's not an on-line dating site. Well, it could be, but that's not what I'm doing. I'm using the "networking/just friends" option. Really. No, I'm serious. Whatever, don't believe me.

It's actually a site for Jews, called The Chosen People. No, I'm kidding, it's actually called, We Really Do Think We're Better Than You and Hollywood IS Ours, So Suck It Mel Gibson.

I've found after chatting with people, ok, not exactly people, after chatting with men, yes MEN, (are you happy now?!) from all over, ok, that too is a lie, because I've been mainly chatting with men from Italy and England (**deep sigh**) and not from any scary eastern-block countries with Borat look-a-likes, that it's not easy being Jewish outside of New York, LA and Miami.

In New York, it's easy to take for granted that pretty much everyone you meet is from somewhere else, always different faces, nationalities, languages, colors, cultures. No big deal, we all get along.

For example, when my mom's best friend's non-Jewish husband passed away, the services were held in a Synagogue. When I asked her how come, she replied, "He's been living in New York for almost 40 years. It doesn't get more Jewish than that for Christ's sake!"

It appears though, that these men encounter a significant amount of anti-semitism in their respective countries when it comes to dating. And not necessarily because they are looking for Jewish women, but because the families of the non-Jewish women they date refuse to accept them. That sucks.

I mean, I know Jewish families that won't allow their kids to go out with non-Jews, but that's obvious, because we're the Chosen People, and that affords us certain privileges, like rejecting inferior religions.

But these poor guys? I feel terrible, I want to just hold them all to my heaving bosom, and make them feel better. Come to Momma, baby.

If I'd only known there were so many available Italian and English Jewish men just looking for a nice girl. I could have pretended to be a nice girl. At least for a little while. Ok, maybe not.

Where did it all go

Your friends are old (and you by association!) when their conversations are comprised of the following:

"I just got an iPod."

"Welcome to the 21st Century."

"Who is this Fergie person who's all over the place?"

"Fergie? The Duchess of York, of course."

"Wow, she looks great. That whole Weight Watchers thing did wonders!"


If anyone is looking for me, I'll be getting a colonoscopy followed by an afternoon of cane-waving from my porch at anyone under the age of 65.

What's really in a name

So I was in Israel for the past couple of weeks, staying with a "friend" and her family for her older brother's wedding and Passover.

My "friend" has a younger brother, much like my baby sister, lots of fun, nice to be around and a great conversationalist. Unlike my baby sister, this young man has a name I have never heard before, and after hearing his family call him by his name - or what I thought was his name - I too started calling him this.

Of course, what I thought I heard wasn't the proper way to pronounce his name. Actually, not only was it not the proper way to pronounce his name, it was an altogether incorrect name and one that may not even exist in Hebrew. It was, more to be exact, a name I apparently made up completely on my own. Go me.

Now, the dirty thing is, my "friend" and her little brother let me call him by this non-name for a WEEK AND A HALF before bothering to correct me. I mean, at the wedding, out with cousins, in front of their parents (who I think were just too polite to correct me and figured I suffered from a medium to severe form of retardation), if front of the in-laws, in front of friends.

Basically, my "friend" and her brother allowed me to make a total ass of myself in front of every single person I met. Now people, I've made an ass of myself before, that's certainly true. BUT THIS TIME, IT COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED!!!! Aarrgggg.

I'm going to believe she allowed me to be an idiot as a result of jealousy and fear that her family would like me more than they like her, which is a very real possibility. And I have decided to simply call her little brother Bob.

Man, I really love that girl. I'm going to make her cry one day for this.

Khristos Anesti!!!

So tomorrow half the world will be celebrating the Christians' attempt to thwart the killing of Jesus by the Jews. As if he really went up to Heaven, body and all. But that's fine, because as I sit here, choking on this flavorless, dry piece of Matzo, I'll let you all believe that hoax.

Tomorrow, as in the Greek tradition, this Jewish New Yorker will be roasting a lamb, making lemon roasted potatoes, preparing village sausages, a veal stew, Greek orzo and a cheese pie for my pookie's family. I have to tell you though, rat poison is hard to find this time of year. But as always, I have prevailed.

So to all of you hoax believers, a Happy Easter to you and your families!!!!!

And remember, the Jews killed Jesus, even if he allegedly rose three little days later.

All good things.....

So my ex-husband just got engaged and I thought I would give the lucky groom an engagement gift, you know, a little advice in the hopes of making the nuptials run smoother this time around. So here's my list on how to build a happy, successful marriage.

1. Hitting, shoving, punching, choking, and throwing things at your wife are not the best ways to show affection. Hard to believe, BUT TAKE MY WORD FOR IT.

2. Calling your wife a whore, a piece of shit and telling her you miss having sex with other women are not the kind of tender endearments Hallmark is talking about.

3. Secretly taping sex acts on your honeymoon won't go over well with your new bride. I know, it sounds crazy, but really, it's not.

4. If your single, overbearing mother starts to suddenly get sick at all of your major events, i.e. the meeting of the parents, the engagement party, the bridal shower, the wedding, your honeymoon, trips you have planned with your wife, please PLEASE please believe me this time that she's faking it.

5. If you're in the middle of having sex with your new wife on a Saturday afternoon, and your mother calls you repeatedly, over and over and OVER again until you answer the phone in the middle of having sex, maybe this time you should finally tell her that ONE PHONE CALL IS SUFFICIENT AND THAT YOU WILL GET BACK TO HER AFTER YOU AND YOUR WIFE HAVE SHOT YOUR LOADS. Because she did the same thing last week, and the week before, and the week before that, and it's tiring getting it back up.

6. Throwing your wife out of a hotel room with her things, in a foreign country, when she has no money, after hitting her and screaming at her because she asked you not to tell your mom something private (when right there in the hotel room on the phone with your mom, you totally spill the beans AND tell your mom that your wife specifically asked you not to say anything and an argument ensues) might be illegal in that country. This time.

7. If your wife gets home from work two hours after you do, and starts to make dinner and asks you to set the table, asking her "why she can't fucking cook one fucking meal on her fucking own" is not a nice way to start the evening. Oh, and if she kisses your forehead when she comes in, wiping the kiss away in disgust is NOT NICE.

8. Let your wife have contact with her family. Really. They exist, even after you're married, no matter how much you wish they didn't. The Jedi Mind Trick doesn't work here.

9. Make friends outside of your immediate family and let your wife have friends outside of your immediate family. You might have some fun that doesn't involve the telling, re-telling and re-re-telling of family stories.

10. Don't throw your wife out of the car in the middle of a residential area and screech away only to end up at your mother's house. And maybe, just maybe, this time you should advise your mother not to call your seething - WALKING - wife to tell her not to tell anyone in her family about this minor, itty bitty little event. Oh, and while you're at your mom's house, you might also want to refrain from telling your mother every single word your wife has ever uttered to you in total confidence.

I mean, these tips might not be for everyone, but please feel free to pick and choose any ten of the ten above. CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!

There are no stupid questions, only stupid men

"You know, the best sex a man can have is a really good hand job. I mean, when the girl knows what she's doing, you can just sit back, relax, and enjoy. She can control the motion, the pressure, the slickness, the speed. It really doesn't get much better...But then, the blowjob is also pretty good, if the girl has some talent, that's really important. Not much tops a good blowjob, I guess, unless you're having sex and the girl is on top. I mean, a girl that can ride like a cowboy while you lay there and enjoy is hard to beat, watching her move and have her way with you.....By the way, what's the best kind of sex a girl can have?"


"Alone."

Ride me Big....Sheldon

I was having a conversation the other day with a male friend of mine about dirty talk. He claimed to be too embarrassed to dirty talk in bed because he thought that would only open him up to ridicule.

I asked what he meant by that, to which he succinctly replied, "Women talk to each other. And laugh at us. And I’m not going to be that guy."

And I found that odd. Of course women talk and laugh at men and the various foibles they go through in the bedroom. Let’s be serious here.

Men talk to each other. Not necessarily to laugh at the girl, but you know, in that macho wacho, "Yeah, I fucked her good" caveman speak they have. Men talk about women in a way that bolsters their virility, creating a story that highlights their prowess.

But I think in reality, women will only ridicule a guy if she’s not really that interested in him, no matter what he does. For example, if he takes her to a fancy restaurant on the first date, she’ll think he’s trying too hard and call him a loser. But if she really likes him, she’ll tell her friends he's awesome.

So if a girl is having sex with a guy she’s not emotionally attached to, (and yes, it’s true, women DO have casual sex) she might laugh at him a little. Ok, fine, she’ll destroy him and make him the butt of all her inside jokes with her friends and he’ll forever be known as The Freaky Dirty Talking Guy, or the Guy That Wore a Diaper, or the Hey Let’s Invite Fido in to Lick Peanut Butter Off My Balls While We Screw Guy.

But on the flip side, if she does like him, he could probably do no wrong in the bedroom. I think it’s more a matter of the feelings two people have for each other rather than the actual actions that go on in the bedroom that determine a woman’s loose lips.

Unless of course the guy wants to talk dirty. I mean, wearing a diaper or having a dog lick your balls during sex is one thing, but dirty talk? That guy clearly has some serious issues.

BFs 4 Eva'

So I managed another foray out into Athens in the desperate attempt to make some friends. I joined a group of expats on Yahoo who actually go out and DO things. And by DO things I mean they get drunk and eat Thai food. A match made in heaven.

So I show up to the local Hard Rock on Saturday night, with my boyfriend in tow, because “God knows who these people are!!!!” and “It sounds to me like it’s just a group to facilitate casual sex!!!”

Turns out the group is mainly comprised of English people. Now, I don’t know too many English, but I’ve always been a fan. I mean why not? Great accents, razor sharp humor, some good movies (Love Actually). Hey, let’s all be friends!

From what I've seen of the English in New York, they're usually drinking it up, falling all over the place, singing for no particular reason, and basically doing anything they feel like. Pretty much my kind of people.

Apparently, the English are not fans. Oh no, not fans of the Yippee Ka-yey Americanos. Nope.

“Ohhhhhhh, you’re American? Let me guess, New York?”

You know, said with that condescending Thurston Howell III clenched-tooth underbite. The whole “Muffy, dahling, how on earth are we going to get off this island? And where are my bloody cucumber sandwiches?!”

“So, what do you do here?”

“Well, right now I’m a desperate housegirlfriend, but I’m looking for a job and some Greek lessons.”

“Oh, how nice for you to have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do all day. I think I know some American girls who live in your town and also do nothing all day. I should introduce you, it would seem you have a lot in common.”

“Wow, so charm school is required in England, huh? Valedictorian, were you?”

“Yes, well most Greek lessons are at night, because the people that come here generally have to work during the day. Not that you have that problem. But I’m sure you’ll find something. The University offers classes, and it’s not that expensive, although from the looks of it, money doesn’t seem to be an issue for you or your boyfriend.”

“I think you and I should exchange Best-Friend charms, because really, I haven’t felt this kind of love since my ex-husband tossed me across the room and called me a whore. Come here and give me a hug!”

Instead of trying to make friends, I’m probably better off sitting on the corner, dousing myself in gasoline and setting myself on fire. Not that anyone would notice such an everyday event anyway.

Valentine's Day, boo hoo, here's a box of tissue, you big baby

So I woke up this morning and realized it's Valentine's Day. Actually, I knew Valentine's Day was approaching because Spawn, my darling baby sister, has been on the phone with me for the past week screaming various threats and epithets about her boyfriend and his, how shall I put this delicately, um, lack of interest in the holiday.

I, of course, am of the school of "Valentine's Day is a bunch of Hallmark malarkey" while on the inside secretly hoping for someone, ANYONE, to send me carnations soaked in red food dye, or some pastel colored, heart shaped candy with inane, meaningless sayings, or even some drug store chocolate whose aftertaste can only be washed away with gasoline. You know, I'm a real romantic. Just don't tell anyone.

Here in Greece, the holiday is a non-event. And so, there are very few women and sensitive men sitting around at home, lamenting their singledom. Unlike my sister's boyfriend, who is scrambling, as we speak, to avoid the hot poker she will repeatedly stab him in the neck with if he doesn't do something to appease her Valentine's Day beast.

Ahhh, to be 21 again and actually give a shit.

Anyway, I wanted to wish all of you who care a happy Valentine's Day and not to be sad today if you're alone. You were probably alone last night, and you'll probably be alone tomorrow night, so really, there's no need to be dramatic about it today.

And remember everyone, the Jews killed Jesus. And probably St. Valentine. You might be next.

There's something almost precious about starting anew

So my things finally arrived in Greece, approximately three months after I arrived, and approximately two months LATER than they were supposed to arrive.

Of course, I want to thank the worthless, good for nothing workers at the Greek docks who decided to partake in their annual Christmas strike.

Thanks guys!!! I loved living with patio furniture and four sweaters for three months, really. Brought back college memories. You guys are great. I hope a rabid dog chews off your nuts so you can't reproduce using your inferior genes.

The good news is, my furniture fits in the apartment. The even better news is I found out that I totally overpaid for shipping. Isn't that great?!

When shipping things abroad, for those of you who may not know, you pay by the square foot. And the shipping companies will generally recommend you have your things packed by them, you know, "because of customs and issues that may arise...."

Of course, when I unpacked my alleged 430 square feet of goods the moving company insisted I had, I realized that approximately 150 of that was empty space. Not packing paper or bubble wrap. Oh no. 150 square feet at over $13.00 a foot. DO THE MATH.

I actually enjoy getting sodomized without lube. I find it rather novel; a unique experience unlike any other. I highly recommend it to those of you with nothing to do on a random Saturday night. Come on, live a little.

Vaseline? No, no thanks. None for me!!! I like to bleed from the ass. Reminds me of the good old law firm days.

Betty Crocker has opened a can of whip-ass

Since sacrificing myself on the altar of domesticity, I have realized a number of things. First of all, "take out" is not one of the four major food groups. As such, I have discovered that I can actually cook. Which is relatively surprising because two months ago was the first time I ever used an oven. I'm 31 years old. This, this is sad.

I have learned that it takes about seventeen times longer to make a meal than to eat it. And about twelve times longer to clean up after. We're talking a 17:1:12 ratio. This is simply poor time management; the opportunity cost is way off. Especially when the alternative is a three minute phone call, exchanging money for food, eating, and then throwing everything away. A friendlier 1/17:1:1/12 ratio if you will.

I have learned that the fairies at the dry cleaners who spread sunshine and joy for only $.99 a shirt are not the only ones expected to know how to get wrinkles out of a button-down. I am expected to have fairy dust as well. It actually comes with my new iron.

I have learned that the killer dust that continues to cover every surface of my apartment no matter how many times a day I clean and how tightly I shut the windows is most likely nuclear clouds of radiation being blown around Europe from Chernobyl.

I have learned that the washing machine is actually not an evil contraption created by some crazed NASA scientist who's watched one too many episodes of Star Trek and is trying to send everyone through a worm hole.

And I have further learned that there are more than just "whites" and "everything else" when classifying clothing. Of course, gone are the days when the dry cleaning fairies would make that distinction for me....

I have learned that two people, for some strange reason, cannot subsist on only champagne, soy sauce packets, and granola, and that food shopping is an evolving, continuous chore that actually needs to be done more than once every never.

And most importantly, I have learned that I MUST FIND A JOB.

I'm too old to get home at 7 in the morning....

Well, it's the new year, with promises of a whole slew of new resolutions, prayers, and intentions that will crash miserably to the ground and get washed away into the nearest sewer.

But until then, I want to wish you all happiness, health, fulfillment and love.

And don't forget, the Jews did kill Jesus.

Happy New Year everybody!!!