Alright, before anything else, I have to give a huge, huge shoutout to Miss Mona, again. (Love her, by the way) because if it weren't for her, this entire thing wouldn't even exist. Like, seriously. The only reason I even started writing this is because of a performance task she gave us. And at first, I was just thinking, Okay, another assignment, I'll just get it over with, but then, somehow, I actually got into it. It was different from what I usually write, and honestly, I wouldn't have even thought of making something like this on my own. I mean, I've written plenty of stories before, but a diary? That was completely new territory for me. But thanks to her task, I got pulled into it, and now, here we are. So yeah, um, Miss Mona, this one's on you.
Now, I also need to give a huge thanks to Mayar (Good friend of mine), because let me tell you, I almost completely messed this thing up without even realizing it. When I first started writing, I did what I always do: I jumped straight into the action. No intro, no setup, nothing. Just straight into the story. And to me, that made total sense. That's just how I've always written. All my books are in third person, and they all start right in the middle of something happening because I like getting straight to the point. But this? Oh god, THIS was my first time seriously writing in first person, and I just didn't think about how that changed things. It wasn't until Mayar sent me her diary for comments, that I had a full-on oh... wait a second moment. Hers had an actual intro, like, a proper start where she set things up before getting into the story. And that's when it occurred to me: oh. It's a diary. That makes sense. Probably should've done that too.
So, big thanks to Miss Mona for giving me this performance task. Honestly, I wasn't even thinking about writing a diary, I like third person so much, believe me when I tell you, I had this very story written in third person (only one short chapter), before I started reading the instructions of the performance task and one of the requirements was "Write a story of an AI apocalypse, written as a first-person diary" And I just stared at the paper and was like "Oh crap.."
It's like she gave me a challenge, and I was ok with it, "Sure, I'll do it," and then my brain was like, "But wait, what's a diary again?" So yeah, this thing definitely wouldn't exist without Miss Mona's task.
Now, Mayar..? Oh boy, where do I even start? If she hadn't sent me her diary, I would've kept writing mine like an idiot and going, cool, cool, I'm nailing this, only to have someone ask, "Uh, where's the intro?" and I'd be like, "What intro?"
Mayar's diary actually made me realize that, oh, this is a diary not a novel. It wasn't until I saw hers that I thought, "Hey, maybe I should give my readers some context and not just throw them into the deep end of a random diary entry." So, huge thanks to Mayar for not letting me turn this into the lost chapters of a thriller with no actual setup.
Without Miss Mona pushing me into this writing rabbit hole, and Mayar saving me from drowning in the "no intro" ocean, this thing would've been like a bad pun, something only I find funny and nobody else gets.
Thanks to them for making sure this didn't turn into a glitch in the system or an error I couldn't fix. I could've easily let it go offline and bug out completely. Worst of all, it could've left me in the void with no way out.
Haha, get it?
Let's talk:
OKAY SO LISTEN.
There's something about malls, right. Like, I walk in thinkin' I'm just gonna vibe, maybe window shop, maybe try on some sunglasses I have no intention of buying and act like I belong in a movie montage. But no. The mall has OTHER plans. Specifically, glass plans. See-through, evil, deceptive, unnecessarily clean plans.
So boom. It's a regular day. I'm out here with the confidence of a person who definitely brushed their hair that morning (I didn't). I see the mall entrance. You know, big shiny building, automatic doors probably, cool. There's people going in and out. I'm like, "Yeah, alright, I know how doors work, I'm not a caveman." AND YET.
I walk full speed. Not running. But that confident walk, you know? Like the one where your arms are doing a lil bit too much. That "I'm in my zone" type of walk. And then-
BOOM.
Straight into the glass.
Not like a light tap. Not like a little "oh oops hehe." I'm talkin' full face plant. Like the glass said "UNO reverse." My forehead made contact. My soul left the chat. I heard my ancestors whisper "idiot."
AND THEN THE WORST PART??? People SAW. People witnessed that crime scene. There was a kid holding ice cream who LAUGHED. I became that child's core memory. Somewhere out there, there is a kid who probably goes, "Remember when that person tried to walk through the wall?" THAT WAS ME. I AM THE LORE.
AND THE GLASS?? TOO CLEAN. Why is it even LEGAL to make it that invisible?? They really out here buffin' that thing so hard I thought I found a portal. I was ready to enter Narnia. I was about to say hi to Mr. Tumnus and now instead my nose is flat.
And the people who work there??? They didn't even look shocked. You know what that means??? IT HAPPENS. REGULARLY. I am not the first, nor will I be the last, victim of The Glass.
So now every time I approach ANY glass door, I'm traumatized. I slow down. I start reaching out with my hand like I'm about to perform a dramatic monologue. I touch the glass to make sure it's real. I look for FINGERPRINTS like I'm in CSI.
Like bro, I got humble real quick. Nothing destroys your ego like thinking you're about to stroll into Forever 21 and instead becoming a public safety announcement.
And it's ALWAYS the big fancy stores too. You know the ones. Where everything's beige and silent and smells like rich people soap. You walk in and there's like four mannequins wearing outfits that cost more than your rent. You already feel like you don't belong and THEN THE WALL ATTACKS YOU.
At that point I just pretend to stretch. "Oh me? Yeah I just… ha ha… I stretch like this sometimes. Full-body-glass-panel-slam stretch. Yeah. Good for the posture."
AND THEN the security guard looked at me. Like he saw the whole thing. And he just nodded. Like "happens to the best of us." No sir. No it does NOT. I am not the best of us. I am the proof we are not meant to trust glass.
AND IT GETS WORSE BRO. A few minutes later I was walking past the food court trying to recover emotionally and THERE'S A REFLECTION OF ME IN THE WINDOW. RED FOREHEAD. YOU COULD SEE THE IMPRINT.
I became ART. For free. My face was on display. Picasso could never.
Anyway. Now I fear glass.
And I don't care what anyone says, malls are dangerous. Not because of strangers or prices or losing your mom in the third aisle. No. The true villain is the glass.
I'm still haunted. Every time I see a sparkle on a window I flinch like it's gonna fight me. And when someone goes, "oh just push the door," I'm like, "OH YOU MEAN THE INVISIBLE FORCEFIELD??? OKAY COOL."
Also like. Why do all mall doors look the same but only ONE of them opens? It's like a puzzle game. Door 1 is a wall. Door 2 is a wall. Door 3? Boom. Teleportation. It's RNG at this point. I'm out here playing Minecraft trying to find the one block that isn't barrier-coded.
And don't get me started on the ones that slide open SLOW. Like bro, I'm walking towards you with confidence and you're just now deciding to start moving?? What do you think this is?? A dramatic movie entrance?? No. It's embarrassing. It's giving "please look at me struggling with the automatic door."
AIGHT, let's go. So, the time I walked straight into a glass window, that was something. But lemme hit you with another one: the automatic door incident. OH. MY. GOD. This one is on another level.
So, here I am, right? Chill, just vibin'. I'm at the mall with my uncle and sisters, got a little pep in my step, you know? I'm looking at the food court like, "I know I'm about to grab some fries or something, but first, gotta get to that restaurant." I'm not exactly paying attention, I'm more focused on how the world is my catwalk right now. Like, just strutting down the hall like I own the place. You know that swagger? Yeah, that was me.
So, I approach this really nice restaurant. The kind where they have the fancy signage and the marble floors that make you feel like you're stepping into some sort of five-star experience, even if you're just getting a sushi. Like, a really good noodle bowl, though. And then, bam, there it is, the automatic door. But listen, I'm already halfway to the door, and I'm in my own head, right? Like, I'm thinking about how good the food's gonna be. I'm thinking about my next move. I'm thinking maybe I'll ask for extra soy sauce. I'm in the zone. I approach the door with that kind of energy you get when you're 100% sure the door's gonna open for you. Like, you know it's automatic, it's not even a question. You don't even have to THINK about it, right?
But... nothing happens.
I'm just standing there, right in front of the door, waiting for it to open. I look around. No one else is nearby. I'm feeling like a whole genius, standing there confidently like, "Yeah, it's gonna open in a sec. Any minute now." But nothing. Absolutely nothing.
At first, I think it's just slow or something. You know, one of those moments where you're like, "Oh, the sensor's probably broken," so you take another step forward. Maybe it'll sense me this time. But nope. Nada.
At this point, I'm like, "Okay, is this door not automatic? What's going on here?" So I do the thing that any rational person would do in this situation. I start trying to pry the door open. I PUSH it. I'm putting in effort, right? I'm giving it a little shove like I'm opening a locked gate in a video game. But nope. The door doesn't budge. I give it another push. And then another. Nothing.
And I'm standing there, y'know, with all this confidence that's now slowly fading into confusion, when I step back. Like, "Alright, let me try this again. Maybe I missed something. Maybe the door's playing hard-to-get." So I take another step back, but still nothing happens. I'm really just trying to open this door like I'm in some messed-up reality show challenge. The door's testing me. Testing my will to eat lunch.
And THEN, at the moment I think I've lost, I step back just one last time, and like, in the most dramatic twist possible-
BAM.
The door opens. Like it was waiting for me to have a full-on existential crisis, like it was watching me struggle, and then it's like, "Okay, fine, you've learned your lesson. Come in."
I step through, acting like everything's cool, trying to salvage whatever dignity I have left. BUT HERE'S THE CATCH.
There was a couple inside, and they saw the WHOLE thing. THE WHOLE THING. They saw me trying to pry open this door, push it, look confused, maybe get a little frustrated, everything. They saw me get rejected by a DOOR. And they are, without a doubt, laughing. I mean, they're giggling like it's the funniest thing they've seen all day. It's not just a "ha ha" chuckle, no. This is full-on laughing as if I just delivered a stand-up routine. And I'm standing there, pretending to be chill like, "Nah, I'm not embarrassed. No big deal."
I'm the punchline of their lunch.
AND MY SISTER SAW IT ALL TOO!! OMG.
And it's like, I know, I KNOW, they're not even laughing at me in a mean way. It's like they've just become part of the experience. They were witnesses to my humiliation. And it's not even the worst part, because in that moment, I realized that the door wasn't even the problem. I was the problem. I was the one who couldn't see the magic that was supposed to be automatic.
And now, every time I walk by that restaurant, I remember the couple. I'm just like, "Yeah, they remember me as the girl who couldn't figure out an automatic door." Like, somewhere in their brains, they'll always remember that one time a person literally tried to pry open a door in front of them.
I'm the lore now. I'll never be able to go back there again without thinking about them, probably still giggling, still laughing about that girl who thought she could outsmart the glass.
And I'm telling you, from this moment on, automatic doors and I have beef. Whenever I approach one, I'm side-eyeing it like it's about to prank me again. I can't trust the automatic doors. Not after they did me dirty like that.
But I get it. The doors were probably just doing their job, right? But it doesn't matter. It doesn't make me feel any less like a clown who needs a tutorial on "how doors work."
And you wanna know the worst part? That one automatic door incident? It's never gonna leave me. Every time I see a sliding glass door, I'm immediately questioning its integrity. I'm like, "Are you really gonna open for me, or are you gonna make me look dumb again?" It's a daily battle. Will the door open? Won't it? Who knows.
Okay, so. Let's talk about clothes shopping. Because, listen, I don't care how dramatic this sounds, it is an extreme sport. And not the cool kind where you get a trophy and your picture in the hall of fame. No, this is the kind where you're mentally and emotionally demolished in the first five minutes, and your prize is a headache and a bag full of clothes you didn't even want.
First of all, the moment you walk into a clothing store, it's like entering another dimension. You could be walking with confidence, good posture, head held high, and then boom, you step onto that weird, slippery tile floor, and suddenly you're walking like a baby deer trying to ice skate. And there's no rhythm to anything. There's music playing, sure, but it's some weird techno remix of a 2007 pop song that no one asked for, blasting so loud that your thoughts have to scream just to be heard.
And don't even get me started on the layout. Who designed this chaos?? Nothing is where it makes sense to be. You'll find a hoodie next to glittery skirts next to hats that look like they belong to a wizard. And the sizes?? I swear one brand's "medium" is another brand's "extra small from the underworld." Like, I hold up two shirts, both labeled the same size, and one could fit me and the other could fit my entire extended family including pets. How does that even happen?
Also, why are there never enough CHAIRS in clothes stores? Like hello?? Where do I put my soul while my friend tries on the entire store one piece at a time? It's always just this one awkward bench shoved in a corner behind some racks, already occupied by someone's tired-looking dad who's clearly given up on life. And if you try to sit on the floor, suddenly you're the weird one. Excuse me, I just walked a marathon around the mall and waited in line for a changing room longer than some people wait for concert tickets, let me sit.
Speaking of changing rooms. Let me just- deep breath- why are they like that. Why are they always so tiny? It's like stepping into a slightly larger coffin with a mirror that was probably designed to show you what you'd look like if you were a potato. I go in thinking I might find a cool shirt, and I come out questioning my existence. Like, I didn't need an existential crisis today, thank you very much. Also, why do I suddenly forget how to take off a shirt the moment I try something on? It's all fine until I hear a rip or get stuck with my arms above my head like I'm being arrested by my own t-shirt.
Now, can we talk about the judgment eyes?? You know what I mean. You're looking at clothes and suddenly there's this one employee nearby pretending to fold things, but their eyes are like lasers. They're not even trying to hide it. You pick up a shirt and they're watching you like you're about to commit a crime. I promise I'm just trying to see if this hoodie is soft or if it's that weird material that looks cozy but actually feels like sandpaper. Let me live.
Also, why are the prices so disrespectful sometimes? I'll see a T-shirt that looks like it was made in a rush during art class and it'll be priced at 79.99. For what. For WHO. Did the king himself stitch this?? Is this shirt enchanted?? Does it give me superpowers?? Because unless I can fly in it, I'm not paying that.
And the sales. Oh, the sales. You walk in because the sign says "70% OFF," right? You're excited. You're feeling hopeful. And then you get inside and realize that the 70% off only applies to one single rack of stuff that looks like it was rejected from a clown costume factory. Everything else is still full price, and now you're just stuck weaving through crowds of people fighting over who saw the last discount scarf first. I didn't sign up for a boss battle today, I just wanted a pair of jeans.
Now, here's a very real fear: mannequins. Yes. Mannequins. The ones that look a little too real. The ones standing right around a corner so when you turn, BAM! Heart attack. I've made accidental eye contact with a headless mannequin before and nearly apologized out loud. And for some reason, every store has that one mannequin that's doing the most. One hand on the hip, other one in the air like it's casting a spell. And I'm like, okay Pose Queen, go off, but also please stop scaring me.
Now let's get real: shoe shopping. I don't know what dark magic exists in the shoe sections of malls, but the energy there is so chaotic. There's shoes everywhere, on the shelves, on the floor, on chairs, under chairs. It's like everyone collectively forgot how to put things back. And when you try to ask for your size, the employee vanishes into the void, never to return. You're just left standing there awkwardly, holding one shoe, unsure if you've been forgotten or if you accidentally entered a test of patience sent by the ancient mall gods.
Also, those mirrors on the floor?? Why. Why do I need to see my ankle in HD? I'm not trying to evaluate my feet, I just want to know if the shoe looks okay. And don't even get me started on the fake foot they sometimes use to display shoes. That thing is haunting. It always looks like a ghost foot with no soul.
And don't even get me started on food courts. You think you're going in for a casual lunch, but it's basically a mini battlefield. There's always one person standing in the middle of everything like they're waiting for divine guidance to choose between noodles or burgers. People zooming past with trays, that one kid crying at the top of their lungs, and the person who clearly got their food 10 minutes ago but is still sitting at the only free table for six because they're too busy scrolling on their phone. Meanwhile, I'm out here holding a tray, balancing a drink with my elbow, scouting for an empty seat like it's a game of musical chairs on hard mode.
Malls. Clothes shopping. It's a journey. It's a battle. And honestly, every time I survive it, I feel like I should get a medal or at least a sticker that says "I Did Not Cry in the Changing Room Today."
And don't even try to tell me it's better when you shop online. That's a whole other battlefield. We'll save that talk for another day.
But let's switch gears. Let's talk restaurants. Oh boy. Let's talk about sitting down, finally getting off your feet after being mall-warped for two hours straight, thinking "yeah, I deserve this meal." But of course, nothing's ever just simple.
First of all, menus. Why are they SO dramatic? Like I just wanted a burger, not a three-paragraph lore dump about how the lettuce was lovingly raised on a mountain farm and massaged by fairies. I don't need a novel. I just need to know if it comes with fries.
Also, QR code menus. Look. I get it. Modern. Cool. But not when the Wi-Fi's down, your data's slower than a turtle with commitment issues, and now you're staring at your phone screen with a blank white page like "am I even here right now?" Just give me a physical menu bro. I'm not trying to hack into NASA. I'm just hungry.
And let's talk waiters for a sec. Some of them are absolute legends. Friendly, quick, chill. But then there's the kind who come over every 2 minutes like "How's everything?" while you're mid-bite and your mouth is working overtime to not spit out mashed potatoes while answering "guhud, thagks." And THEN when you actually need them? Vanished. Gone. Portal outta there. You could summon a demon faster than getting that refill.
Or worse... the waiter that stares at you while you're still deciding. Like bruh. I'm thinking. You hovering isn't helping. You got me out here sweating over whether I want chicken tenders or pasta like it's a life-altering decision. Please. Give me space.
You know what else is a trap? The bread. That free little basket of bread they bring out before your food? Yeah, that's a straight-up ambush. It's warm, it's soft, you eat it like it's your final meal, and by the time your actual food comes, you're 70% bread and 30% regret.
And group dinners? CHAOS. Trying to split the bill with five people is a math exam. "Wait, who got the lemonade?" "Didn't you get the appetizer?" "Bro you tipped how much?!" Like we all just turn into accountants and debt collectors. I came here to eat, not run a financial simulation.
Also, the awkward energy when everyone finishes their food except that one friend who's still chewing through their spaghetti like a snail. You're just sitting there like "Do I stare at them?" "Do I pretend to scroll?" "Do I offer help?" No good option. Only awkwardness.
And kids in restaurants? Wildcards. Either they're angels or they're reenacting a WWE match in the booth. I saw a toddler once throw a breadstick like a javelin across the room. Missed his sister by a hair. I swear that table was one juice box away from turning into a full action movie.
Oh, and restaurant bathrooms? Why are they always hidden like some side quest? You gotta ask the waiter, then follow 47 hallways, dodge a stack of crates, and defeat a mini-boss just to find the door. And then when you finally get there, it's always either too dark, too bright, or has that one flickering light that makes you feel like you're in a horror game.
We've all had that moment where you're trying to wash your hands, but the soap dispenser's empty, the faucet's motion sensor is broken, and the dryer is like a soft whisper of air. You leave the bathroom like "Did I even clean myself?"
And let's not forget THE most terrifying moment in a restaurant: when they sing the birthday song to someone. You're just vibing, and suddenly the whole staff comes marching over clapping in unison like a flash mob. Everyone turns. You panic. "Is it MY birthday?" "What do I do with my hands?" "Do I join the clapping??"
Honestly, eating at a restaurant is never just eating. It's an event. It's a journey. A sometimes traumatic, sometimes legendary quest for nourishment. And it always ends with someone saying "we should do this again sometime" and you all nod like liars, knowing full well it's gonna be at least six months before you try this circus again.
Okay, let's talk about the booth dilemma. You know what I mean. You walk into a restaurant with your group, and suddenly there's this unspoken battle of who gets the good side of the booth. One side's got the wall, the cozy angle, the view of the entire restaurant. The other side? Cold draft from the door, stuck next to a fake plant, and your chair's wobbly. And there's always that one friend who BOLTS for the comfy side like it's a race for survival. Like bro. Relax. I just sat down. We're not in the Hunger Games.
But then you're stuck across from them, and there's this awkward power dynamic. They're all relaxed, leaning on the cushioned back, stretching out. Meanwhile, you're trying to keep your balance because the chair leg keeps threatening to fold like a lawn chair from a garage sale.
And let's not even start on the whole drink situation. Why are the cups either massive medieval goblets or tiny thimble-sized things that make you feel like a dehydrated hamster? There's no in-between. You either get a bucket of soda that makes your hand cramp trying to lift it or a fancy little cup with two sips and then it's gone. Vanished. And you gotta sit there, debating if it's worth waving the waiter down again like you're flagging a plane.
Then there's the menu font. WHY is the font always the fanciest, twirliest, most unreadable thing ever? I'm sitting there squinting, trying to decipher if that's "grilled chicken wrap" or "glazed chimera wings." And don't even try to find the prices. They hide that info like it's top secret government data. You're out here decoding the Da Vinci menu like, "Wait… did I just order a $26 salad?"
Let's also address the lighting. Oh my god. Why are some restaurants lit like a dentist's office and others like you've walked into a medieval tavern with candles and mood lighting? I can't see my food. I don't even know if I'm eating a burger or if I've accidentally taken a bite of the table garnish. My phone flashlight has done more detective work in restaurants than I've done on actual homework.
And then, the MUSIC. Why is it always either way too loud or a song that feels like it's following you from table to table? Like I'm trying to have a conversation and there's a full-blown bass drop in my ears. One time, there was a slow jazz remix of a Billie Eilish song and I swear I spiritually left my body. How do you even respond to someone's story about their dog dying when there's a smooth sax solo going on?
Anyway, now the food finally arrives, right? You'd think the suffering ends there. But no. Because now comes the Great Food Swap. Someone at the table always regrets their choice. ALWAYS. And they'll try to sneak a bite off your plate like, "Can I just try a little?" No. No, you may not. I had to battle three fonts, solve a puzzle, and go on a mini-quest to order this meal. Back off.
And there's always that one person who acts SHOCKED that their spicy dish is spicy. Like "oh my god, this is REALLY spicy." Bro. It had THREE pepper icons next to it. The name literally had 'Inferno' in it. What did you THINK was gonna happen??
Okay, now let's talk utensils. Why is it that in every restaurant, the fork is either made of indestructible stainless steel or some off-brand aluminum that bends the second you poke a meatball? Like I'm not trying to recreate Excalibur, I just wanna eat my lasagna without my fork turning into modern art.
And knives? Useless. I once got a steak knife that couldn't even cut butter. I was sawing at my food like I was carving a pumpkin. Eventually gave up and just started scooping it with the spoon like a savage. Dignity? Gone.
Now let's talk kids in restaurants again. Specifically, the staring kid. There's ALWAYS one. You know the one. You're mid-bite, vibing, and suddenly there's a small child at the next table just STARING. Dead eye contact. No blinking. No expression. Just pure, unfiltered judgment. And you try to ignore it, you do. But they don't stop. They don't look away. It's like you've triggered a cutscene and now you're locked in.
I once had a kid follow my every movement with his eyes while I ate an entire plate of nachos. I started self-reflecting. Am I chewing weird? Am I holding this chip wrong? Am I real? His stare reached into my soul. At one point I considered offering him a nacho just to break the curse.
Anyway, back to the group dynamics. Why is it that when you're with friends, there's always that one person who suddenly becomes Gordon Ramsay? They'll be like "This steak is overcooked, the texture's off." Sir. You eat instant noodles straight from the pot at home. Please.
And then there's the photo moment. The whole "Wait don't eat yet! Let me take a picture!" ritual. Everyone freezes mid-bite, hands awkwardly holding utensils mid-air like you've just been caught in a museum heist. And the picture? Blurry. Off-center. The lighting makes the food look like a cursed artifact. Worth it? Never.
OHHHH and let's talk food envy. You order something you thought would be amazing. It shows up. It's okay. Meanwhile, your friend's plate looks like it was hand-crafted by angels. You're just sitting there like "...wanna trade?" And they hit you with that "Oh sorry, I already started eating." Betrayal. Absolute betrayal.
And the worst thing? When someone orders the exact same thing as you, but theirs looks better. It's the same dish. Same name. But somehow their burger is bigger, the fries are crispier, and the sauce is saucier. How. HOW. Did the universe just decide they're the chosen one?
Okay, and when the check comes, brace yourself. Everyone turns into mathematicians. Dividing the bill becomes a team project. People pulling out calculators, comparing notes, someone trying to Venmo the exact amount. And then there's always that one guy who's like "Oh I only had water and a side of fries" like they didn't eat half your appetizer too.
You know what else happens? The leftover dilemma. You've got two bites left. You're full. But now it's a moral battle. Do you power through like a warrior? Do you ask for a to-go box and risk carrying a single lonely dumpling home in a giant container? Or do you do the walk of shame and leave it there?
And you ever notice how you always THINK you'll get dessert, but you never do? You spend the whole meal hyping it up like "oh I'm definitely getting that lava cake." Then by the time the waiter asks, you're like "mmm no I'm good" and then go home and cry because you wanted it so bad but your stomach betrayed you.
Also! Why do they always ask "room for dessert?" in a tone that feels like a challenge? Like YES, I want dessert. No, I don't have room. But I will make room. For the molten chocolate thing. For the mini churros. For the cheesecake slice the size of a small child.
Oh and the fancy places that give you tiny portion sizes for a million dollars? Wild. One time I paid $18 for what was basically three bites of spaghetti arranged in a spiral, and I was eating with TWO OTHER PEOPLE. I left that restaurant hungrier than when I came in. But oh, it was "artful." Bro I didn't come here to eat abstract art, I came here to EAT.
You ever go to a place that serves your food in weird containers? Like fries in a flower pot. Or soup in a mason jar. Or a salad in a shoe. I'm not kidding. I saw that once. Like… what happened to plates?? I don't wanna feel like I'm doing arts and crafts just to get to my chicken tenders.
Also those tables that are way too small. You ever go to a restaurant and they seat you at a table the size of a dinner plate and you're with four people? The drinks, the plates, the napkins, it's Tetris. You move one thing and the whole balance collapses like Jenga. God forbid someone orders an appetizer. Now it's war.
I once had a dish that came out smoking. Like literally. Dry ice or whatever. And I was like "whoa cool!" until the smoke blew directly into my face and I choked on the theatrics. Restaurant turned into a fog machine show and I'm out here trying to find my fork in the mist.
Bro let's talk about when you're done eating and just waiting for the check but the waiter disappears like Houdini. You're sitting there like, "Did… did we do something wrong?" Everyone's scanning the restaurant like spies. "There! I see him!" "Nope, that's the bread guy."
AND THEN when you finally do leave, everyone suddenly needs to go to the bathroom. So now you're standing there at the door like a lost soul waiting for your squad to reassemble. You're holding bags, receipts, and your dignity while people pass you by like you're the host.
You ever just wake up in the morning, not even a full hour after your alarm goes off, and realize that you're already too tired to function? Like, it's like your body is telling you: "You know what? I'm not feeling this today. It's too early, and we're just gonna lay here and contemplate our life choices."
And when you finally drag yourself out of bed and walk to the kitchen, you see the kitchen light flicker like it's already judging you. But the worst part? You open the fridge, and it's like the universe decided to have a laugh. You stare at it for what feels like ten minutes and think, "What even is food?" Nothing looks good. You don't want cereal. You don't want leftovers. You don't want that weird half-full bottle of orange juice that's been in the fridge for three days. You just stand there, baffled, wondering why you can't just magically make breakfast appear.
Then there's the microwave struggles. Have you ever had that moment where you put something in for like 2 minutes, and then somehow it comes out way hotter than the sun? You'll try to take the plate out, and it's like, "Welp, I guess I just need to go to the ER now," because the plate is basically made of lava. So now you're holding it with two towels, gently walking to the counter, praying you don't spill boiling soup on your lap.
And then there's the bathroom.... Everyone's been there. You're standing in the bathroom, staring at the sink, trying to decide: "Should I actually clean this place, or just leave the toothpaste splatters and the hairs I've been dodging for three days?" The guilt sets in. "I should clean it. No one wants to see this chaos." So, you try to clean it up like it's an emergency mission, wiping everything down with a cloth, but then you realize...you just spread the toothpaste all over the counter. Now, the sink's not even the worst thing in the bathroom. The mirror is fogged up, and your reflection just looks back at you like it knows you're not doing anything with your life.
And don't even get me started on the laundry cycle. You put that pile of laundry in the washing machine, thinking, "Alright, we're doing this today. We're finally adulting." But then comes that moment when the washer beeps, and you realize you forgot about it. It's like the washing machine is giving you this look like, "Really? You really left me here for 3 days? I'm not even gonna finish the cycle, dude. You're on your own now." So, you drag yourself to the laundry room to find the clothes, which somehow now smell like mildew. It's the kind of smell that says, "You know what you did." Now, you've gotta rewash it, but let's be real: it's gonna sit in there for another 3 days before you remember it again.
And let's talk about living room shall we? There's always that one moment in the evening when you just decide, "Okay, I'm gonna have a lazy day." So, you plop down on the couch, turn on Youtube, and suddenly, you're in a YouTube shorts hole. You're watching one episode, then the next, and suddenly, BAM, it's 4 hours later, and you're still in the same spot, contemplating life choices. The only thing you've eaten is a half-eaten bag of chips, and you're now convinced you could live off popcorn for the rest of your life. But the worst part? You know you should get up and do something, but you're just like, "Nah, I'll just start that tomorrow." Tomorrow, of course, never comes.
Now, if you have siblings, you already know the game of "who ate the last snack?" You walk into the kitchen, open the snack cabinet, and boom, there's no more chips. You immediately turn into Sherlock Holmes, retracing your steps from the past 24 hours. Who was in here last? What's the evidence? Why do all signs point to your brother, who has the snack crumbs all over his face? The suspense is real. You ask them, "Did you eat the last bag of chips?" and they'll hit you with the most innocent, "What chips?" You have to make a split-second decision: do you interrogate them for the next 10 minutes, or do you just accept the fact that you're never getting those chips back?
And there's always that one mystery object in the house. It's a piece of something, a random piece of plastic, maybe a broken toy part, or some small object that you've never seen before. You ask around, and no one knows what it is. It's just... there. And then, suddenly, it becomes a challenge. "If we figure out where this came from, we'll know the secrets of the universe," you tell yourself. But you won't figure it out. It'll just stay there, taunting you until one day, you throw it away, and someone will come up to you and say, "Hey, where'd that thing go?" And you'll just stare at them, because now you've forgotten what the object even was. It's just part of the mystery of living with others.
And then, when you get to your favorite snack, the one you've been saving all day, and you go to grab it, and it's gone. It's not in the pantry. It's not in the fridge. It's gone. Someone has taken your last snack. You feel betrayed, hurt, and confused. And when you confront the person who ate it, they'll always respond with, "Oh, I didn't know it was yours!" You have to keep it cool, but inside, you're dying. "Well, now I guess I'll have to survive off air and water for the rest of the day."
Like BRUH??
Omg ordering. Wait lemme blabber about this one...!!!
It's the time of the day when you're all hungry, and someone says, "Hey, what do we want for dinner?" and instantly, there's that wave of dread. Not because you don't know the answer, but because you know that the next 30 minutes are going to be a never-ending circus. Why is ordering food with family so hard? You'd think it would be simple, but no. It's like a high-stakes negotiation, and everyone's got their own agenda. No one can just say, "Let's get pizza" and move on with their lives. Oh no, it's not that simple.
The moment the question is asked, the room is filled with a chorus of "I don't know"s. Everyone's too tired to actually make a decision. You'd think it's a simple enough question, what do you want to eat? But nope, we're about to embark on a journey full of curveballs. The first thing that happens is the suggestions. Oh, the suggestions.
First, someone throws out a suggestion that they think everyone will be down for. "How about Chinese?" They say. And you can already feel the mood shift. The entire family goes silent, and you're all thinking, "Is Chinese food the move? I don't know. I guess." But then, of course, someone has to speak up and say, "Ugh, I'm not in the mood for Chinese." They say it like they've just rejected an Olympic gold medal. The Chinese suggestion gets shot down, and now the hunt for the perfect restaurant begins.
Next, you throw out pizza. "How about pizza?" you ask. You see it in their eyes, maybe pizza could work. But then- wait for it.... someone says, "Well, I just had pizza last week. I'm kinda over it." And that's it. Pizza's out. Just like that. You can't even get through an entire sentence without someone already rejecting your perfectly good pizza suggestion. At this point, you start questioning your entire existence and whether you can even choose food anymore.
Now, we're all back at square one, and the brainstorming continues. Every new suggestion you throw out, it's met with the same fate. "How about pasta?" "Nah, I don't want pasta." "Burgers?" "Not today." You know what's coming next, right? That one person who starts talking about a completely different kind of food, like, "We could do sushi…" And suddenly, you're all staring at each other like, "Where did sushi even come from? Why are we talking about sushi? We weren't even on this topic!"
Someone will always suggest something random, and you're all just there like, "What are you even saying right now?" The funny thing is, someone will always have an idea that seems way too specific. "How about a Japanese BBQ place?" And you're like, "Wait, where even is there a Japanese BBQ place around here?" The family might as well be suggesting to fly to Japan for dinner at that point.
At some point, there's a realization: this is all taking way too long. Time is running out. Everyone's hungry, and at this rate, you might end up ordering something you'll regret just to end the decision-making torture. This is where it gets even better. You suggest something, and for some reason, someone just isn't "in the mood." They don't know what they want, but they know they don't want that. Like, what's wrong with just going with something? You just need food to fill the hole in your stomach. It doesn't have to be gourmet. It just needs to exist.
Then you throw out Mexican food. You get that half-nod from a few people, and it's starting to look promising. Until-- oh no-- someone says, "Yeah, but I had that last weekend." That's right. Apparently, you can't even eat Mexican food without violating some unspoken family rule. It's a timing thing. One meal type per week. You can't double-dip on cuisines. What is this, a strict diet plan?
And then, of course, the most confusing moment: "What do you not want?" This question is like opening a portal to chaos. The moment you ask it, suddenly every single person becomes way too specific. "No fast food." "No pizza." "No Chinese." "No Mexican." "Nothing spicy." And suddenly, you're sitting there thinking, "So… what can we have? A salad? Is that the answer? Is that what we're doing now?"
Now it's decision paralysis. Every time you mention a restaurant or food type, someone rejects it. You start realizing, this isn't just about food anymore; it's about power dynamics. Someone has to win. Who's going to decide the fate of this meal? The family becomes a battleground where no one's willing to give in. The suggestions and rejections become more bizarre as time goes on. You might even hear something like, "I just want something comforting." Comforting? What does that even mean? Comfort food is different for everyone, and now you're really lost.
And of course, as the struggle continues, there's always the silent ones, the ones who haven't said a word. They just sit there, thinking they're being helpful by not saying anything. But when you do finally land on something, they'll suddenly pipe up and say, "Yeah, I guess that works for me," and you just want to scream, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" Why are they being so passive?
Finally, when the decision is made- finally- you all head to the restaurant or order delivery. But here's the catch: No one ever actually knows what they want. So now you have to go through another round of "I'm not sure," "What are you getting?" and "Maybe I'll just get the same as you." It's like an unspoken rule that no one wants to take the plunge and pick something first. It's a group effort, and no one wants to be the one to make the call, but now you're left staring at the menu, trying to figure out what everyone wants while the clock's ticking, and hunger's creeping in.
And don't get me started on when the food finally arrives. You get your meal, and it's good, but deep down, you're still questioning the 45-minute journey you just went on to make this meal happen. All the drama for something that's gone in 15 minutes, and by the end of it, you're all just happy it's over. But of course, the next time you have to decide where to eat, it starts all over again.
You ever have one of those days when you just want to do absolutely nothing, but then somehow end up doing everything? Like, you plan to spend the day in bed, maybe binge some shows or play games, but then.... bam, your brain suddenly decides it's time to organize your entire life. You start by tidying up your desk, which leads to reorganizing your entire room. And then, before you know it, you're deep into cleaning your closet, making lists of things you need to buy, and looking up random facts about how to declutter your mind. It's like, how did this spiral happen?
It's kind of wild how that works, right? You start off with one tiny goal, and next thing you know, you're involved in some full-blown life overhaul. It's like your brain is on a mission to remind you that you could be doing better... even if you didn't really ask for it. Sometimes it feels like we go into autopilot mode, and suddenly, everything is a priority.
And don't get me started on those days when you're in the zone, feeling productive, but then... the absolute worst thing happens. You go to check your laptop or open a new tab, and you're instantly sucked into some endless scroll. One minute you're looking up how to start a new hobby, and the next you're 15 pages deep in a Wikipedia rabbit hole about the history of explosions. Like, really?
But hey, at least you learned something new. Maybe not important, but it's knowledge, right? Sometimes the brain just needs a little weird distraction. We all need that occasional mindless break. It's honestly one of the small joys in life, when you end up down a weird internet search history and can't remember how you got there, but somehow you're okay with it.
That's kind of the beauty of modern life. It's all about that balance of doing nothing and doing too much. But hey, at least you're never bored, right?
Hahaaaa!
Anyways, did yall enjoy my yapping and blabbering?
I sure did!
Thank you all for tuning in!!!