Social distansing ftw

Dear diary.

I just sat through a brain-rotting, mindbogglingly boring meeting online.
If it wasn't for corona I would have been forced to physically be there, amongst PEOPLE.
You have no idea what physical and psychological stress shit like that cause me.
I do not know if there is anything in the world I LOATHE more than be forced to participate in group activities with strangers.

My version of hell is not fire, anal probing and lava baths.
My version of hell, is a room full of stangers sitting on desks, looking at some dude or dudes who is blabbing away about whatever, taking coffy breaks, drinking crappy coffy and making small talk. On a loop.

That part of corona has been a blessing for me!
I really hope we can keep this part of the new world going.
We really do NOT need to travel places and physically be in rooms full of assh... eh ... strangers, in order to get some information or exchange some papers.
If we don't have to actually DO stuff physically, then why the freak do we have to bloody meet?

Sure, there are some weirdos out there who want physical contact and have the need to meet other people for whatever reason.
Ok, let's have the OPTION then. Those who want can freaking go, those who don't can do it from home.
In that way, everyone that goes to meetings will meet people who actually want to be there.
Because the rest of us, who really dread such situations, in our heads, during the entire meeting, there is a freakin horror shit show on repeat, dolby sterreo surround.
Visions of brains exploding, mass shootings, pontaneous human combustions, earthquakes, explosions, flood and zombie attacks.
Plus, not paying any attention to the meeting anyway.

Wouldn't it be nice to go to a meeting with people who actually want to meet you an do not wish for your death? ;)

Just saying.

Bringing back the dead

Dear diary.
I am SO psyched about finding all these pictures, I had never ever ever seen before, of grandparents and great grandparents both from mother's and father's side.
Here is my father's father Themistoklis, who died way too young in 1945 of tuberculosis, as his brother Aristides and their mother and my great grandmother Eleni two years prior.
And like so many other people at that time. Dying of old age at that time was a luxury.
Especially my father's side is plagued in tragedy and death.
But I am trying to see some light and trying to guess their thoughts and hopes and see their life through them from these pictures, as short as it was.
There was still some hope in their eyes. They still fell in love and had kids and made plans and ... *poof* All gone.
But I feel I am bringing back the dead digging through pictures.
I am trying to remember people I have never met.
It feels a bit like magic. And very grounding and humbling.
Makes me get my priorities straight.
Not that my priorities were misplaced when it comes to my relationships.
But when it comes to things that upset me.
I feel like: Who gives a fuck? We will all die anyway.
Have a lovely day ❤️😊😍

I estimate this picture is taken sometime in the 20s or 30s? Not really sure :/
But I descratched and colored it and it came to life 😍😊

The treasure of Sierra Madre

Ever since I was a child I am "temporarily" stuffing random bags with random shit so to sort them out at a better moment in the "near" future, since I always have other shit to do, more "important" than figure out where this shit goes.

So my entire life is packed in random bags, plastic or any other form of bag, backpack, purse, suitcase or even pillow case (in shortage of bag).

Once every blue moon, when I decide to clean,
I find things I had completely forgotten all about.
Like a brand new mascara or a brand new tool, or a really old pair of shoes, or whatever.
And I think "Oh yeah! I totally bought that. Cool!"

In a way it is like treating myself a little Christmas now and then.
So, I am about to embark on a massive "sorting mission" now.
(I just had to procrastinate a wee bit.... about 6 weeks to be exact )
I am very excited. Who knows what treasures I will discover!
Montezuma's Treasure? The Treasure of Lima?
The Ark of the Covenant?
or better yet The treasure of Sierra Madre???

We'll see. 🙃

the early years

SAAB 96 v4

So my sister found a picture of me on my uncle's vespa from sometime in the end of the 70s
What is interesting in this picture though, is that I had never seen it whole, I've only seen it cut, so my father's SAAB was not it the picture.
This is the only picture of my dad's SAAB 96 v4 (could be 1965, 66 or 67). I never thought I'd see it again.
I kind of grew up in this car.
We took many many really long trips around Greece with it during my childhood. Many of them just the two of us. He would put me to bed at night and tell me: "When you wake up tomorrow you will be in the car in the back seat, with your blanket and your pillow and we will be on the road and you will look outside the window and we'll be out of Athens and you will ask me: "Dad where are we?". So in the morning very early he'd come to lift me with my covers and my pillow and I ofcourse woke up but I didn't want to spoil the story, so I'd pretend I was still asleep. He'd put me in the back seat and start driving and I'd wait and wait and eventually get up and say : "Dad where are we?" And he'd laugh.
And I would always ask questions like: Where are we. How fast can we drive. Could we float in the water. Could this car turn into a submarine. Why is the moon following us. And he seemed always amused.
If the trip was long and we had to sleep, he'd tuck me in the back seat to sleep and he'd sleep outside the car by my door and he was usually freezing.
He took me with to work many times and let me in it to play, so the car was also my babysitter.
I used to dismantle the glove box doors (It had two doors, one big and a smaller one on the big one) and I'd put them back together several times, pretending I was a mechanic.
I took my first and only driving lesson in it with my dad when I was 15. My dad was NOT a good teacher, he was yelling the whole time of that lesson, so I didn't want to try ever again haha. But for many years I used to have vivid dreams of me stealing it and driving around. And sometimes I got to sleep in it when dad wanted to stay a little extra at the restaurant and I was bored and sleepy. (yeah I know, not great parenting haha, but it was the end of the 70s and the 80s. People didn't know better back then. I turned out alright though 😉 )
He, very often took me and my sister for night car rides, and he'd drive up on the mountain at a spot that was flat and big like a tennis court and he'd spin the car round and round really fast and we'd laugh and scream as if in a roller coaster, and the night smelled like jasmine and thyme and exhaust fumes 🙂
This one is such a clear memory.
I LOVED that car!
Noone else had a SAAB in Athens back then. Noone that we knew of at least. And I don't remember seeing any other SAAB on the street even by chance, ever. At least not one looking like my dad's.
So it was a bit like a celebrity car. And my dad got offers to sell it many times by people who approached him in the street. He always smiled proudly and said: "not for sale".
Plus it had this very particular sound, heavy with a deep bass tone, kind of like a double lory.
Everyone knew when dad was near with the SAAB. Even our cats would hear him from two blocks away and run to the door to welcome him.
He was kind of forced to give it away in the mid 90s when the European Union tax regulations changed for old cars and they were offering new cars in low prices with the withdrawal of the old and high taxes if you kept the old. And he could not afford having two cars.
So he had to make the change.
He kept the SAAB sign from the front and that's all that is left of it after they mushed it into a giant cube.
I remember my dad coming back from the car junkyard looking like he's been at a funeral.
It was the end of an era.
It feels though as if it was our destiny, (and I am saying this in a silly way) that me and my sister started our lives inside a Swede.
Since we both migrated to Sweden 🇸🇪
I would love to own a car like this one day.
Maybe towards the end of my life. Assuming I won't die soon by... whatever.
This was a little story about the "Knob", like my mom used to call it.
It was red, then dad had it painted black and red, then red and black then black again.
A color combination that follows me to this day.
EDIT: After my sister read this story, she told me that she also had this dream of stealing dad's car and driving around. With the exact same feeling of excitement and a bit of dread for many years 😂 ❤️


Brazil 1973

Digging through old family pictures I have found some real treasures.
Here you see Sylvester Stallone and Al Pacino ready to make trouble 😛😁😅😍
My father Dimitris on the left and Uncle Mihalis (my mother's brother) on the right ❤
Rio de Janeiro Brazil. Carnival 1973


How handsome was great grandpa

So my sister and I are working on our family tree.
We are going through archives and pictures and trying to dig up our routes.
Since Greece has always been plagued by numerous wars, invasions, dictatorships, civil war, and the blood thirsty turks. And all that in modern history only. It's tough to find information let alone pictures.
My grandparents' generation only, have been through the end of the War of Independence fighting the Ottoman Empire, the Balkan wars, two world wars, civil war, and dictatorship. In ONE lifetime.
This here is my great grandfather Mihail who brought in life my grandfather Theodoros, who in his turn brought in life five children and amongst them my mother.
He must be there in his early thirties.
Greece was freshly free from the turks and the memories of their monstrosities were now a nightmare left behind as one after the other regions cities and small towns were being liberated.
The world seemed bright.
Freedom after 400 years must have felt extraordinary.
Alas, poor Mihail!
If he only knew, the second act of the Shitshow was just around the corner and the first world war was only a sneeze away.
I am carrying this man's DNA and I can't stop feeling ridiculous when I complain for trivialities.
When people feel offended and bothered by immigrants or feel that refugees are messing up their beautiful streets and taking their jobs and preposterous notions like these. I feel only disgust.
Some nations never seen war. Never felt injustice. Never been a part of a country repeatedly attacked robbed and humiliated.
So like a spoiled child they go about complaining that they want MORE!
We will all die and be forgotten. As soon as our last selfie will be deleted and dissappear into nothing.
We will leave behind nothing.
We are nothing.
There is no legacy. No afterlife.
There is also no moral lesson in this entry.
Do whatever the fuck you wanna do.
We are all a bunch of parasites anyway.
It's liberating if you think about it.
This put me in a good mood today.
And how handsome was great grandpa 🖤😊


Dictatorship of the Proletariat

Long long long read.
Dear diary, let's reflect.

And like a good exhibitionist and attention "bore", let's share it with a bunch of strangers.

Let's leave the clown alone for a moment, and let's talk for a brief moment about a person like Marjorie Taylor Greene.
But, we won't stay on her long. She is just the first that came to mind.

This lady believes that blazing fires start by aliens who were conspiring with Jews, that school shootings are staged by actors and noone died, that the presidency was stolen from trump, that a pizza place was run by pedofile lizard people and of course that 9/11 was staged by the government.
Also publicly and unapologetically threatened people with execution.
And that's OK. No surprise there. She is a classic Far Right conspiracy theorist.
But this person is in Congress.
She is not your average six pack redneck toothless trailer trash.
She is a whole other kind of trash.
One with voice. One that other fellow racist brainless small time thugs LISTEN to. And believe.
And in THEIR turn they spread all these lies and misinformation and since, as it is known, lies travel faster than the truth, the uninformed average Joe, too lazy to do a real research, well trapped in his or hers Google algorithm, content with reading the word "expert", reads an article about any of this crap... and eats it all up. And on top of that he or she thinks that they are in the know, that they know better, that everyone else is naive and stupid.
And slowly but surely one day comes that all these idiots vote for a bigger idiot. And a country is almost devastated for 4 years and who knows how long it will take for order to be restored.
She is the reason for many unfortunate reactions of such brainless hordes. She has publicly supported and encouraged a false theory that lead to the attack on the Capital and who's main goal was to execute people.

And here I come to my dilemma.
All this shit makes one face an internal conflict. And when a person like me, the daughter of actively political socialist parents. Parents who fought for democracy, freedom of speech and equality, for real though, out in the streets, not over Facebook with memes and quotes. Parents who were threatened by jail and worse, during dark times in Greek history back in the 60s and 70s. Parents who's libraries were heavy with books on philosophy, politics, history and poetry. Parents with ethos who proudly announced they were humanists and would fight racism, marginalisation and chauvinism.
When a person like me starts to feel a deep conflict with their morals, ethics and deeply routed principles in their head ... In my head. I tell you, it's a shitshow.
And sadly my dad, who was most unbiased and fair in such conversations, is no longer with me.
I'm having thoughts like "there should be control on WHO gets to have a voice"
Like dear Marjorie for example. She is a preposterous creature. She is a racist, she is delusional, she is a liar, most definitely has some form of mental illness and she has the power to speak and vomit all this poison.
Yet SHE, like everyone else, has the right to speak. See where I am getting at?
Yet who am I to decide?
This is a dangerous zone. That's how the Soviet Union drowned in a sea of shit, in the Dictatorship of the Proletariat for 69 years.

Yet, I can't stop having these horrible dark thoughts, were I am a dictator and I flat out kill anyone with lower IQ that 100.
And other such childish notions.

Here I am, another "internet activist warrior". Writing from a comfy sofa in front of a fireplace.

Don't worry my next post will probably be a selfie, or a dildo, or my dog. Or an insinuation about people's ugly babies.

tata for now
the goth years III

Dear diary

Let's see if this year I come back.
I mean if I come back to me.

I have been avoiding me the past 3 years ... or 4.

I think I miss me.

I may give me a call.

We'll see.