Obituary

Perhaps it's the living who suffer the most.

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BOSTON, MA
Effie Orfanides, a writer, died alongside the many she has lost. Trying hard to keep her heart together each time another one passed, the wordsmith lost herself in all the mourning. She wilted until there was nothing left. A lost soul who cried dry tears. She is survived by those who suffer the most.
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In 2007, my husband's best friend committed suicide. He was the person who introduced us. In 2008 my husband's grandmother died of old age, my grandmother followed five months later. In April of 2010, my husband's friend's mother passed away suddenly. It was only a matter of days before the next tragedy hit. My only aunt died at 56 years old. She went to sleep and didn't wake up. I found out while on vacation in Disney World. It was my first day there.
 

In 2011 I lost my great aunt and my great uncle, the last two living on my mother's side. And then there was another blow. My mom's best friend since high school was diagnosed with the worst kind of leukemia. The nicest woman with no husband and no children, was like an aunt to me. Always positive, offering her help, and kind to all. It is with a heavy heart tonight that I tell you she isn't going to make it.

And sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it. If God has a plan. And then I realize that it is the living who suffer the most. And while I know that there is no death worse than the next, I wonder when it will stop. When time will stand still for you or me, and what will become of the living. And once you can breathe again, you take it all in. It's in this moment that you realize that this is God's plan. To bring angels down to the earth so that you may see what awaits you in heaven.

So perhaps it is the living who suffer the most. But in death, the living prevail. Because it is in death that the suffering ends, and one day, we will all be angels.

EffieOrfanides.com is finally here!

Well it is January 11, 2011 and my website is finally here! I’m so excited to have my own little piece of cyber space where I can share my world with all of you. I spent most of 2010 writing my heart out for Gather and Examiner and I’ve barely had any time to work on Legendary Heartbreak, so 2011 is going to be dedicated to getting it done!

I’ve wanted to publish my first book for a long time, but as many writers will tell you - it’s hard work! The amount of dedication and discipline needed to actually sit and write is amazing! I’m happy to say that Legendary Heartbreak is not the only novel that I’m currently working on. I am hoping that this year I will have some exciting news for all of you!

I’m so blessed to have a career doing something that I love to do but I wouldn’t be anywhere if it wasn’t for all of you. Your readership and support have helped me succeed in 2010 and I can only hope that you will stick with me for 2011 and beyond! Thank you for spending time with me and for giving me motivation to move forward.

Here’s to making dreams come true.

Getting to know you (me) getting to know all about you (me)

Here are 25 things that you probably didn't know about me!

1. I can't burp
2. I'm petrified of vomit
3. Britney Spears is my home girl
4. I was born on Labor Day
5. I don't have a middle name
6. I love sharks, especially great whites.
7. I enjoy playing craps.
8. My mom and dad have the same birthday, which is my half birthday.
9. I have never gotten a speeding ticket. And I speed.
10. I was one of the least popular kids in my high school
11. My favorite color is white.
12. I have eight piercings. Seven are in my ears.
13. I drink Smart Water every day.
14. I can sing.
15. Seafood is my favorite.
16. I have two bunnies, named Lucy and Lily.
17. I'm afraid to be home alone late at night.
18. I own over 40 pairs of shoes.
19. I love interior design.
20. I'm a New York Yankees' fan.
21. I wish I could live on the beach.
22. My closet is color coded.
23. I never lose things. Ever.
24. I don't do amusement park rides.
25. I don't like pretzels.

Now I'm getting to hope you like me!!

Grasshoppers are green and have antenae

I decided to sleep in today. Why? Because it's Friday and I can. I rolled out of bed at 11AM did my bathroomy things and then walked into my kitchen. Out of the corner of my eyeball, I noticed a darkish something or other perched atop the radiator. Ah, dust - yet another reminder that I should clean my house today. Upon closer inspection (read upon me going to remove said dust) I noticed twas not dust. Nay nay. Twas a grasshopper - the hopping kind - that hop.

If you know me, you know that I don't like insects, including (but certainly not limited to) spiders, centipedes, millipedes, crickets, pinchers, stink bugs, or anything with many legs (and/or eyes). I now know that I also don't like grasshoppers. At all. It's more of a despise, simply because they have the ability to ruin my morning (i.e. this morning).

I slowly backed out of my kitchen to call everyone that I knew - to tell them the news of course - and then to slowly drive myself into hysteria. Once hysteria set in? I called my mom. My mom advised me to get a book or a heavy magazine to drop on top of the sucker and end his hopping ... forever. I didn't want to do this. I wanted the little shit to live. I wanted him (or her) to go outside and hop ... in the GRASS ... and not go against his name (NOT kitchenhoppers). Anyhow, my mom is a genius. I had to alter her plan slightly because whilst I was calling every person in my phone in hopes one would volunteer to come rescue me from the insect (or the reverse), the son of a bitch HOPPED. To the floor. As I got closer (not too close) (but close enough), I saw it had antenae. I do not deal with things that have antenae at all, ever.

I went into my living room, grabbed a stack of BOSTON MAGAZINE'S and USWEEKLY'S and got ready to take this jumper down. I hit him with the first magazine (I was about 10 feet away, so this was GREAT news). But he was still exposed to air - and you know how insects are. Just when you think they are smushed to death, they start to squirm ... only this thing would hop. I threw another and missed. The wind from the magazine caused the previously thought to be dead grasshopper to jump ... and I jumped too ... and screamed. Like the little wussy girl that I am. Bite me. I threw two more magazines and conquered the 3" kitchen warrior. I proceeded to pounce on the magazines to ensure maximum squashyness. All of that hullabaloo? Is still on the floor.

I walked back into my bedroom to get dressed and found a spider on the wall in the hallway. I smashed him with my finger. I? Am a brave.new.girl.





PS I am sorry the photo is so crappy, but I took it from my dining room and my zoom isn't THAT great.

Sometimes I wish my husband would

drink. Just one beer. Once.

enjoy Art. Fine Art. And take me to the MET.

get excited over my big purchases. Like my purple Coach bag.

stop talking in complete circles. Making me sleepy.

eat fish. Octopus especially.

learn Greek. Or master English. Just something.

take initiative in getting his hair cut. Without me telling him that he looks primordial.

speak up to people who walk all over him.

realize that his Nextel is no longer cool. Especially not at 5AM.

understand that there are other people in the world that sneeze more than me. It's called allergies.

figure out that his wedding ring belongs on his finger not his nightstand.

not make funny faces when eating things containing mayonnaise.

stop checking his burger to make sure it's plain and just eat it. What good is a burger without all the goods? I'd die to stick an onion in it when he wasn't looking.

watch something other than This Old House.

use the computer for something other than researching things that he will never have. Like a steel three car garage.

plow for anyone else besides us and my parents. He's the only guy I know that has a plow and doesn't use it for making extra bank.

know how to play cards. I enjoy cards.

enjoy playing any game besides WII sports. I enjoy games.

get a tattoo. What good are nice arm muscles without a tattoo?

have a revelation in which he comprehends that if he wears a hat to work, it's going to get sweaty and gross. He should keep wearing that hat to work. Instead of ruining every hat that he owns.

find happiness on the beach. Just laying on the beach. Swimming. Sand. Sharks. Peace and quiet.

But all these things, my dear friends, make him one of a kind. My one of a kind. And that makes all the difference.

The 1-2-3's of Iced Tea

My newest obsession besides the color purple (not the movie, the actual color) is iced tea. I'm not talking about that processed Snapple shit (although it is pretty good, for shit), I'm talking about brewed tea, with ice.

So every morning, I make my husband get dressed, and brave all kinds of weather conditions to get to Dunkin' Donuts, and bring me my tea.

Now, don't even get me started with how I take my tea. It's tea. There are only so many things you can put in tea before it becomes a concoction with a hint of tea. I like mine with sugar. REGULAR sugar. When I purchased my first iced tea (that's right, I purchased it, on my own), they put in a lemon slice. I know, lemon is good for you, and trust me, I know lemon can go on just about any food and make it GREAT (like potatoes).

HOWEVER, contrary to popular belief, those super clean workers who value cleanliness at the cleanest dunkin' donuts ever, do NOT always use tongs to pick up the lemon wedge. Sometimes? It's fingers. Without gloves. G-R-O-S-S. So, when I get lemon, I must truck it inside and ask for a new tea altogether, stating that I have a lemon allergy. Lies. It's all lies. But what else do I say? "Hi, I didn't actually see you utilize tongs when lifting this unwanted lemon into my cup, and I'm afraid of TB, so please replace my tasty drink." They wouldn't even understand any part of that. I shouldn't waste my ingeniousness on these people. They have things to do; like use tongs.

So. Rule #1. No lemon.

Next we have cream/milk. Unlike an iced coffee, you should not add cream or milk to your iced tea. As a matter of fact, they don't even ask you if you'd like it. Even the workers know that there is something about tea, being cold, and adding dairy, that doesn't flow. Don't embarass yourself.

Rule #2. No dairy.

Lastly, we have the sugar. I bet you didn't know that there are many sugary options. Sure you have splenda, sweet and low, cancer-sweet, clog-my-artery bits, but did you know that you can get liquid sugar? It's like a sugar that dissolves right into your drink. No mixing, no adding, and definitely no sucking grains off the bottom with your straw. Liquid sugar has ended all of our fun. While convenient for some people, liquid sugar makes your tea taste completely different. If you drink a margarita on the rocks versus a frozen margarita, you are going to get drunk faster. Same with liquid sugar. And, frankly, I always want to feel like shit as quickly as possible on Monday mornings. Not only does it ruin the straw-sucking fun AND give you an insane sugar rush, it also tastes like dump. It completely works against the tea and makes it taste like you are licking a sugary sidewalk. Think of how stupid you would look licking the sidewalk, sugary or not. That is how stupid you would be for ordering your tea with liquid sugar.

Rule #3. Regular sugar only.

In conclusion, please do not take my personal preferences to be your own. Just know that if you have lemon in your tea, I won't get too close to you. I will assume you also went for the liquid sugar, which is essentially like being on liquid crack. That's not the company I like to keep.

Please drink responsibly.

Who Cries At the Nail Salon?

I was at the nail salon yesterday making my decision. You know, "pick a color." That color that will stay on my ten nails (some people have more. some have less.) for two whole weeks. I never have enough hands to carry all my O.P.I. choices. And I always have an issue with pink. I love pink. Except then I can't wear red. It's just a big decision.

My nail lady is on maternity leave so whenever I make an appointment for a fill, it's really a gamble. I want my nails square. I want them short. And damn it I want to be in and out in 30 minutes. The only happy ending I want is to make it into my car without smudging. But no matter how long I sit at those damn UV dryers, I never get a happy ending. Every. Two. Weeks.

SO, a new-to-me lady did my nails yesterday. She looked relatively harmless. "Hi, how are you?" Which is routine. I dumped all of my 6 colors on her station, looked her dead in the eye and said "This is a big decision for me." To which she half laughed and decided to look at my colors in awe. Listen lady, they are MY colors on MY nails. You paint. I pay. GOT IT? Do not make this harder than it has to be.

She got to work. So far, so good. We were filing with the electric tool. We had an onlooker. They spoke their language (probably about how I looked like I needed a wax, like on my whole face. I'm Greek. Take it easy.) and I just kept staring at my color choices. This week, I put myself out there. I narrowed it down to three. Black (which I would only do if she cut my nails SHORT). Blue (which I would only do ... well no, it was just pretty in the bottle). And purple (which I have done every week since I deemed it my favorite color). It was black or purple. And it all depended on whether she cut my nails short enough. It was on.

Sure enough, she cut them short. I could finally do black. And for some reason the words "I would like a design" slipped out of my mouth before I could swallow them. I know. "Design is beautiful." But I? Am 25. I don't like hearts. Or flowers. Or things that don't match. $5? No problem. Design away.

OUCH. I think I am bleeding. I look down at my thumb-cuticle on my right hand to see a small cut. Nothing out of the ordinary. It happens. It stings. Nail lady looked down at what I kept staring at, "So sorry." No worries design lady. No worries.

She finished what she was doing; filing, shaping. And just as I started to feel excited about my design, she pulled out this small bottle containing a blue liquid. Let me just tell you ... it wasn't Nyquil. She put some on a swab and held my thumb up in the air like it was an article of infectious disease. "Is this going to hurrrrrrrr- HOOOOOLLLLY SHIT!" To which she replied, "Anti-septic. Make bleeding stop." REALLY?

My eyes stayed welled up with tears for a good ten minutes. Was that really necessary? It stopped bleeding ten minutes ago. "Go wash your hands." For fear that she would add more torture liquid to my thumb, I darted over to the sink. Still holding back tears. Who cries at the nail salon?

I sat back down, paid her, and hesitantly gave her a $5 tip. Paint time. Black with sparkles. OPI calls it "Baby, it's "coal" outside." I'm sorry. I find this title funny. Say it out loud. To yourself. You see? Funny.

She begins the design to which I say, "Uhm, yeah, hi. I don't like flowers. And I despise hearts. No flowers. No hearts." To which she nods and adds decor to my nails. Just two nails. FIVE BUCKS. I didn't dare look. Until she was done. And then? "Wow. These are gorgeous! Thank you so much!" I walked over to the UV dryers and sat down as she plopped my Coach bag on the floor next to me. You know that aforementioned $5? Multiply by 100 and never plop Le Coach Bag on Le Floor. EVER.

After six minutes I decided I'm dry enough. I thanked design lady profusely. Picked up my bag and headed out to go food shopping.

I got home an hour later, unloaded the car, and sat on my couch. I looked at my gorgeous, live-on-the-wild-side nails only to see one nail smudged. ONE nail. ONE nail with a design.

So I decided that today is the day. To find out who is getting that happy ending and wonder if I will ever get mine.