tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56636515938750875142024-03-13T22:52:02.405-07:00Life in Once Again Frozen HellPlushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-37523378325904068112011-05-22T02:25:00.000-07:002011-05-22T08:49:38.693-07:00Plusha Fucks Up, But Possibly for a Good ReasonThis is a post that I wrote ages ago, while still with my no-good ex, but it was a happy day, and a happy memory actually, so as my official last post on this blog evs, I'm going to go ahead and publish it. As it turned out, the young lady that I had brought home that night was a very expensive escort, which I got completely free of charge. Yay for me! There are no dirty details in the post, but use your imaginations, because I assure you that it was dirty as all fuck. <br /><br /><br />Dear Friend, <br />I know that I've been a bit remiss in my writing here as of late (last 6 months of so), but I've been, ahem, a bit busy with life and shit. <br /><br />So allow me to catch you up a bit on what's been going on in my life for the past half a year or so. <br /><br />First, I've moved. I now live in a beautiful apartment that leaks like a faucet but looks like an abandoned church.Amazingly enough, even though the ceiling drops about a liter of water from the ceiling every time it rains, it's almost impossible to take a shower because there is virtually no water pressure here. Nice, right? But I'm not complaining because as I said, it's pretty as all hell and has a domed ceiling and lots of space. <br /><br />I still work at the publishing house (oligarch's personal assistant), but only part time now. The rest of the time I am teaching English even though I wouldn't know a verb from a noun (seriously, I don't know what those are, and if anyone knows a quick way to remember the difference, please let me in on the secret), and the rest of the time, try to have as much fun as I can. <br /><br />I have a "boyfriend." I use that term loosely because as it turns out I've got some commitment issues and don't want one of those. Furthermore, he's not exactly Mr. Right. As my father so keenly pointed out, women can talk until they are blue in the face about how they like a guy for his talent and his deep soul and intellect, but this is total bullshit because ultimately they fall in love with men for their pretty faces and large cocks. That's basically the situation here. Although, he is a very talented musician. He's also talented in other areas. Nuff said. <br /><br />There. You're basically all caught up. <br /><br />So what's happening today? First of all, let me confess that I am extremely hung over at the moment so please disregard the poor writing. It's hard to write well when you've got a pounding migraine and there are small green devils crawling all over you. <br /><br />Today was supposed to be a productive day. I'm currently working on obtaining an internal passport, including a propiska (this is complete bullshit left over from the soviet times where the government still insists on keeping track of where everyone is living at all times). So, today, I was supposed to go to the local police station to get some documents stamped. After that I was supposed to go to a seminar on teaching English as a second language so that I can receive a certificate and also, um, learn to teach better. Yeah, big super productive day.<br /><br />Did I do these important things that I was supposed to do? Hell no. And why, you may ask? Why did Plusha not do the very important things that she was supposed to do? Because Plusha wilded out last night in a completely bohemian fashion. Instead of being responsible and going home around midnight like she was supposed toin order to get lots of sleep, so that she can be bright-eyed and bushy tailed this morning, Plusha went to a night club, drank lots of absinth, and brought home this: <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RfoA6Qu_De4_z8CAkq4wyfplxnBttUtTSNKbqS7FWB000sgrh3aZSoRDkaD15V8-GtaR0bswWGg79_wWUKyovLx2WCFlz_B-EYAVlxfM2_1RZHoTg3XaPFsUX80A5o_Yol2JvsWCCsHT/s1600/Luis_Royo57.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1RfoA6Qu_De4_z8CAkq4wyfplxnBttUtTSNKbqS7FWB000sgrh3aZSoRDkaD15V8-GtaR0bswWGg79_wWUKyovLx2WCFlz_B-EYAVlxfM2_1RZHoTg3XaPFsUX80A5o_Yol2JvsWCCsHT/s320/Luis_Royo57.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465866176111269314" /></a><br /><br />Seriously, this is approximately what she looked like.I honestly wasn't sure that women like this existed outside of Royo drawings. And we were accompanied by this: <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMEAtOO0Imr9dhjiDlHxareJ-gL93mH_QMwd_Wwg94kqjiMiMAtoayIDB7EUdUhwDgRq7OpgbZ_zlnRpMJfd3IrFq8BTfwI9Ewcil7KOymhL331Hv7Qmu1DrPJVND0nRaGcs8h04x_wju/s1600/x_2b02efa8.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLMEAtOO0Imr9dhjiDlHxareJ-gL93mH_QMwd_Wwg94kqjiMiMAtoayIDB7EUdUhwDgRq7OpgbZ_zlnRpMJfd3IrFq8BTfwI9Ewcil7KOymhL331Hv7Qmu1DrPJVND0nRaGcs8h04x_wju/s320/x_2b02efa8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465866692951789458" /></a><br /><br />The above being my boyfriend. <br /><br />After the three of us got home, Image number 1 and I sent Image number 2 out for additional wine. I'm not going to describe the details of the debauchery that happened when he returned, but sufficed to say that a nice, bohemian time was had by all.<br /><br />So, was it worth it? Was having said nice bohemian time with Image 1 and Image 2 worth completely crapping out, fucking up, and not doing the things that I was supposed to do this morning? You know what? I don't think that when I'm sixty I'm going to wish that I handled more of my paperwork and said hello to post-Soviet bureaucracy on a more regular basis. I think that instead, I'm going to fondly remember nights like last night. Because it was fucking memorable. So yeah, it was totally fucking worth it! <br /><br />And now I'm going to go and drown my face in some cold water because I don't feel well. But fuck it, even the hangover is worth it.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-45180530490780728562011-05-21T22:00:00.000-07:002011-05-21T22:34:09.020-07:00Death in Russia, Part Deux<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtZs7yyI9bLa0i-KIeAnee1EyDsQ_jhaVGako3EryBLf-LZJeoTrR2ER5-5NK1XpGIcesHmUGWC81r0fETYLs2xeNgADDQgrAFRsJq3HGQQHf_XhJ-cZsPzIwNYb24Cy6J-C0oFtrHsYO/s1600/funny-grim-reaper-cartoon-win.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtZs7yyI9bLa0i-KIeAnee1EyDsQ_jhaVGako3EryBLf-LZJeoTrR2ER5-5NK1XpGIcesHmUGWC81r0fETYLs2xeNgADDQgrAFRsJq3HGQQHf_XhJ-cZsPzIwNYb24Cy6J-C0oFtrHsYO/s320/funny-grim-reaper-cartoon-win.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609409496077444418" /></a><br />Hi there. <br />I'm back in America now, so my life in Frozen hell is over. I'm now on a whole new/old level of the inferno, filled with superfun stuff like unemployment, broke-as-a-joke-ness and generally ignoring and being ignored by my dearest and closest. But that's how this level of hell works. It ain't frozen, but it sure as fuck is humid and isolated. I swear it's like living on an uninhabited island, with the difference being that some asshole's car alarm goes off every ten minutes and you have to pay really high rent. Is it really worth it? Really?<br /><br />Anyway, here's the second and brief installment of what happened after the third day of death in Russia. <br /><br />THE FUNERAL<br />Now, for those of you not in the know, the deceased gentleman was quite popular and worked at the theater and was generally beloved by all. So picture this if you will. Over 100 people show up to say goodbye to him at the morgue. Yeah, because again, no funeral home, so it's all done at the morgue in Russia. Well, I mean, they do give you that large hall for it. And here comes the tackiness. So there's this lady that sorts out the last minute details with you. One of which is that she is going to put on some mournful music because "trust me, without it, it'll be worse." Really? You don't think that Mozart's requiem blasted at full volume is a bit much? Seriously? Not for Rrrrrrussians it aint. <br />So then we get all these people, theatrical people mind you, from the theater, who get up to say a few words. I've never seen so many adults cry that much or beat their chests with such vigor. It was like the spirit of fucking Tarzan had entered the place. <br />At this point, shit hits fan because there are two nine-year-old childrens who are in attendance. Now, one of them is genuinely distraught over the whole daddy's dead thing and is crying her balls off. And the other one, the one that decided to cry on my lap, is faking it. I've never seen anyone fake cry at a funeral before, but apparently his grandfather told him that that's what we do at funerals and so he felt obligated. It was sick. I swear to god. He had his head buried practically in my crotch for the entire thing, and made crying noises, but would periodically look up at me to see if I was still crying and he had to keep going or could finally stop faking. And I had to see that he was faking every time he did that because his eyes were completely dry and he had this sly look in his eye. Fucking nine-year-olds!<br /><br />And then came the reception, sponsored by the theater. It was very lovely and tasteful, right up until some alcholic cunt showed up, sat right next to the widow, and began yelling "He was my all, he was my everything, he was my life!!!!" I tried to get her to leave, and when she refused, I told the widow's brother to get her the hell out of there lest I punch her in the face. I mean who does that? He was your all? Really drunken idiot? How about he was the widow's all? How about he was his two children's all? God, only in Russia. No motherfucking decorum. <br /><br />However, decorum or not, it all seemed honest injun and true. I mean, these people felt shit and expressed it. Also, there was lots and lots of vodka. And food. And crying. I can't over exaggerate the crying. Because that's how we roll in Russia. <br /><br />All in all, after officially declining my inheritance, so that his two young children can have it all, because I don't want it and it's the right thing to do, this particular death, for some as yet unknown reason, haunts me. I can't seem to get over it. Even though this death, was not nearly as important as the one that came before. <br /><br />I'm glad to have left Russia because I've had enough of Kafka, but I'm not glad to be here, because here is destructive for me. And I guess this is me signing off. I might post an old entry that I wrote but never posted, but this is the last update update. <br /><br />Good night and god speed.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-38901619203682034362011-03-03T12:42:00.000-08:002011-03-03T13:36:21.777-08:00Death in RussiaHey guys! How you doing? I know it's been a while, but if it makes you feel better, I swear that I've been thinking about you this whole time. Hm? How about a massage? Will that do it? Okay, I'll buy you dinner when I get home, ok? Ok? Ok. <br /><br />And now, onto bigger and better things. <br /><br />So. Death in Russia. To be more precise, I'm about to let you in on a step-by-step comparison of death in America vs. death in Russia. Of a loved one no less. Having experienced both, I am now uniquely qualified to do so. <br /><br />Alright. <br /><br />Step 1. Your loved one dies. Let's say at home. You call an ambulance and:<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">America</span>: the ambulance arrives within the hour, determines that nothing can be done, after trying everything, and TAKES YOUR LOVED ONE AWAY giving you all the necessary info. You get in touch with a funeral home of your chosing and they assure you in a soft and comforting voice that they'll take care of everything. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Russia</span>: ambulance arrives in two hours. Pokes your loved one a bit, announces that he's quite dead AND LEAVES. <br />FOUR MOTHERFUCKING HOURS LATER two very self-important morons show up to pick up the body. They also give you the necessary information. But for the past six hours, you've basically gotten some serious quality time with the corpse of the person you once knew and loved. YOU have to wrap him in two sheets of your own choosing and a towel for some reason. As the two morons carry your loved one out, don't be surprised, if he happens to be on the heavy side of life, that while banging his head against the doorframe, one of them might remark, "Damn this guy is heavy!"<br />End of Step 1. <br /><br />Step 2. <br />The next day you:<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">America</span>: go to the funeral parlor. Now, the funeral parlor, while a little silly looking, is soothing. It smells like flowers and there doesn't seem to be anyone there but you. The whole thing feels a bit surreal. The funeral director that you speak with uses a special "calm" voice with you. It feels like he's patronizing you a little bit. You just lost a loved one, not suddenly become super sensitive to other people's inside voice, but whatever. The funeral director asks you what you would like to do. Let's say you'd like a cremation. He fills out all the necessary paperwork right in front of you and reassures you that everything will be okay, and tells you that you'll have the ashes of your loved one in a few days, along with the Death Certificate. You pay him some money and go home to plan the goodbye evening for friends and family. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Russsia</span>: go to the city morgue. Oh man, I don't even want to talk about it.The first thing that hits you is a smell that you can't quite figure out until someone points out that this, THIS is the smell of rotting corpses. Thanks Russia! You enter a large buidling. You go to a bunch of different offices where people tell you that you have to go to other offices. You get passed around like a dirty whore. The place is full of crying grieving people, men in white coats, and men in nurse scrubs. It literally smells like death and there are coffins everywhere. No one uses a special voice. And this is Russia. Their regular voices leave something to be desired. They tell you that they'll be performing an autopsy and that you should come back in 4 hours. Nothing can be done until then. When you come back in 4 hours, you have to wait for one more hour for the results, at which point they give them to you and promptly inform you that they are closing. This is one of only two places where you can arrange for a funeral. Great! <br /><br />It's at this point that they take an interest in what you'd like to do. You tell them you want a cremation, but also a chance for people to say goodbye, like with a coffin and shit, but you'd like the coffin to be closed. Without asking what your reasons for this closed coffin business might be first, they proseed to fight you on it. They go so far as to say "Why would you want a closed coffin??? He's a pretty good looking guy!" Thanks random death nurse person! But we've got two nine-year-old children attending, so no. <br /><br />You are then taken to look at the coffins. It's at this point that some other death nurse guys inform you that your loved one is too portly to fit into a double coffin and that you will need to special order one. When they find out that you'd like cremation they explain that this is not possible because your loved one is too large to fit into the oven. When you say "fine bitch, we'll go to a different crematorium", they politely explain that their crematorium is the only one in the city. Your only response is "This is bullshit! How small are you ovens anyway??? And also, could you be confusing my loved one with some other huge dead dude down there? Maybe you should go and check." There's absolutely no hope of this happening. <br /><br />Amazingly, to your great surprise, one of the death nurse guys really does go down and check. And with a complete and utter absence of apology, he lets you know that yeah, they mixed your loved one with someone else's loved one. So as it turns out, your LO can actually fit into the oven. Good on you and your LO. But now, this morgue is closed and you have to go to the nearby cemetery to set up the actual funeral. <br /><br />So you go and do that. I'm not going to go into detail here, but sufficed to say that you will wait in line for at least 2 more hours, you will be cold because the door is open so that some guys can carry all the headstones out of the cemetery store, and it's the middle of winter, and you will be told that you'll need to bribe the death nurses to carry the coffin for you from the morgue to the hearse-bus that you've had to hire. Score! <br /><br />You make all the arrangements. What? 45 whole minutes to say goodbye to your loved one in the main hall? You don't say! Thank you evil funeral lady. And thanks also for explaining that while our loved one will be cremated in two days, there's really no way to know when they'll give us the ashes, ahead of time, and also if we don't come to pick them up on the very day that they're ready, you'll charge us 45 rubles per storage day. Super!<br /><br />Step 3: <br />The next day: <br />I haven't done this in America so there's no way to contrast. There just hasn't been a third day.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Russia</span>: You go back to the foul-smelling morgue. Dude, morgue!!!! Seriously. The reason that you go back is to give the death nurses some clothes to dress your loved on in (even though the coffin will be closed). Now here, once again they tell you that you should have an open coffin. And I quote "His face is quite blue now, but he's still a very handsome man." Fuck...<br />And then you bribe the death nurses to carry your loved one out to the hearse. <br /><br /><br />This is as far as I've gotten with death in Russia. Tomorrow is the actual funeral/cremation, and the goodbye gathering. If the spirit moves me, there'll be a part duex to this. But guys, for reals, try to not have anyone die on you in Russia, ever. The smell alone is enough to destroy any innocence you might have had. The whole thing will be like an assrape. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZIUpfcIPdMQCzQZG0wX6eOiT1N4vlAoC3A4xx8VexnF7mkSAP_zO4cyC2Jmfvx0C2Wi4I9ymMyQb5venQkN9TjFYfHC8u1sFYRdELMiJ-KuLaqcplXkamxZGqqBmXL2Fr6_Xwv0CXLJV/s1600/IMG_0003.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZIUpfcIPdMQCzQZG0wX6eOiT1N4vlAoC3A4xx8VexnF7mkSAP_zO4cyC2Jmfvx0C2Wi4I9ymMyQb5venQkN9TjFYfHC8u1sFYRdELMiJ-KuLaqcplXkamxZGqqBmXL2Fr6_Xwv0CXLJV/s320/IMG_0003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579968097124179874" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />I'll miss knowing that you exist.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-2385150038869792952010-10-25T11:46:00.000-07:002010-10-25T12:06:45.500-07:00Cannibals, Yay!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVBmGtJRiyD-EQzvhSKmMmKj68pR1mYDVWtf3bFYrHvpT-Qc6iEUUAIw18LfCM2ImHz8gMLI20qirb1ZN7NFNI5dPzsbnlRy8hUuoeAv2ye3PmHhVJ7aCA82ysKIY1IbChEMOnE32Ml_f/s1600/gingerbread-cannibalism_design.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVBmGtJRiyD-EQzvhSKmMmKj68pR1mYDVWtf3bFYrHvpT-Qc6iEUUAIw18LfCM2ImHz8gMLI20qirb1ZN7NFNI5dPzsbnlRy8hUuoeAv2ye3PmHhVJ7aCA82ysKIY1IbChEMOnE32Ml_f/s320/gingerbread-cannibalism_design.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532060976227359554" /></a><br />So I finally found something new to write about. <br /><br />The other day I had this conversation with one of my adult Russian students (word for word transcription, nothing added or omitted):<br /><br />Me: So, would anyone here ever eat a dog? I mean, dogmeat? I mean, if you were hungry enough.<br /><br />Student1: No, I never will eat a dog. Why would I eat a dog? No. <br /><br />Student2: Yes, I ate this once. <br /><br />Me: Excuse me? You ah, you ate a dog once?<br /><br />Student2: Yes, when I was in army.<br /><br />(me and Student1 both stare at each other and at Student2 while blinking rapidly with our eyes).<br /><br />Me: so em, why did you do this? You didn't have any other food in the army?<br /><br />Student2: Yes! No food. I was verry hungrry. We all eat dog in the army. <br /><br />Me: wow... (trying not to look surprised. I'm not squimish, just wasn't expecting that)<br /><br />Me: Okay, next question on my "Would you ever" list is, god help me, "Would you ever eat a person?" Um, so now we're talking about human meat. <br /><br />Student1: No! Never! This is disgusting! Who write these list for you?<br /><br />Me: Um, I just got it off of a website for ESL conversation classes. <br /><br />Student2: I would. I had a friend in army who did this. <br /><br />Me: What? Sorry, did you just say that you know someone who ate a person?<br /><br />Student2: Yes, my friend in arrmy, when he was in Chechnia, he eat a person. <br /><br />Me: Because he was really hungry, like you with the dog, and had no food?<br /><br />Student2: He was in mountains for s weeks. He was in, what do you call it, special force? And they had prisoner.<br /><br />Me: So they killed their POW and ate him because they had no food for three weeks? Jesus...<br /><br />Student2: No no no no no! They not kill him. They keep him alive, cut meat from his thighs and grill them and then eat them. And he watch. <br /><br />Me: ?????<br />What the fffffffffff...<br /><br />Student1: (complete fucking silence. Won't even look at Student2.)<br /><br />Student2: Well, they ver angry at the prisoner. So they want to hurt him, but also, they ver hungry. <br /><br />Me: okay, that's, that's it for the day. I'll see you next week. A lot of food for thought there heh-heh. Thanks Boris. Very interesting today. <br /><br />Yeah, real convo. Really happened. I love Russia.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-57151153048354986342010-07-15T02:24:00.000-07:002010-07-15T03:14:16.651-07:00FUCK YOU DIMA!!!! (Or how to kick a three-legged dog in the balls)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9koV_s4Zsgu6qa44AH-qQWlPlz75CiZaefUhoiqCW2rp6Nmf-eA6EbZvoAadvqThMj1Dvc5wcGa_GxGqq8UcjjQemRFhr05XUeDEzWOqJDgv0JzLvVqdngpkOqkDoxtRscIVatREve1n/s1600/broken-heart.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9koV_s4Zsgu6qa44AH-qQWlPlz75CiZaefUhoiqCW2rp6Nmf-eA6EbZvoAadvqThMj1Dvc5wcGa_GxGqq8UcjjQemRFhr05XUeDEzWOqJDgv0JzLvVqdngpkOqkDoxtRscIVatREve1n/s400/broken-heart.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494074024892695618" /></a><br />Yeah, am I bitter? Yes. Am I pissed off? Shitteously! Am I hurt like a three-legged dog that just got kicked in the balls? Without a doubt! <br />And why you might ask? <br /> Because I got into a "serious" relationship over here ya'll. Now please, have a good laugh at my expense because I'm such a dumbass. First time I fall in love with a man in seven years and he turns out to be such a dick that I might just go play for the other team for reals this time. <br />Now let me start out by saying that when I got together with DIMA he was living with another girlfriend, and had been living with her for the past three years. Here is a quick summary of our six month relationship, which by the way is the longest relationship that I've been in since college:<br /><br />- Girl meets boy. It's love at first sight.<br />- Boy leaves his other girlfriend and moves in with girl.<br />- Boy eats all of girl's food and sucks up whatever financial means she has at her disposal.<br />- Girl quietly complains about money but boy cooks really good food and fucks like a stallion so girl continues to ignore the fact that she's supporting a man-sized baby. <br />- Girl and boy are in love. Girl introduces boy to her father. Everything is great. (Except for the fact that money is tight and girl is getting kind of needy and clingy because she's so in love)<br />- Boy goes away to a music festival and comes back all distant and shit. <br />- Boy increasingly needs to hang out with his friends without girl and is even more distant. <br />- Girl begins to feel insecure and unattractive. And also, suspicious. <br />- Girl and boy only have sex in a dirty nightclub because he's hardly ever home anymore. <br />- Girl's financial situation improves (because man-sized baby is eating elsewhere) while her emotional state deteriorates. <br />- Girl asks boy if he's fucking other women while in a hysterical state. Boy admits that "yes, when I need to." FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING CUNT ASSHOLE MOTHERFUCKER!!!!<br />- Boy gets a new girlfriend without telling girl about it, and judging by the looks of her, has no intention of breaking up with girl because new girlfriend looks about 19 so she probably has no income and lives with her parents, thereby not being in a position to support boy. DROP DEAD YOU USING PIECE OF SHIT COCKSUCKER!!!!<br />- Girl finally breaks up with boy via text message after a solid month and a half of depression and inner-turmoil. Boy doesn't even bother calling girl back. <br />- Girl calls boy and tells him to get his shit out of her place. This is when information about new girlfriend is confirmed. FUCKER!<br />- Girl's heart is so fucking broke she may never love again. At least for the summer. <br /><br />The End. <br /><br /> This was the best and worst relationship that I have ever been in. And the funny part is that when I got together with this sorry excuse for a Siberian abortion, I knew that it would turn out this way. I knew that eventually, I would be in the exact same position as the girl he was with when he and I got together. And I told myself that when that happened, I had to bail out immediately, and also, under no circumstances am I to fall in love with this fucking gigolo. And then, I just, forgot. I fucking forgot. So I guess the only one to blame here is not me, and not DIMA, but my shit ability to remember things. FUCK YOU MEMORY!!!! Next time work better. <br /><br /> I swear, next time I meet a man, I'm going to write a big reminder right above my bed so that we can both see it every morning. It's going to be something like "THIS MOTHERFUCKER WILL SCREW YOU OVER EVENTUALLY. DUMP HIS ASS THE MINUTE SHIT DON'T SEEM RIGHT AND DON'T FALL IN LOVE NO MATTER WHAT." I am actually going to do this. But I'll write it in English so it's not such a shocker for him every morning. <br /><br />All laughs aside, I really hurt and don't know how to make it stop. Any advice will be appreciated.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-12159826122939983082009-11-25T10:37:00.000-08:002009-11-25T10:38:43.383-08:00Quick Russian jokeWhat is the difference between a pedophile and a pedagogue?<br />The pedophile REALLY likes children.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-9466616498937519722009-11-11T11:43:00.000-08:002009-11-11T12:32:48.671-08:00My Short and Agonizing Visit to HerpesVilleI don't have herpes, but I do have the Flu. <br />I just wanted to get that out there so everyone can feel sorry for me. And it's not the bullshit "slight cough/moderate sneezing/sort of a fever for 1 day" flu. No, it's the "high fever for 3 days/throat-tearing coughing/swarm-sneezing" kind of flu. <br />Anyway, this has nothing to do with the herp, but I just thought that I'd explain my general state of mind at the moment, and also, as previously mentioned the sympathy thing. <br /><br />So, this post is going to describe in detail my brief visit to what I like to call HerpesVille here in Frozen Hell. <br /><br />It all began with the night that I went out on Halloween. As everyone knows, Halloween is super fun because it's that special time of year that every girl gets to let her inner (and in my case outer) slut out. So me and my new little friend (I change these on a monthly basis, but I really like this one, so I hope she sticks) dressed up as two goddesses and went out on the town. We ended up at a party, had a fair amount to drink, and naturally I ended up taking some American dude home where we engaged in all sorts of rough'n'fun until the wee hours of the morning. We parted amiably enough when his roommate called him from the afore mentioned party because he couldn't find his pants and needed my gentleman friend's help in locating them. What kind of retard can't find his pants in the morning? And Irish one! That's what kind. Never trust the Irish. Because they'll put a dent in your bathroom door and put you in all kinds of situations where you can get your ass kicked. They're all like Popeye the friendly sailor man, except instead of spinach it's booze, and instead of super strength, it's, um, super retard. <br /><br />When I got home, still all innocent and doe-eyed, I decided to take a nap. Imagine my totes shock when I wake up to find something not right in my most sacred of sacred places. Yeah, I felt a Dum Dum Dum "blister". I, being a complete and total hypochondriac, immediately think "HERP! » Now don't get me wrong. This ain't the first time that I've mistaken something for herp. This happens to me every couple of years or so. Usually, I handle it pretty calmly. And by calmly, I mean I freak out and run to a doctor, at which point they take one look at whatever it is that's got my panties in a bunch and tell me that it couldn’t 't possibly be herpes because it's on my elbow or something. <br /><br />But this time, something was different. I'm guessing it's the fact that I'm here in Russia. So this was on a Sunday, and come Monday, I'm thoroughly saturated, and what do I do? The most retarded thing I could have imagined myself doing. I don't go to a doctor. Instead, I call up the last three dudes that I slept with and ask them if THEY have herpes. Yes, I really did that. Including the American that I had just slept with. He couldn't have possibly given it to me but I figured just in case, I should go ahead and include him in on my heart attack (which was now turning into a communal affliction). <br /><br />Here's how these conversations on the phone went: <br /><br />Contestant #1 - Blind Diabetic from New Zealand. <br /><br />-Hey Blank, how you doing? Say, you don't have herpes by any chance, do you? Because I just found something that might be that.<br />-Oh Jesus P! That's just what I need right now! No, I don't have herpes. So when do you think you gave it to me?<br />-I gave it to you? Screw you! If anything you gave it to me. <br />-Well, you slept with that American guy this weekend. He seems dirty. You should call him. He probably gave it to you. <br /><br />Contestant #2 - Psychopath musician from Russia.<br />-Hey Blank, how you doing? Say, you don't have herpes by any chance, do you? Because I just found something that might be that.<br />-Herpes? No, I definitely don't have that. But once you get that all cleared up, please consider me for a permanent position as your Saturday night lover. I'm in the countryside for the weekdays, but I'm here in the city every weekend.<br />-Seriously? I just told you that I might have herpes. Really?<br /><br />Contestant #3 - Nice guy from America (Couldn't have possibly given me the herp)<br />-Hey Blank, how you doing? Say, you don't have herpes by any chance, do you? Because I just found something that might be that.<br />-Um, no I don't have herpes. I've only slept with two women since I got checked for it 8 months ago, and you were one of them. And uh, I couldn't have given it to you because the incubation period is too short. Can please give me a call after you get tested?<br /><br /><br />Please note that the only man not completely freaked out by the word "herpes" in this scenario was the Russian. That's how they roll with STD's here in Russia. <br /><br />Okay, so after doing this completely asinine thing, I went to an expensive VD clinic to get my lady parts checked out. The first thing that I thought was kind of "funny" was that they kept insisting that herpes is not a venereal disease. They don't think of it as an STD here in Russia. They don't even think it's a particularly big deal. <br />The second thing that happened was that the doctor took one look at it and was like "yeah, that's herpes alright!" And when I said "but couldn't it be something else?" Her reply was "no! This is herpes. We're doing a culture because you're insisting on it, but it's purely perfunctory at this point. I assure you that this is herpes." <br />Also, she kept asking me what I normally use to treat my herpes. She asked me this twice after I told her that I'd never had it before. Like "what do you normally put on your herpes?" "Lady, I already told you, I've never had herpes before so why and how the hell would I put something on it?" I even asked another doctor in the place if that first doctor is ever wrong and she was like "no, that doctor has been doing this for years, and if she says it's herp, then it's herp." <br /><br />So, as you can all imagine, I was fairly bummed out by this point. I mean, really bummed out. All I kept thinking of was "Motherfucking Russia gave me Herpes!" Bad enough that it's cold and wet here, but now it's given me a venereal disease. This is bullshit ya'll! <br /><br />And just as I got used to the idea of living, biking, swimming, and showing with herpes, thanks to Valtrex or whatever, I call this morning to get my "perfunctory" test results back and BAM! it's not herpes. Just like that. I was too relieved to be pissed off about the absolute surety with which that cunt of a doctor was trying to convince me that I had an incurable STD PRIOR to performing the definitive testing. <br /><br />Anyway, I've done a lot of personal reflecting over the past few (7) days and have come to the conclusion that I'm not letting one more dirty bastard in this country lay a finger on me ever again. <br /><br />I am, however, going to Iceland for New Years. Iceland is clean and pure, so that's a whole nother matter...<br /><br />The moral of this story is never believe Russian doctors. Or, don't sleep around. No wait, it's yeah, never believe Russian doctors.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-11066430622139867792009-09-09T13:56:00.001-07:002009-09-09T15:19:23.654-07:00Fuck my Heart! (Or a Handy Guide to the Mating Rituals of the Russian Proletariat)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGogP1QO7jPMhmQAA7OVwvtjxjuCEqJnAckcB0ZBehWO32bXj1LiEjEkHcywprsaPrkAS8-1U45WdsCSgn2rx2aguPY2VEoJjjDv76CgPeBR0Ply7YNsDpnC_F_TAxagn7lXu579jU7Dk2/s1600-h/russia_front.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGogP1QO7jPMhmQAA7OVwvtjxjuCEqJnAckcB0ZBehWO32bXj1LiEjEkHcywprsaPrkAS8-1U45WdsCSgn2rx2aguPY2VEoJjjDv76CgPeBR0Ply7YNsDpnC_F_TAxagn7lXu579jU7Dk2/s320/russia_front.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379592807980395170" border="0" /></a>I have no idea.<br /><br />Did you people seriously think that after a mere 10 months in this fucking nasty ass, lonely, cold, foul-weathered hellhole, I would even come close to understanding how these people get their date on? Fuck that noise. I don't understand anything about the way these people get together, stay together, or to be more precise, what the motherfuck they want from me.<br /><br /> So this isn't so much a guide, as it is a list of what I've observed, experienced, and learned in what can now be called, <span style="font-style: italic;">close to a year</span>, in this country, as far as dating and fucking is concerned. These aren't in any particular order, so don't bother looking for continuity.<br /><br />1. Russian women have a shelf life. I think we all know this. They are some of the most beautiful women in the world, but once they hit 28 or so, having already popped out a few babies, they pretty much look like they're 40. A really hot 40, but still, these bitches look way more used than a woman from the States might. What most of us don't know is that:<br /><br />2. Russian men have a shelf life too. Holy fuck do they ever. And theirs is actually shorter than the women's. Shit, in Russia, their life in general is considerably shorter. So it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone that they hit midlife around 24. Yeah, that's cause they only live to like 48 tops. So you start out with these beautiful blond waif boys, that at some point between the age of 23 and 24 go through a physical metamorphosis which causes they necks to become the same size as their heads, their heads to become square, their bodies to become squat like a dwarf's and covered by a dense forest of dark hair, and their pretty blue eyes to become bloodshot, while their skin gets riddled with broken blood vessels. This is also accompanied by pig pot bellies caused by excessive drinking. Actually, I think a lot of it might be caused by the excessive drinking of alcohol, cologne, antifreeze, and all the other creative shit they think is drinkable during a bad hangover. What, you thought <span style="font-style: italic;">gopniks</span> just came out of the womb like that? Discovering this particular fact may be one of the biggest disappointments of my life.<br /><br />3. Russian men suffer from something that they call "Scared Dick" over here. It was recently pointed out to me that all men have this problem from time to time, not just the Russians, but to be perfectly honest, I've never encountered it among men from other countries with the frequency that I have here. "Scared Dick" is exactly what it sounds like. It's when a guy is nervous around you and can't get his shit up until he feels more "comfortable" around you. You kind of have to hold his hand and pet his head til the ED goes away, or something. I always thought that I was very understanding when a guy suffered from performance anxiety. But Jesus fucking Christ! Get over your dick already. I'm not going to break it. I've handled one before, and it was fine. Still on there. Haven't had any screaming complaints.<br />I would also like to note that I've fucked plenty of Russian Jews back in the States, and non of them had this problem. So I'm thinking it's not a cultural thing so much as... I'm not racist.<br /><br />4. A large chunk of Russian men don't seem to understand the concept of a one night stand. They understand hookers, and how you don't need to try to have a relationship with each one of those just because they fucked you, but free ladies? No. They don't get that. The second you fuck a dude here, he thinks it means that you want a relationship, and tries to instigate one with you immediately. Frankly, I don't even know how to respond to that shit. Back in the States, if you had a one night stand and the dude actually bothered asking for your number, and then actually called you, you weren't in a fucking relationship until you BOTH decided that this is something that you want. Here in crazyland, you fuck a dude, and BAM! His ass is calling you the very same day (no two day wait period for these Speedy Gonzales'), and faster than you can say "give me a second to wipe your sperm off of my stomach", you're in a goddamn relationship. And then you have to go to his fucking Dacha with him where he has an axe and it's kind of creepy because you just met 4 days ago. Fuck!<br /><br />5. Russian men say "I love you" about as often as normal men say "How you doin'?". Yeah, they throw their "I love you"s and "I'm madly in love with you"s around rather freely. This might be their way of guaranteing that you keep letting them put their penis inside of you, but I like to think that it's so that no one can blame them when it clearly turns out that they didn't mean it. So you can't ever ever believe a Russian dude when he says it. He pretty much has to back that shit up with a marriage before a smart woman will actually believe him. Lucky for him, this country is full of stupid bitches.<br /><br />6. And now to combine the two points above. Once you're in that weird, way too fast, way too soon too serious relationship, he will tell you that he loves you, and if you have really shit luck, he will actually mean it. Or so it will turn out, when you dump his ass after a month and a half of what you thought was casual dating, and he thought was mating for life. Even though you told him, you actually told him with your mouth that you were not in a serious relationship. You told him this WHILE you were dating, on a number of different occasions. So, naturally, when you do dump him, he completely loses his shit and proceeds to accuse you of spitting in his soul, not caring about his emotions, and throwing him out like garbage. Because Russian men are not too proud to act like jilted little bitches.<br /><br />7. Every Russian man has a baby. Somewhere, somehow, he's knocked some bitch up at least a year before you met him, and has a baby. And he loves that baby, but he's not going to tell you about it when you first meet. You're going to figure it out by looking at his photos on Facebook. Now I'm not saying that this is weird or anything, but I do think that a child might be worth mentioning on the second date or so. If it's not too soon for me to go to your Dacha with you, it sure as fuck shouldn't be too soon for you to tell me that you have a kid out there.<br /><br />8. Point 7 applies to men as young as 18. They're still pretty and waifish, but they too have a fucking kid somewhere out there.<br /><br />9. If YOU (ladies) happen to be stupid to enough to actually fall in love in this country, it's absolutely going to be with the one guy that doesn't want to be in a relationship. It's going to be with the guy who thinks love is made out of Satan. He'll tell you that he loves you. He won't mean it. He'll tell you that he wants to spend time with you. He won't. But he'll keep fucking with your head so that you keep waiting for him to do the whole "love/spend time together" thing with you. He'll text you and send messages online, and even send you love songs, just to make sure that you keep loving him. Until finally, you remember how old you are and unfriend his ass from your Facebook account, and hope that he doesn't call you anymore.<br /><br />10. Russian condoms come in several varieties. Durex, Contempo, Romantic Love...They are all made in China. They are all counterfiet. They all break! Thankfully the morning after pill is sold in every pharmacy here, and costs a wopping $3. Thanks Russia! Too bad the morning after pill isn't also the magic "STD-B-Gone" pill. During my brief vacation to the U.S., a friend gave me 250 Lifestyle condoms. Thanks!!!!!!<br /><br />11. I'm not mentioning women in this list only because everyone knows that Russian women are disloyal bitches and are not to be trusted. Don't believe Russian women. Also, they all swing both ways. There are no strictly straight women in Russisa. Might be cause they're all so hot, might be because the men are all dirty liars with babies on the side, point is, I can't deal with either gender here.<br /><br />That's pretty much all of the data that I've gathered so far. I hope that it has been educational, and for those of you planning to travel this way, a warning.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-29013950505858117722009-06-23T00:06:00.000-07:002009-06-23T00:34:20.445-07:00Experimenting with Russian Ya'll.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwgHxje3ZrQA-rLCw2yKhBM39YP62W8SIt9DO6dDKaEmf59DUE4iSdBi0Yw1eVa0fxK_4ARpbTxbeImH6KQf7M4AyJRIAUrCM9dhrLyvLWXliHlZ4YrT-uGxHCI9PBHkRmSLjcMsKWJmO/s1600-h/russianmermaid.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwgHxje3ZrQA-rLCw2yKhBM39YP62W8SIt9DO6dDKaEmf59DUE4iSdBi0Yw1eVa0fxK_4ARpbTxbeImH6KQf7M4AyJRIAUrCM9dhrLyvLWXliHlZ4YrT-uGxHCI9PBHkRmSLjcMsKWJmO/s320/russianmermaid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350422775995698306" border="0" /></a>I actually wrote this when I was still back in the States. It's a poem in Russian. That's right. I can barely write in the language so I decided to try my hand at poetry. So, em, those of you that don't read Russian, read no further. Sorry. I still love you though. Oh, and those of you that do read the language of the Bear, I know there's a line in there from the Pixies. Imitation is the highest form of flattery ya'll.<br /><br />Also, I somehow managed to come up with this word combo for men in Russian:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Мужчины! Это тайна, обернутая в загадке, задушенной в умственно отсталом.</span><br /><br />So here's the poem:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#339966;">Старомоддия<br /><br />Ох, это старо как кожа<br />Руки<br />Красные пятна, признаки греха<br />Проживание слишком хорошо<br />но где была забава в крике?<br />От любви прибывает мучительная смерть невинности<br />Она имеет бедра как Красная шапочка<br />но упала на ее лицо в тех ботинках на высоких каблуках.<br /><br />Государство Осуществления<br />Государство Истощения<br />Граф Допамина и Наркотика<br />Навсегда преступник, вечно обвиняемый.<br /><br />Волки все вокруг<br />потеряя шерсть овец<br />Показывают клыки<br />Зубы, которые хотят почву и хотят Море<br /><br />Ах, любовь</span><br /><br />Und here's another short one:<br /><br />дорогую жемчужину в море нашла<br />отбросила штучку и дальше пошла<br />как будто она мне совсем не нужна<br />подумав " Зачем мне жемчужина одна?"<br /><br />ведь еслиб было много<br />то можно продать,<br />а так, одинокая, не отдать, не понять.<br /><br />Но встретила смерть домой по пути<br />И смерть мне сказала "ну где? Покажи."Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-45947035428769818752009-06-22T02:46:00.000-07:002009-06-22T02:56:59.726-07:00Concert with Crazy and Joke Y'all!So I had a fun concert with Crazy last Thursday night. Although, truth be told, I forgot to eat that day, and two pints of beer later that's all she wrote as they say. My memories of the show are, ahem, a bit skewered. These are just some pics from the concert.<br />Also, Here's a joke that I heard here recently, not sure if the translation works. Let me know:<br /><br />On a cold dark winter night in Poland, in 1941, a tiny skinny girl in a torn coat with a yellow star sown on the sleeve is walking down the street.<br />A stately German officer in a great overcoat is walking directly towards her. As he approaches her, he looks her over and says<br />"Liitle gerl, you must be a jew."<br />The little girl looks up at him with her big brown eyes and says<br />"No motherfucker, I'm a Texas Ranger!"<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80q9rT0UsY2vle-FFIwguFHxc7Kmza_yLKbwCDrHaht6ZOXJSxufbuj5-aTumMelp5i-TDmcVFkog-E5OfoPGXiOJ0D2eftTOfN0RE5BR-Ea9HK57jKozQduhRPXCfS-IYeQ99SPfGWBH/s1600-h/mesing.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80q9rT0UsY2vle-FFIwguFHxc7Kmza_yLKbwCDrHaht6ZOXJSxufbuj5-aTumMelp5i-TDmcVFkog-E5OfoPGXiOJ0D2eftTOfN0RE5BR-Ea9HK57jKozQduhRPXCfS-IYeQ99SPfGWBH/s320/mesing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350086595050781234" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonxjXGZP2epJP3TK8Zm953-iVB4-hoFEFPk08mWKd5eP3sWC5LfQSUagWilDIalwH212OACSj9uwM0Nh9oTUmSLnNPgVIs371AgSbvAVo7WqItuqATUP1hLHxgckbnARCoFSdmlNLaa3i/s1600-h/weallthree.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonxjXGZP2epJP3TK8Zm953-iVB4-hoFEFPk08mWKd5eP3sWC5LfQSUagWilDIalwH212OACSj9uwM0Nh9oTUmSLnNPgVIs371AgSbvAVo7WqItuqATUP1hLHxgckbnARCoFSdmlNLaa3i/s320/weallthree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350086599917404898" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJb3moi9rPYZObkJR6nkuoIZE1L18tAPFxjUczv-Y3b_uvPxP3Rzc2aRqpHESaX3HPIrGg4slSKOaLdZGkmGqVEf4kFvFiWGFTvygnQ_xTIz0edsZaKIdWqdqNbXnx7_6XeXAl39PhEWn2/s1600-h/melaugh.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJb3moi9rPYZObkJR6nkuoIZE1L18tAPFxjUczv-Y3b_uvPxP3Rzc2aRqpHESaX3HPIrGg4slSKOaLdZGkmGqVEf4kFvFiWGFTvygnQ_xTIz0edsZaKIdWqdqNbXnx7_6XeXAl39PhEWn2/s320/melaugh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350086591326597378" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9LMm6QeocMl4AlglgwIqBH2ePCSI2jUaHsf_f5I0zxkb63L5nS8HpG6BDxI0O_no8lqi75PQmfzUJamEeMoiUp9x6xPuD6eQWckaFKplVEaE4xMJbsilThjVQuNbsX7eojsAQSCZvsYW/s1600-h/meevil.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9LMm6QeocMl4AlglgwIqBH2ePCSI2jUaHsf_f5I0zxkb63L5nS8HpG6BDxI0O_no8lqi75PQmfzUJamEeMoiUp9x6xPuD6eQWckaFKplVEaE4xMJbsilThjVQuNbsX7eojsAQSCZvsYW/s320/meevil.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350086587432573714" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_JcGc8kjRT6O_KKdeK4M4rph9jfhZVgeCQclUPulNts9Ja2p6vgYk5tgocqItR-aoRslbrVf0nke5xYqMG4iJ4bcV4DZUgjnNXmJRXCtFTvYkPFWdER2o4g_XKVwPKNWUfRsZ5Z7yAr2/s1600-h/fullonsing.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_JcGc8kjRT6O_KKdeK4M4rph9jfhZVgeCQclUPulNts9Ja2p6vgYk5tgocqItR-aoRslbrVf0nke5xYqMG4iJ4bcV4DZUgjnNXmJRXCtFTvYkPFWdER2o4g_XKVwPKNWUfRsZ5Z7yAr2/s320/fullonsing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350086581094073826" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-19380999820094967652009-06-17T01:51:00.000-07:002009-06-17T03:14:01.890-07:00Deep Thoughts by Plusha<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieRhaRXexozvV7Mg0FadcDrCrSYhQspPVifjD3q_kd4DxPjNALAOqK6vNmdiiE3EFHVrSDGMjFRt1sElvknv0zky2AJsdvISE26CH2ao_sYg7jv9CKirmWws76afIBkayvAdMyWKI62Jyc/s1600-h/straight-jacket.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieRhaRXexozvV7Mg0FadcDrCrSYhQspPVifjD3q_kd4DxPjNALAOqK6vNmdiiE3EFHVrSDGMjFRt1sElvknv0zky2AJsdvISE26CH2ao_sYg7jv9CKirmWws76afIBkayvAdMyWKI62Jyc/s320/straight-jacket.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348237503383849138" border="0" /></a><br />Dear Friends,<br /><br />Today's post is going to be about a new deep and profound understanding that I've recently gained about the country that I currently reside in.<br /><br />I figured something out about Russia the other day. Being in Russia is a lot like being in a mental hospital. Those of you that have seen the inside of one of those will understand, but for those of you that haven't, I'll elaborate.<br /><br />See, when you go, or get put, inside of a mental hospital, and you're only marginally off your rocker, it's actually a very therapeutic experience. Because there you are, walking on the outside, feeling all batshit crazy, and then you get into a mental institution and Bam! you get to see real crazy. If you have panic attacks, and you end up in a place where one dude is sure as shit that he is Napoleon, and there's a fat lady that tries to eat her own face on the regular, you start thinking "Hey, I'm not crazy. I'm really sane compared to these nutjobs." And it makes you feel a whole lot better about your own mental state and problems in general.<br /><br />And as it turns out, Russia is very similar to this. The people in this country are so fucking nuts and okay with it, that me and my little panic attacks are nothing in comparison. I'm the Queen of Sane here.<br />Specifically, the words "blood pressure" seem to have a mystical effect on the populace in these lands. I think I could probably stab some motherfucker in the neck, and when the militsia show up, just say some shit about a sudden drop in my blood pressure at them, and they would probably nod understandingly and send me home after giving me a shot of cognac.<br />Sometimes, you see people on the street here, and they look drunk or ill, but it's really BLOOD PRESSURE problems. BLOOD PRESSURE can pretty much explain away any behavior. I love it!<br /><br />There's nothing like this in the U.S. People in New York are really not into trying to understand other people's mental problems. And there's no acceptable excuse for those problems either. It's like an embarrassing secret that everybody has. I looked at the statistics ya'll. There's more anxiety sufferrers in America than most other countries in the world. And yet it's not okay to have it.<br /><br />But here in Frozen Hell Crazy Land, they just call that shit "blood pressure" and it's all good. They also call hangovers "blood pressure". And everybody is really understanding about it.<br /><br />As a result of all the understanding, my own personal crazy has practically evaporated. And for that, I thank you Mother Russia, shit climate not withstanding.<br /><br />Well that's it for today.<br />P.S.<br />I think I just got dumped over the telephone. I feel a little bit sad about it. I swear, it just happened in the middle of writing this post. See? Crazy...Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-34543155780004805202009-06-14T12:17:00.000-07:002009-06-14T12:28:11.284-07:00A Day in the Life of...<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBjK2W7Fd0PO6LjT5xSTNvB-5IRNwvlGkmK4lHUFzuYhvfmuCJpk3RUMhc6A6UNU2DSs626vD2da6W6mXPo7IJv2SnH9s_D51K-DvKmUfY17p_FsWjv3-kHbnR-Y-KbXoEBbTU70uaZUW/s1600-h/pasha.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwBjK2W7Fd0PO6LjT5xSTNvB-5IRNwvlGkmK4lHUFzuYhvfmuCJpk3RUMhc6A6UNU2DSs626vD2da6W6mXPo7IJv2SnH9s_D51K-DvKmUfY17p_FsWjv3-kHbnR-Y-KbXoEBbTU70uaZUW/s320/pasha.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265932468192306" border="0" /></a>A picture says more than a thousand words, right?<br /></div><br />So, here are my thousands of words:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Armenian Gentleman<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidBvjCHmKCfb5ad9-YSyVsYpP-7pbmJQtxV7V-JGjxj2ET-nuHYa87rL2vJqNvvb7XBkAw7TdCs1k7OMf6Hi4Loi7uZFyjKm2erB9qjrY2yD8hk0CI_3oEfYfBZuUcyxQ2qLIbio8W3VJt/s1600-h/Levon2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidBvjCHmKCfb5ad9-YSyVsYpP-7pbmJQtxV7V-JGjxj2ET-nuHYa87rL2vJqNvvb7XBkAw7TdCs1k7OMf6Hi4Loi7uZFyjKm2erB9qjrY2yD8hk0CI_3oEfYfBZuUcyxQ2qLIbio8W3VJt/s320/Levon2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265931303332866" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Temple<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_acid9X8L0vJ9SKE4aUePWdIqbqVRnCFahP_9rDhQNsS_V45EYT1WrgDStaA4O_EZG557LCu-nrTJM8HgNqBPr34pD8TY3ZIFTzNMJcBXVUF8p2XYRB1TmVrsw9AI9nbddd166ZP7KnM/s1600-h/temple.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_acid9X8L0vJ9SKE4aUePWdIqbqVRnCFahP_9rDhQNsS_V45EYT1WrgDStaA4O_EZG557LCu-nrTJM8HgNqBPr34pD8TY3ZIFTzNMJcBXVUF8p2XYRB1TmVrsw9AI9nbddd166ZP7KnM/s320/temple.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265928267431794" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sibs<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3efbGWINnJt1lvhFrd_5s6qHOpOtC11NUdqSfqMM8HEvo9Q4SN8rH94pNGlku2tCigB7Tg7Asbe0m2zylLSwCFJbuDSjAWvy_EzZsZ2tT6TU0XUTn-tZ1_gVnkXlqKq4vwQmWK4v5xoY/s1600-h/kids2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3efbGWINnJt1lvhFrd_5s6qHOpOtC11NUdqSfqMM8HEvo9Q4SN8rH94pNGlku2tCigB7Tg7Asbe0m2zylLSwCFJbuDSjAWvy_EzZsZ2tT6TU0XUTn-tZ1_gVnkXlqKq4vwQmWK4v5xoY/s320/kids2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265920704399170" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Beach Feet<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lv3bn6CkMKIPRUJAFa1EkypDeApeQgHvM0eOf0zp-d-j9TCik9xY8oiIXNih0FJKijnmAb8L-J6K1k59V9oX5CF_o_mtcQzMHdGO-XrlersNB6nY7ZzW0W-2o1S1Xos2qfGhul-sglfw/s1600-h/feet.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lv3bn6CkMKIPRUJAFa1EkypDeApeQgHvM0eOf0zp-d-j9TCik9xY8oiIXNih0FJKijnmAb8L-J6K1k59V9oX5CF_o_mtcQzMHdGO-XrlersNB6nY7ZzW0W-2o1S1Xos2qfGhul-sglfw/s320/feet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265916521909842" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Pillow<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIQ8qe7UBl54iFnm_tVof4LuhoeIU0DKV_RkSIoNDx3E3ACrTdGe7F2BcN9EF6ZmvrGBTRzP5INTuU3JDs4npxZnxMWhlNMF_bvyWh3Nu1KfI0gi748MvWZeEQtZCvfiwsYFLIv1l6pnm/s1600-h/Levon.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIQ8qe7UBl54iFnm_tVof4LuhoeIU0DKV_RkSIoNDx3E3ACrTdGe7F2BcN9EF6ZmvrGBTRzP5INTuU3JDs4npxZnxMWhlNMF_bvyWh3Nu1KfI0gi748MvWZeEQtZCvfiwsYFLIv1l6pnm/s320/Levon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265626570142098" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The beautiful architecture that the weather is supposedly worth enduring for.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4r1kg7Z3kaf0dbmo1_8uOmU7N7KLWp87rHT_925GGA6GDvU-4ib7IqlArnG1JwlGgD9oKSztviHS4v2lE2SkGJHM3sgRRTDNQF0BE13JxDe4kPQNSXJ22g6c45JMc43sZkoxrA0OYRvM/s1600-h/Building.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4r1kg7Z3kaf0dbmo1_8uOmU7N7KLWp87rHT_925GGA6GDvU-4ib7IqlArnG1JwlGgD9oKSztviHS4v2lE2SkGJHM3sgRRTDNQF0BE13JxDe4kPQNSXJ22g6c45JMc43sZkoxrA0OYRvM/s320/Building.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265620443564226" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Stray Dog<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIH4RUUyQn34ChA7soXZJFn_0vKqbfUqHFnTixottcWIKHsGSf-X-HmSYQohiCzaH1Y_RB4zBpng87aPwR0LZGDu5wYmVE0xbLZg-sXHylOWuWJ6G2Nl15RkChe5zyO8gwca8ZNjSq83Dc/s1600-h/anubis5.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIH4RUUyQn34ChA7soXZJFn_0vKqbfUqHFnTixottcWIKHsGSf-X-HmSYQohiCzaH1Y_RB4zBpng87aPwR0LZGDu5wYmVE0xbLZg-sXHylOWuWJ6G2Nl15RkChe5zyO8gwca8ZNjSq83Dc/s320/anubis5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265618162521138" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Another Stray Dog<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIK6uHBMFsTdPGWLl48fDmW1D2uMRiIuiQvsN6A7Lt32TBnfU_SLOavVRlQwrq0yXaNxjHbM1HhZw_KeFGUC_p5Boi-K4A7bfPgG2lRtCW2tid55MkPi5aYag-k8aWQ5dOjrLcKdAzqNc/s1600-h/anubis4.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIK6uHBMFsTdPGWLl48fDmW1D2uMRiIuiQvsN6A7Lt32TBnfU_SLOavVRlQwrq0yXaNxjHbM1HhZw_KeFGUC_p5Boi-K4A7bfPgG2lRtCW2tid55MkPi5aYag-k8aWQ5dOjrLcKdAzqNc/s320/anubis4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265612220804050" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Biological Male Parent at the Market<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbuJc129Hp8-GrbBx5dbb3eoFuLyY8mzFYzxeJk0jcR9VuG-uDxYV_S438lnHHuZXuTD9wIyDdKzZrR0jrqcdaCncAv9Wfh0tvRtvx6IYasOXZHby8o-TciLTsqRqKtA7nU8eIGB7QcRL/s1600-h/Blue.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbuJc129Hp8-GrbBx5dbb3eoFuLyY8mzFYzxeJk0jcR9VuG-uDxYV_S438lnHHuZXuTD9wIyDdKzZrR0jrqcdaCncAv9Wfh0tvRtvx6IYasOXZHby8o-TciLTsqRqKtA7nU8eIGB7QcRL/s320/Blue.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347265610519866370" border="0" /></a><br /></div>P.S.<br />Be back with the writing soon. There just isn't much to bitch and whine about lately other than the usual.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-59041942814507688992009-06-04T00:09:00.000-07:002009-06-04T00:11:35.027-07:00No it's Not!!!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64by7LCAGU5ea67cgSwaZXqz4mymiv9L5EPi1mq49qJeXiW67_ILe12d35wwgi8Gni4CcaX8Ud-lowiWldLTdbOQMc9CSe4NRf9BptnJSvoPjuNkWgow4t62j7gMKwtdPkjnq9FuqE5mQ/s1600-h/yeah+right%21.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh64by7LCAGU5ea67cgSwaZXqz4mymiv9L5EPi1mq49qJeXiW67_ILe12d35wwgi8Gni4CcaX8Ud-lowiWldLTdbOQMc9CSe4NRf9BptnJSvoPjuNkWgow4t62j7gMKwtdPkjnq9FuqE5mQ/s400/yeah+right%21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343366337588903938" border="0" /></a>Yeah, okay.<br />Sure it is.<br />It's fucking November here again ya'll. What the hell????Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-14934772957849014042009-05-28T04:45:00.000-07:002009-05-28T05:02:30.111-07:00A Letter to American Debt Collection Agencies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtCZnweI7gHk7EkgQKy6MNTHDS1uY4Z67y1xWG9YziqGIIGuDaSoHxq8N9N3TypUOFzICwi2kUk_bGOrvz1UCEaNmyljx64oMv_mQUKPFoZX1s5LhuAjOwkQBhEhR37_1PxbW6xuQ91eR/s1600-h/fuck-you.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtCZnweI7gHk7EkgQKy6MNTHDS1uY4Z67y1xWG9YziqGIIGuDaSoHxq8N9N3TypUOFzICwi2kUk_bGOrvz1UCEaNmyljx64oMv_mQUKPFoZX1s5LhuAjOwkQBhEhR37_1PxbW6xuQ91eR/s200/fuck-you.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340843737757953730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Dear Debt Collectors,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> I really appreciate the diligence with which you are trying to locate me to collect the monies that I owe you for an education that I didn't complete. Seriously, the methods that you used to find that one friend that I had as a contact on my school loan application were probably close to criminal. </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;font-size:85%;" >I</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> don't even have her home number, so I applaud the effort that you must have exerted in order to obtain her contact information. Kudos and good job!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> Now Steve, I appreciate that I owe your company 47,000 dollars, but I'm afraid that you're just going to have to get your ass in line after the people that I owe the 60,000 dollars to. They're sort of ahead of you on the "Plusha owes us a shitload of money" list. And furthermore, as I explained to you on the phone yesterday, when I had the courtesy to finally call you back (and thanks for thanking me, that was classic), I am unemployed and living homeless in Goa, India. So no, Steve, I won't be settling my debt with you today, or any other day in the near future. And as I further explained to you, given the current GLOBAL economic crisis, I really think that you need to calm the fuck down about the measly 47,000 that I owe you. Now I realize that in part, I probably contributed to the said crisis, but honestly, it's not my fault that the banks that decided to loan me money for lawschool thought that I would finish it and was therefore a good investment. Motherfuckers gambled and lost. It's that simple.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> In conclusion, my dear debt collection agencies, please stop harrassing my friends and former employees. I am currently a deadbeat with debts, and I'm not going to pay you until I'm good and ready to. Until such a time, you need to just slow your roll and keep doing those breathing exercises because as my mamma used to say (my mamma never really said this), "you can't squeeze blood from a stone."</span><br /><br /></span> <div style="text-align: right; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Thank you for your attention,<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: right; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Sincerely,<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: right; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Plusha the Deadbeat (from India with Love)<br />Suckas!<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><br /></span>Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-28624720355734481902009-05-25T00:44:00.000-07:002009-05-25T01:02:03.230-07:00Just a Joke<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKa2iZFhC_PH-EI205ahCLahmVhcfE-_xvPXAXnAKAbwAUTK5sSmyhXRgrssvue2VL5eheVoV4giOniWriRQ1ilvmTz0xX3s8YKRxF3L1ki1-SzcGUWORqO8RMSB3KtRXAKacfnzkKigoP/s1600-h/calvin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKa2iZFhC_PH-EI205ahCLahmVhcfE-_xvPXAXnAKAbwAUTK5sSmyhXRgrssvue2VL5eheVoV4giOniWriRQ1ilvmTz0xX3s8YKRxF3L1ki1-SzcGUWORqO8RMSB3KtRXAKacfnzkKigoP/s320/calvin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339666258722226082" border="0" /></a><br />Hey everybody!<br /><br />Ok, I don't have a whole lot to write about right now. But I did hear this joke recently. So here it is for your pleasure:<br /><br />God comes to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and says to them<br /><br />"I have two gifts to bestow upon you my children. The first gift is the ability to pee standing up."<br /><br />Adam excitedly puts up his hand and yells "Me me me! I want it I want it I want it!"<br /><br />So God gives him the gift, Adam pisses all over everything, the plants, the animals, God's foot, while screaming "look at me!"<br /><br />So after he's done pissing all over the place, Eve looks down kind of discouraged and quietly asks<br />"Um, so what's the second gift?"<br /><br />God replies "Brains."Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-77181445635313480482009-05-11T02:38:00.000-07:002009-05-11T03:36:14.863-07:00New Complaints!!!!Alright folks,<br />I thought that now that Spring is here, my incessant complaints would finally cease, but no such luck. I was going to write about my London trip, but it was actually kind of boring. However, since I promised, Here are the only two things worth noting about London:<br /><br />1. The British people are afraid of school children. Apparently British school children are like one of the Biblical plagues when it comes to shoplifting. And here is the adults' way of dealing with it:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAG81LgKcig01ij89RPi2WhtC_X9cQZ0JwMSvvjOCziIX5HCqukTZIk8JDL870GRi9KF64uTxC6_wLeptEIO7o-a4x8pd5QMA5sq_8zUGkm03zR-P11zr0D30VW8oOZpYJTcWkDAUyHmQa/s1600-h/Sign.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAG81LgKcig01ij89RPi2WhtC_X9cQZ0JwMSvvjOCziIX5HCqukTZIk8JDL870GRi9KF64uTxC6_wLeptEIO7o-a4x8pd5QMA5sq_8zUGkm03zR-P11zr0D30VW8oOZpYJTcWkDAUyHmQa/s320/Sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334499728114634946" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">People, they just banned a whole shitload of customers from coming in to their store. Mind you they don't say "Only two school children allowed in the shop <span style="font-style: italic;">at a time</span>." No, they say "Only two school children allowed." Which two school children are they referring to? And that's why they managed to have, and hold onto, a huge empire for so many years. Cause they know hot to get shit done!<br /><br />2. All I could think when I was served this for breakfast was "I wonder if it was the British that taught the Mexicans to eat beans with every meal, or if it was the Mexicans that taught the British?" Either way, this was so disgusting that I had to debate whether I should eat it or regurgitate what I had eaten the day before on top of it. I doubt it would have made much of a difference:<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkExw3HAgkfDCvoW_441XJYEYQnRzCr5inRZLGheBsYuQlNUzNWrGLAVy2PSSmbjDP1UqBCJwY6l9dz_y84sPnRVL-lNcTyo8k5Fi6o3WPwDVcWlwwJuloHlLN8PM6D7Ko90N-lJy2UpIm/s1600-h/Breakfast.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkExw3HAgkfDCvoW_441XJYEYQnRzCr5inRZLGheBsYuQlNUzNWrGLAVy2PSSmbjDP1UqBCJwY6l9dz_y84sPnRVL-lNcTyo8k5Fi6o3WPwDVcWlwwJuloHlLN8PM6D7Ko90N-lJy2UpIm/s320/Breakfast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334500533113282114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">And that's all I'm going to say about England.<br /><br />Now, onto what's really important, the weather. Here are some pictures of Saint Petersburg winter, just so we are clear on the climate here.<br />So these were taken at the end of February:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSEdKMjunawbA8Yp_vJ1R73zQ9hzHWfxrigLrZkPDn4s4DbgExN7oLnHFCMec0AS4tp2d8YQyrn1cwxUyPJeGopDgH7Izu17HdPXv5PM8kPGm8powpIX54az0czmiVuGUIm_v_t2ZoH-I/s1600-h/outskirts2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSEdKMjunawbA8Yp_vJ1R73zQ9hzHWfxrigLrZkPDn4s4DbgExN7oLnHFCMec0AS4tp2d8YQyrn1cwxUyPJeGopDgH7Izu17HdPXv5PM8kPGm8powpIX54az0czmiVuGUIm_v_t2ZoH-I/s320/outskirts2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334501433953769666" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMH46f1zN48UOBWDQZsY0poE0wAFXAuqLtcokqSSqKCE_nYm6LBftzSZYE-rvFIOEMQhCeSziYW9_-pI06wCxGtcSF2zReMlYe7v-dMAegicHAU8CHMvibKtQ4ic3kftOa5Wed8snohfn4/s1600-h/snow.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMH46f1zN48UOBWDQZsY0poE0wAFXAuqLtcokqSSqKCE_nYm6LBftzSZYE-rvFIOEMQhCeSziYW9_-pI06wCxGtcSF2zReMlYe7v-dMAegicHAU8CHMvibKtQ4ic3kftOa5Wed8snohfn4/s320/snow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334501432129775442" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This was taken at the end of April:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGyj34NCbFksHGn4XRcs9aa1J6mvQl2Jel11xiNH-7w2-CNdIxXZqn_ZB_2r5e-qqO1_uG3-tWWtcYay28MM6_uO_Fyn3slAB5Z7jTj0WPAVXHENxrnFB80XiAPM80MVEHZI-i_Fx9j9g/s1600-h/snowing.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGyj34NCbFksHGn4XRcs9aa1J6mvQl2Jel11xiNH-7w2-CNdIxXZqn_ZB_2r5e-qqO1_uG3-tWWtcYay28MM6_uO_Fyn3slAB5Z7jTj0WPAVXHENxrnFB80XiAPM80MVEHZI-i_Fx9j9g/s320/snowing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334501918120648002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I went to London right after snapping this shot, where it was SPRING. But as far as Saint Petersburg is concerned, it's still fucking winter and it's perfectly ok to snow it's ass off.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">But then finally, at long last, Spring began in good old St. Pete's:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwe1wEX49xwgOmvQAk8_t0TpJX1R63aN_nSmLdNWEskQqTPRbC5v9JZHaGPOx9TpTVK0uNd-JmsX7J_1_-yRKxslAiTWNfWtLrSXRBzbkbjF1ApT2h-k5Y7OnzgICFK8L4SJNWkQMguiTO/s1600-h/Spring.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwe1wEX49xwgOmvQAk8_t0TpJX1R63aN_nSmLdNWEskQqTPRbC5v9JZHaGPOx9TpTVK0uNd-JmsX7J_1_-yRKxslAiTWNfWtLrSXRBzbkbjF1ApT2h-k5Y7OnzgICFK8L4SJNWkQMguiTO/s320/Spring.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334502628083091538" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmJI9RQaM_-khQq_ghlTaqZ9DjEKRadkWlHYoZcJUFl7C3mG3bbDJUR-JwwDzuKQZfbUHr5EAbVkHeCs_mdh4yrxG5nFBKlaYwEMx6vU0zeJHkFLzzQzgMTUQACZA9Tu4y1_k6BvSTJJe/s1600-h/Spring2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmJI9RQaM_-khQq_ghlTaqZ9DjEKRadkWlHYoZcJUFl7C3mG3bbDJUR-JwwDzuKQZfbUHr5EAbVkHeCs_mdh4yrxG5nFBKlaYwEMx6vU0zeJHkFLzzQzgMTUQACZA9Tu4y1_k6BvSTJJe/s320/Spring2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334502634055252306" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I hadn't seen the color green in so long, I forgot what it looked like. Also, at long last, the ever-elusive sun:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHJRsHdjkrMkTTZpdAX93WUhHsz3xXAy6Vimc0AEgvBmXvUWUSIFrdG9TXq1KUSgIRuDcqYXbHNuB4MENeRocbO_E2vvJXFDIeXmjpgg4giYIqAWLECc1WMJaLFEgeZuAZ7hu5wvhRJjT/s1600-h/sun.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHJRsHdjkrMkTTZpdAX93WUhHsz3xXAy6Vimc0AEgvBmXvUWUSIFrdG9TXq1KUSgIRuDcqYXbHNuB4MENeRocbO_E2vvJXFDIeXmjpgg4giYIqAWLECc1WMJaLFEgeZuAZ7hu5wvhRJjT/s320/sun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334503098249196386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Ok, so Spring is finally here. Great! Now please take a close look at the two following pictures of the Fontanka:<br />1.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSygkhEmtJt3XJfiC2Z0YLz63mL3Xy8Op35HHHjp-F_4qj_jjH7rDy-s-3il8GXz2Ys22UHMlXxXLDMulIa5WIwWT6QY5bmzW_-R2cGURPxAVpurhKbVxDPkFxUDzWQ-go561ZzCqC2wxk/s1600-h/fontanka.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSygkhEmtJt3XJfiC2Z0YLz63mL3Xy8Op35HHHjp-F_4qj_jjH7rDy-s-3il8GXz2Ys22UHMlXxXLDMulIa5WIwWT6QY5bmzW_-R2cGURPxAVpurhKbVxDPkFxUDzWQ-go561ZzCqC2wxk/s320/fontanka.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334503558510888402" border="0" /></a> So it looks pretty warm. Please note what the woman is wearing. Short sleeved shirt. Clear skies, lovely warm Spring day.<br /><div style="text-align: center;">2. And then I literally turn around and take a picture of the opposite direction:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1UyFJoyG3UeBmA8QJvzlM9T0ew91xzyOJEyvwI2YYMoYdjA9nYuJUG5u0iTTG3h9EBMSyrwbvx_6ZXU_H48c2NJvV8KX10uuNjS9tNx1tqJPCaa-lG8B3DhjzAEZ-yl6F_CePaC5oSxsQ/s1600-h/fontanka2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1UyFJoyG3UeBmA8QJvzlM9T0ew91xzyOJEyvwI2YYMoYdjA9nYuJUG5u0iTTG3h9EBMSyrwbvx_6ZXU_H48c2NJvV8KX10uuNjS9tNx1tqJPCaa-lG8B3DhjzAEZ-yl6F_CePaC5oSxsQ/s320/fontanka2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334503564086051506" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">What the fuck!??? Maximize this picture and take a look at what the two dudes are wearing. Jackets. Because Saint Petersburg exists in the Fifth Dimension of the Twilight Zone where two entirely different weather fronts can exist in the exact same space. I was literally standing in one spot and just took a picture of each direction. I swear to god I didn't photoshop the actual pictures. What the hell is this? Wizardry?<br /><br />Ok, and now I'd like to seriously discuss something that's been driving me batshit crazy over here. See, people here walk everywhere. Because the subway stops are far and few inbetween, most people just hoof it. So naturally, when they tell you that something is just a short walk from your house, it's actually a good 30 to 40 minute walk. Again, reminder, I live in the Twilight Zone where time, apparently, speeds up and slows down depending on how long you've lived here for.<br /><div style="text-align: left;">Recently, I was invited somewhere and told that it was literally on the next street over from my place. So I decided to go. I was tired after working all day and wasn't up for a "short" walk. I made the inviter swear to me that this place was actually near by. After walking for 30 minutes down this street, which actually was one street over, looking for building number 50, and noting that I was finally at building 32, and assuming that I'm close to my destination, I see this bullshit:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwBhfLGQIEa0i21rLbZ3oHOqROxmGH6VoHkVl21faCT0Zc_iPg2H70YcU79qKDRzqjJ3oWINkVYM75aL1x8XanI1X3fBrzm12y_E5qlO-YdTWXnG4Pf99dS8IiBcoVuMJMNHvIpGzYbBU/s1600-h/bullshit.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwBhfLGQIEa0i21rLbZ3oHOqROxmGH6VoHkVl21faCT0Zc_iPg2H70YcU79qKDRzqjJ3oWINkVYM75aL1x8XanI1X3fBrzm12y_E5qlO-YdTWXnG4Pf99dS8IiBcoVuMJMNHvIpGzYbBU/s320/bullshit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334506492496715458" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">What??? The??? Fuck??? 32/11? What is that? And how many more of these are going to pop up before I get to 50? In NYC, they just sort of go 1, 2, 3, 4, etc. There's no fucking fractions involved there. I swear I almost started crying. I was so pissed at my mother by the time I got to the bar that I refused to speak to her for the first 10 minutes.<br />But I calmed down after a while. Here's a picture of me at the bar, just for posterity's sake:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAXM7gNnpx9rqHqQ0jW4jK3nzcDLBVAVkK4EHaK5p_7Y-w8Fd3CcVB0eGYecgEdloUP8R5XX_KeasCs1Mj-6ZRytIGWvgPJKEkXxSIdexPdQEa-9-tyt1XTjmlrtcl5P5Ob6WL6CgLEeD/s1600-h/me70s.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHAXM7gNnpx9rqHqQ0jW4jK3nzcDLBVAVkK4EHaK5p_7Y-w8Fd3CcVB0eGYecgEdloUP8R5XX_KeasCs1Mj-6ZRytIGWvgPJKEkXxSIdexPdQEa-9-tyt1XTjmlrtcl5P5Ob6WL6CgLEeD/s320/me70s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334507821839499730" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">Yeah, I decided that since I already live in a place where time and space don't matter, I'm going to live in 1976.<br /><br />Another thing that I've discovered with the advent of warmer weather, is this lovely playground right underneath my window, where children like to hang out and scream as loud as they can when I'm trying to sleep on the weekends.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhniYpAsBXM2nI8awuyR773hqVcTa-g7-Vii3_vNO7hCGi0sQDJPO_3GHYVcWqfEoknNJmGAT4cHWglIU93xCiYLMO45gtM1a_01i4vicWxeUFuaK2lvrn1SppRC8SLKjN7nvEzvEplhe7_/s1600-h/Bane.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhniYpAsBXM2nI8awuyR773hqVcTa-g7-Vii3_vNO7hCGi0sQDJPO_3GHYVcWqfEoknNJmGAT4cHWglIU93xCiYLMO45gtM1a_01i4vicWxeUFuaK2lvrn1SppRC8SLKjN7nvEzvEplhe7_/s320/Bane.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334508761522740258" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">And I thought that I was over my whole child-hating phase...<br />I'm going to start throwing garbage down on them if they keep interrupting my sleep. Because I AM that kind of person.<br /><br /></div></div>One last thing. If you are planning to come here during the summer, be ready to see a lot of this all around the city:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLBoRdQlUtxg9VP6HvijIiLciHWm7ksRPrwG5PCOoCON3DM06E2rOY2lGVriw8EeqQFwiHYfXwR_DAprf3W7zhU6YypQqAiauDp-U8bgk3szhzxlEuGa_ZeBLuxG32N82EqOuHf0fq4Wz/s1600-h/construction.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLBoRdQlUtxg9VP6HvijIiLciHWm7ksRPrwG5PCOoCON3DM06E2rOY2lGVriw8EeqQFwiHYfXwR_DAprf3W7zhU6YypQqAiauDp-U8bgk3szhzxlEuGa_ZeBLuxG32N82EqOuHf0fq4Wz/s320/construction.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334509949733272258" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The winters are so rough here, that every single summer, they dig up all the streets in the city to "fix" the pipes, and everyone has to learn how to not get their heels stuck in these little "bridges". I think they do it just to make the "short" walks even more "fun".<br /></div></div><br /></div></div><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-4871120970002064492009-05-06T05:06:00.000-07:002009-05-06T05:13:40.066-07:00Trip to London and More<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgeEbxVFRIA1RWaiACKhBgiih-SZd8nlSZ9ykbGq6gYTQejIdsKHZgnlnIILaTgIt40B9gMta3rhcv0LRUS1koUbdbVPndgNxQNk8JM_oNMg5vdLPlj1vg3RvDkj-0y_szUcERoGk4kPEx/s1600-h/fooled+you.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgeEbxVFRIA1RWaiACKhBgiih-SZd8nlSZ9ykbGq6gYTQejIdsKHZgnlnIILaTgIt40B9gMta3rhcv0LRUS1koUbdbVPndgNxQNk8JM_oNMg5vdLPlj1vg3RvDkj-0y_szUcERoGk4kPEx/s320/fooled+you.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332682978827278450" border="0" /></a><br />Hah!<br />Fooled you!<br />I'll update the blog this weekend.<br />It'll be all about how I went to London, with a re-posting of the pics from there, along with some pics of Russian Winter and Spring that I've collected on the old camera, and a cute little story about my first encounter with a Russian Nationalist, or "patriot" as he called himself. For those not in the know, these are not the same as the skinheads. Also, I went to see a psycho billy band and am now completely in love with that style of music.<br />But all that is coming this weekend. See, the weather has improved, so the hell that I'm living in is not so frozen anymore, which makes it difficult to bitch about the cold. Ok, so we're in agreement. More this weekend. Check back here on Monday and I promise I will post some new stuff. I know that I'm missed here, so scout's honor there'll be some new shit on here come Monday.<br /><br />P.S.<br />Are previews allowed in the world of blogging?Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-6057504645386448702009-04-13T05:40:00.000-07:002009-04-13T06:41:34.665-07:00Hello Jews! Hello Fashists! (FYI, Two Seperate Groups)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgSipjhlRaIKJiX58Sf_4mYgdjUGyOWBdIKURa6zbo2X0d1nVbQbLviVT5ydi4V40LwugA9iN5ywz4_qj9GR4DrgSZJpvD6nFm9gn1tQhzam6RAs2uRQ4MZWA0Bs-xcSbhkcFmnwYMsAT/s1600-h/hassid2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgSipjhlRaIKJiX58Sf_4mYgdjUGyOWBdIKURa6zbo2X0d1nVbQbLviVT5ydi4V40LwugA9iN5ywz4_qj9GR4DrgSZJpvD6nFm9gn1tQhzam6RAs2uRQ4MZWA0Bs-xcSbhkcFmnwYMsAT/s320/hassid2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324170345022622130" border="0" /></a><br />I've recently had occasion to spend some time with two, you might say, completely opposing groups of people, accompanied by some conversation, and wine/beer.<br /><br />First, for some reason this year I decided to celebrate Pesach and go to Seder. For those of you not in the know, Pesach is the Jewish Passover and is basically a holiday where Jews celebrate how first, God killed an assload of innocent Egyptian children, and then drown a shitload more Egyptians in the Sea. Nice holiday right? Oh, we also rejoice at some other nasty shit that God did to the Egyptians. But the most important part is that we got our freedom. It's just like Amistad, only 4,000 years ago and with a lot of dead Egyptians involved. Also some <span style="font-style: italic;">chel</span> named Elijah is supposed to come by and have a drink during the Seder, but I don't think that he's real. He didn't show up. Asshole...<br /><br />So, I told my friend Katya (Uberjew who prances around the city with a giant gold star of David nestled in her bosoms. That's just asking to get your ass kicked by the way) that I'd like to do this Seder thing, and you know what she did to me? She somehow supposedly by accident got us invited to a Chabad Lubavitch Seder. Again, for those not in the know, these are Hassids. I wish someone had taken a picture of my face when I found out that I'd be spending 4 hours listening to the gory tale about the dead Egyptians, surrounded by people that I tried to stay very far the fuck away from back in NYC. But "what the hell?" I thought. Might be interesting.<br /><br />And it was, sort of. First of all, there were only two Hassids there. One older rabbi, and his attractive young assistant. Here's how the evening went. I swear it was one of the funniest things I've experienced in this country to date. The first reason for this being a combination of the fact that the rabbi wasn't Russian and his Russian was "funny", and the second reason is that while the Pesach seremony requires all the participants to drink FOUR glasses of red wine, these being Russian jews, they obviously didn't limit themselves to just the four glasses and were plastered about an hour into the 3 hour ceremony. We're talking about 150 people here. Since the poor Hassid rabbi was struggling with his Russian recitation of our daring escape from Egyption captivity, the drunken Russian jewery spent some of the time helping him pick the correct words (some of which were dirty and totally inappropriate) and the rest of the time was spent giggling like 5 year olds. Just as an example:<br /><br />Rabbi: God so mad was at Egyptian he (gibberish in yiddish to determine the next word)<br />Member of the audience: fucked up<br />Rabbi: yes thanks to you for your helps. Yes, God so mad at Egyptian he fucked up the lambs that was his first.<br />Followed by all 150 Russian jew bastards giggling their asses off.<br /><br />And so on and so forth. This was my evening with the Jews. Katya and I spent most of the evening giggling and then when we felt full and like we couldn't take anymore, we made our own daring escape out of captivity.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyQTj1VOJt4tjBjES2Lt7COzqch142AkQi_B1CPAWe3YExxhwh50SGvqu5H21prCxaVrdTzDb71q1WemwFewYeBCc68jBSupU42bB4sfgeyznYuvO3XwNn8Qy7Y49GDSKXkxofKKpED4S/s1600-h/skin.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyQTj1VOJt4tjBjES2Lt7COzqch142AkQi_B1CPAWe3YExxhwh50SGvqu5H21prCxaVrdTzDb71q1WemwFewYeBCc68jBSupU42bB4sfgeyznYuvO3XwNn8Qy7Y49GDSKXkxofKKpED4S/s320/skin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324170503528003842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>That very weekend, we went to <span style="font-style: italic;">Ch</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">P</span>. The bar is really called <span style="font-style: italic;">Chort</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Poberi</span>, but Russians have some weird thing with not saying <span style="font-style: italic;">Chort</span> which means "Devil." Apparently if you say his name, he might show up and eat your eyeballs or something. Whatever...<br />So anyway, there we are at <span style="font-style: italic;">Ch</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">P </span>when who should we see sitting right across from us? Three whole Fashists. They immediately noticed us and we heard words such as "<span style="font-style: italic;">Shidovachki</span>" (little she-kikes) resonating from their corner. Which we ignored. But then they loudly, while staring at us, said "Didn't they just have Pesach?" At this point I decided to engage them in conversation because honestly, I was just as interested in them as they were in us. So I just nodded and said something like "Actually, Pesach continues until the 16th." This is how our conversation began.<br /><br />One of them by the name of Yuretz was a very cute litte skinhead and seemed fully harmless, one was extremely drunk and slimy and kept asking me to go home with him and love him. Also fairly harmless. The third one was considerably older than the first two, and a total hater and Katya and I concluded might totally kill us no matter how cute we two little jew girls were.<br /><br />The highlight of the conversation was when Yuretz first asked me why it was good to be a jew and I had to explain to him that the only cool part was being one of god's chosen people, then told me that he was very excited to speak to me because while he'd seen some jews from afar, he'd never seen one so upclose and actually spoken to one before, and then told me that actually, he's friends with a jew, and he seems like a cool dude. I did not feel the need to point out the contradiction of what he had said.<br /><br />Then their hateful older friend dragged the two younger ones, that basically just wanted to bang us, away and that was the end of that little encounter. Ah, my first encounter with Russian nazis. T'was fun.<br /><br />So, first Jews, then Fashists. I'd have to say that honestly, the fashists were more fun.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-56188361923486572982009-04-02T08:05:00.000-07:002009-04-02T08:26:35.531-07:00Gogol's Birthday and Spring is Here (But not reaaally)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_QMf-c_4Dm1A0dzmqf28JABtm-TXblxTOUQX2O8-PR4XUWUUQjQiIDbmKM43tu3OIz6AGFo3LYxOow93VtPky37Xb3fJdoW9NQMtBwD-NoEwGmqtzjkSbcDk2RB_9IAH2fOMP9IKPY3lE/s1600-h/gogol.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 175px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_QMf-c_4Dm1A0dzmqf28JABtm-TXblxTOUQX2O8-PR4XUWUUQjQiIDbmKM43tu3OIz6AGFo3LYxOow93VtPky37Xb3fJdoW9NQMtBwD-NoEwGmqtzjkSbcDk2RB_9IAH2fOMP9IKPY3lE/s200/gogol.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320115410754677458" border="0" /></a><br />So yesterday was Nikolai Gogol's 200th Birthday. Good on him. Damn that niggah is old. And also born on April Fools Day. That's something.<br />I went to some sort of celebration which was a bit boring (I'm back on the wagon, remember?). But there was decent food and a few people showed up in costumes. Those few people consisted of me and my moms. You know that feeling when some ass invites you to a costume party, but then neglects to tell all the other guests that it's a costume party, and then you're the only idiot that shows up in a costume? Yeah, it was like that, but Russian.<br /><br />So here's my moms in a costume.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1UAIInMhwPsZ82TTkplg5BHtq7WcV3FawkDzVM5wHspmFOYlCscSdkzpJG83AyaltOv-KwVRtIP_F4Kg6Tk5Rw06TDJ0nrR9OgWz605thmnFVAQB2VdzEPdX9pBS8_tu9cwX_X5Zwcdg/s1600-h/Ju.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1UAIInMhwPsZ82TTkplg5BHtq7WcV3FawkDzVM5wHspmFOYlCscSdkzpJG83AyaltOv-KwVRtIP_F4Kg6Tk5Rw06TDJ0nrR9OgWz605thmnFVAQB2VdzEPdX9pBS8_tu9cwX_X5Zwcdg/s320/Ju.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320114406624547202" border="0" /></a></div>Here's Dr. Zukov. Remember him? The man who experimented on my brain, and then gave me some antibiotics that first made my hands itch a lot, and then I had to spend the last two weeks PEELING ALL OF THE SKIN OFF OF MY PALMS. I don't care. I still love this <span style="font-style: italic;">chel</span> because he's a kind-hearted, if somewhat misguided pussycat who treats me and prescribes me medication for free. Also, it was his party if you all get my meaning. Luv ya Dr. Zukov.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0VqQF4PkKsoRt4P6Drv-xyham89mw2LLgWt0-Y3e4QOUdqz4-82j6SzT4cyJvUaQYfm8rBEIaE5ZuxmkL3FKRmjoGIeRfi2FEc04PXXU2cqN-uU5xpY79L6qK78xpX5J_yDgCxMdlaYh/s1600-h/Beetle.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0VqQF4PkKsoRt4P6Drv-xyham89mw2LLgWt0-Y3e4QOUdqz4-82j6SzT4cyJvUaQYfm8rBEIaE5ZuxmkL3FKRmjoGIeRfi2FEc04PXXU2cqN-uU5xpY79L6qK78xpX5J_yDgCxMdlaYh/s320/Beetle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320114539858115634" border="0" /></a></div><br /><br />In other news, Spring is here at last! Ya'll know what that means. It's 30 whole fucking degrees instead of 10 now. Yay Spring!<br /><br />And here's what it looks like.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1v4z8cUCFtKcKX3bcX6geIFU-25dT0DKi4DFVD4aU-j431F9YwGraU4VOsFBTho-gFHectX3bFf3zbO884EeFD5aTzHauzyG0fLAU7EkDMUN9eH8rbDejYlQyn7vYTMEXE8YO1BB5kphg/s1600-h/Window.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1v4z8cUCFtKcKX3bcX6geIFU-25dT0DKi4DFVD4aU-j431F9YwGraU4VOsFBTho-gFHectX3bFf3zbO884EeFD5aTzHauzyG0fLAU7EkDMUN9eH8rbDejYlQyn7vYTMEXE8YO1BB5kphg/s320/Window.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320114711973885842" border="0" /></a></div><br />Anygogol, here's me at the fantabulous (sarcasm) celebration. Happy Birthday Comrade Gogol!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHmLQ3wMqNuuuQ4NG82heF3G8XiU2i2054g-CWplrkt82Rl6o5ruJDIngiuac7pIkC9HXT8z-3XhvJ58jl6laOIM0P0jsdjEGh6WuoP1BSSDK9Vy1s4soHsErMrAuHMW-BCXns5C9M-aA/s1600-h/Tophat3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHmLQ3wMqNuuuQ4NG82heF3G8XiU2i2054g-CWplrkt82Rl6o5ruJDIngiuac7pIkC9HXT8z-3XhvJ58jl6laOIM0P0jsdjEGh6WuoP1BSSDK9Vy1s4soHsErMrAuHMW-BCXns5C9M-aA/s320/Tophat3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320114908503588850" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-5652589741024448912009-03-30T08:26:00.000-07:002009-03-30T09:03:08.298-07:00Plusha Loses her Shit Russian Style Thanks to her No-Good Expat Friends<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBDULhg8UVbKsHrJ66t1REQVVMJVeNpJtw5ji_dBSYzR2B7gdArxL6IFkRU60c0_LnzUWVrRgyePqemlKztkR-4kbp5VAQ2ArVDwGDX1zsm4RznAcG_qfe-hJ1D6tQW31-Jc-54DXv4yB/s1600-h/smoker2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBDULhg8UVbKsHrJ66t1REQVVMJVeNpJtw5ji_dBSYzR2B7gdArxL6IFkRU60c0_LnzUWVrRgyePqemlKztkR-4kbp5VAQ2ArVDwGDX1zsm4RznAcG_qfe-hJ1D6tQW31-Jc-54DXv4yB/s320/smoker2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319008037708239650" border="0" /></a>Dear friends,<br /><br />I know it's been a while since I've last written. I have no excuse other than that I went native for a little while there, and was still sick, and well, needed time to recuperate and let the blood flow back to my brain.<br /><br />All I can say is that this country is the ultimate perverter. It's very difficult to live here and maintain ones equilibrium. Last Saturday would be a perfect example. I swear to god, I think Russia is Satan right now.<br />I went to do my laundry at this New Zealander's hostel, which is conveniently right up the street from my building. Sounds pretty innocent, no? NO!<br /><br />It started with the yet again completely innocent question of whether I'd like to have a beer. I thought "why the fuck not?" Hell, one won't kill me.<br />People, before you start judging my alcoholic ass, it's impossible, I repeat, impossible, not to drink here at all. It's too cold and nasty and gross and honestly, I don't need to make excuses here. It's not like I was forced into quitting drinking by an intervention. It was my choice to stop, and it was my choice to start again. A little. A little light drinking. So anyway, then this ridiculousness sprang up around me:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJngVIG2X7PSYBxQPkduHbEr9FA-vEXUj2o6u-YAwFXxkn3GS4q0cuRPLPrdbXXb89QFsuz62dYkZJi7lZkrlerLT0KC0V6bE4-sdJRgGccYrfl2RYj2kxi8oiE1dakkFRhFzNldQdhvvu/s1600-h/from+below.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJngVIG2X7PSYBxQPkduHbEr9FA-vEXUj2o6u-YAwFXxkn3GS4q0cuRPLPrdbXXb89QFsuz62dYkZJi7lZkrlerLT0KC0V6bE4-sdJRgGccYrfl2RYj2kxi8oiE1dakkFRhFzNldQdhvvu/s320/from+below.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319006026881077186" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqXHv_mO-tgUvHpRHmEAmkKdWT51HKTC1N2Edvh8fWqi6XENCHtJ6HRLmsFr-m56rkrZ21Zb48bF_g8i7b2UPFoPOIeNzuZyiRN4GRJkW8GDRM3JmTq7pqV8dTz0rI3WbUfAhvGAJySC4/s1600-h/tounge2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqXHv_mO-tgUvHpRHmEAmkKdWT51HKTC1N2Edvh8fWqi6XENCHtJ6HRLmsFr-m56rkrZ21Zb48bF_g8i7b2UPFoPOIeNzuZyiRN4GRJkW8GDRM3JmTq7pqV8dTz0rI3WbUfAhvGAJySC4/s320/tounge2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319006044678188546" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fDdkLj8oxeA6tcv2Hq70oOHtGbxak3ixgG_07sFwlkOkAZlyrIsaGlgUhsjL_aIODSTFxQqDeR2-_0a8CIccKlwb41ZfsY86QvTOnbcLD4a_koQs1Rwv9AZ-UCvFzBbz3vh1INoUH7Z-/s1600-h/Isaak2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fDdkLj8oxeA6tcv2Hq70oOHtGbxak3ixgG_07sFwlkOkAZlyrIsaGlgUhsjL_aIODSTFxQqDeR2-_0a8CIccKlwb41ZfsY86QvTOnbcLD4a_koQs1Rwv9AZ-UCvFzBbz3vh1INoUH7Z-/s320/Isaak2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319006038058962850" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oSqG0GyfGRunL9jviWJrdJu6NN4nQwR0AG4OjMWJ7-gxDz1-NExNGfOT0dCjz0x2Spk7PbrEblkyItkW-5i6-D-2jWEYm2Ccu72Pg2bNL7ONBzSfeOnGSFcqzZS3hZ_B6vhne-_T1AEg/s1600-h/dutch2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oSqG0GyfGRunL9jviWJrdJu6NN4nQwR0AG4OjMWJ7-gxDz1-NExNGfOT0dCjz0x2Spk7PbrEblkyItkW-5i6-D-2jWEYm2Ccu72Pg2bNL7ONBzSfeOnGSFcqzZS3hZ_B6vhne-_T1AEg/s320/dutch2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319006035026809954" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0hprPh-Ha-erplwpkgY_qu17YQTR2H_XUNPeAWoFdmUoQFnYaRfySq8SQMen2j7ohayIFztqaVVFkEcstHdYpwH4lLruyGc8MOsjj6lnlxHc2Lx_VD040M_qM7OYF0HtnxW4UXJ7qamzQ/s1600-h/hairbrush2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0hprPh-Ha-erplwpkgY_qu17YQTR2H_XUNPeAWoFdmUoQFnYaRfySq8SQMen2j7ohayIFztqaVVFkEcstHdYpwH4lLruyGc8MOsjj6lnlxHc2Lx_VD040M_qM7OYF0HtnxW4UXJ7qamzQ/s320/hairbrush2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319006035217907186" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />You've all seen these pics on Facebook already, but I figured I'd post them again just so that you can all see what I'm surrounded by, and imagine trying not to drink around this. Again, I just went there to do my goddamn laundry. Long story short, or as they used to say on Seinfeld, "yada yada yada" I didn't leave that place until about 3 p.m. the next day. There was insane debauchery perpetrated by all and tons of alcohol imbibed. I needed a week to reflect on how my ass managed to fall off the wagon so hard and bruise said ass on every bottle of beer on the way down. (I never even drank beer before because that slush is fattening. But since I lost all this mad weight here, I figured, why not beer?)<br /><br />So I guess I'm going for round 2 of sobriety. A week sober everybody. I can only hope that it lasts as long as it did the last time I made the resolution to stop drinking. Worst part is, it's probably the most fun I've had in this country since I got here. Shit!!!<br />I realize that this isn't really a funny post. It's more of a confession and a record for posterity's sake. Oh, and to drive the point home that I really need to slow my roll with the drinking again, I immediately got sick again. Straight away I got hit with some bronchitis.<br />Shit, at least I got all of my laundry done...Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-13636883466781996782009-03-19T13:23:00.001-07:002009-03-19T13:31:24.376-07:00Cleaned Up!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfkon0OIMw0XykKFxDq7Cg9p3l5AEaI3q97DBs1aSBoTS2mKiys4jeviDP6GFHWLfeAZrdLCSiyvlPpCs2Zgxv2TzKRMh9dJh9oqLceql_mZCAgOdBN8DlEFjqt97xWOD-Ga4hqzuE6SPz/s1600-h/Mewell4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfkon0OIMw0XykKFxDq7Cg9p3l5AEaI3q97DBs1aSBoTS2mKiys4jeviDP6GFHWLfeAZrdLCSiyvlPpCs2Zgxv2TzKRMh9dJh9oqLceql_mZCAgOdBN8DlEFjqt97xWOD-Ga4hqzuE6SPz/s320/Mewell4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314998789392076482" border="0" /></a><br />Alright, just for those of you that are concerned that Satan might be living inside of me, here are some pics of me cleaned up. I went to great lengths to go from this:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34naRzVcyjdTYLHiOuPApgL1hDSZUUTKdn03Ez2NjR-vzKp_O6VF3Az6ok1Pq0WmaJEGSljDUOI2u58h9AuJkzElcOpk9erpSEhQM2XqkdDa41_z7hKOriR_yz8bxIpuFSLfF4PjomibO/s1600-h/exorcist.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34naRzVcyjdTYLHiOuPApgL1hDSZUUTKdn03Ez2NjR-vzKp_O6VF3Az6ok1Pq0WmaJEGSljDUOI2u58h9AuJkzElcOpk9erpSEhQM2XqkdDa41_z7hKOriR_yz8bxIpuFSLfF4PjomibO/s200/exorcist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314998105207636322" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />To this:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvo6CMVB2A7b4c8-a7TYCuIZBfRRY3fWPLA_euhpk-QWnjfFZ1tiHMbG1hRNGe8A0MeY37_zMzy54NBPhJ84GnFEWDjxND95JSUMFuRFHNMTepKHokhvL0au0uaKMuez-ah4Alq_PDCzn/s1600-h/Mewell2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvo6CMVB2A7b4c8-a7TYCuIZBfRRY3fWPLA_euhpk-QWnjfFZ1tiHMbG1hRNGe8A0MeY37_zMzy54NBPhJ84GnFEWDjxND95JSUMFuRFHNMTepKHokhvL0au0uaKMuez-ah4Alq_PDCzn/s200/Mewell2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314998307303393010" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgyESvC19a5IXV3mumg-bZVln1ng7JYsVnWlqmAp-6JnLjhOXvdC6TF8N1uk_-PlydVtUNIq7Ix1PAHsfVjKlVWoyWfUj-jc7_ANnMIxVBhtzLBvGoLRgDSgvv9rIKpN96aKNOrpFQWQDk/s1600-h/Mewell1.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgyESvC19a5IXV3mumg-bZVln1ng7JYsVnWlqmAp-6JnLjhOXvdC6TF8N1uk_-PlydVtUNIq7Ix1PAHsfVjKlVWoyWfUj-jc7_ANnMIxVBhtzLBvGoLRgDSgvv9rIKpN96aKNOrpFQWQDk/s200/Mewell1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314998303224705970" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />So yeah, I guess at least on the outside I'm "better". Still, the trauma, the trauma...<br />Managed to fix my hair sort of. And yes, I realize that being all "oh my god my hair" is totally bullshit in the grand scheme of things, but what can I say, I'm a girl. I want to be pretty, so whatever.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-724525293283491932009-03-19T03:54:00.000-07:002009-03-19T04:05:26.497-07:00All Better (But not Reeeeaaaalllyyyy)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8YzI5ccys6b-urf7UOsZFnP2S9sy4NAMS3PoUvp4S37_mu2pdXlSYEuBOPjcm6cKtzlxiAE7r443RJhEAi9p9YqOVZCYdZGzNM27q2CEOqGE40UTjPUiq5lLi3DtZdhIj3TEwcBdG_tP/s1600-h/exorcist.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8YzI5ccys6b-urf7UOsZFnP2S9sy4NAMS3PoUvp4S37_mu2pdXlSYEuBOPjcm6cKtzlxiAE7r443RJhEAi9p9YqOVZCYdZGzNM27q2CEOqGE40UTjPUiq5lLi3DtZdhIj3TEwcBdG_tP/s320/exorcist.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314853320808759122" border="0" /></a><br />Wow. Just wow.<br />Being sick in Russia has got to be a singularly suckass experience. Alright, I realize that I've been harping on this a bit, but folks, I'm all better. Yeah, the horrible infection that I had went away with the help of the antibiotics. But am I really all better?<br /><br />NO. Because when you're sick in Russia, while the disease may have been cured, it leaves you with some lasting gifts. (And by the way, what the fuck was I even sick with? I know it was bacterial, but what the fuck kind of infection was it? Did it have a name? Is it just some random evil that Russia managed to spew out on me? I'll never know). Here they are in order of annoyingness:<br /><br />1. Allergic reaction to the antibiotics has caused several parts of my body to painfully itch, burn, and swell up. I finished the course of antibiotics yesterday, but of course my hands and face are still swollen and itchy.<br /><br />2. cold sore. Nuff said. This shit is irritating and uglifying. So I can't show my face in public until it goes away.<br /><br />3. Painfully chapped lips. Friends, this is just not going away no matter how much Vaseline I slather on there. And the Vaseline is not helping the cold sore.<br /><br />4. Fucked up hair. Yes, something about being sick has made my hair super soft and fluffy and it looks retarded. I guess I can try washing it again. But washing your hair is serious business in a country where you absolutely can not go outside with even slightly damp hair for fear of catching cold and dying. So it's not so simple to fix.<br /><br />So now I look like the bitch pictured above, and I kind of hate this place again. Even though I'm finally all better.<br /><br />Oh, happy belated St. Patrick's Day everybody.Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-66555594858896456192009-03-12T04:48:00.001-07:002009-03-12T05:53:15.645-07:00Damn Epidemic!!! or (Any Day Now I Expect to Reanimate as a Zombie)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2P_s5K_OUolTn3w6uKPlJBlkqk-62zNmKBuolAbWeL-mvyE_N_0Bp5ggoJmOg9LVniirfL9yZVkQ23kSyy28nPFCUOHAZ3lFDR5lQw4YxwH17EzZhq3pYfhAvbjmUGcYMxVG1SDgyQXO/s1600-h/soviet9ec.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2P_s5K_OUolTn3w6uKPlJBlkqk-62zNmKBuolAbWeL-mvyE_N_0Bp5ggoJmOg9LVniirfL9yZVkQ23kSyy28nPFCUOHAZ3lFDR5lQw4YxwH17EzZhq3pYfhAvbjmUGcYMxVG1SDgyQXO/s200/soviet9ec.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312283514233542514" border="0" /></a><br />Dear friends,<br />there will be no cute pictures this week. There is a Flu epidemic happening in the city and your humble friend and writer has gotten it. Well, technically, they don't know if it's the Flu. They don't know if the nature of the infection is viral or bacterial. Point is that it's reached the epidemic threshold here in Saint Petersburg. And I can tell you from personal experience that it's the mother of all infections. It sucks so bad, oh my god. The first week of it is like a mild fluffy prelude because you just feel weak and tired and have a temperature and think that it's going to go away. So you keep going to work like an idiot, and eating garlic and gargling with salt water. Because that's what they do here when they're sick. They eat garlic like the disease is fucking Dracula or something. "Oh no!" screams the virus or bacteria "Not garlic! Anything but that! My skin is burning because I'm a vampire. Also, I'm afraid of sunlight." Fuck you garlic! You're fucking useless!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLy0nbhTDZFAjtA_CoSQWdprb8VWkRwZczKhKH0zzjpiSHr5Z719m1prtpEH92Ie9GJmynT_uG5huBscDHA3Up6SVNbi8Tbgi-rZo-zB4sHL-0a9LgYw2ic2TPR4n3SEeaiQcWd3ERgqW/s1600-h/Meds.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLy0nbhTDZFAjtA_CoSQWdprb8VWkRwZczKhKH0zzjpiSHr5Z719m1prtpEH92Ie9GJmynT_uG5huBscDHA3Up6SVNbi8Tbgi-rZo-zB4sHL-0a9LgYw2ic2TPR4n3SEeaiQcWd3ERgqW/s320/Meds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312279529591910594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>The second week, just as you think you're about to get all better, this bitch really gets rolling. Your glands swell up, your throat hurts because you have a tonsil infection, and your whole head fills up with "something." Don't know what it is. Safe bet that it's mucus though. You're still visited by the chills and the sweats and incredibly, amazingly, fucking mind-blowingly, eveyone still suggests that you eat lots of garlic and gargle with soda water or chamomile. Chamomile? Really Russian people? The little yellow flower is going to make THIS go away? I swear to god I almost lost all faith in this <span style="font-style: italic;">Narod</span>. Did I mention the cold sore? Yeah, you get one of those too as a nasty little present from this "epidemic." Thanks Russian epidemic!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_PhDSUUMn5uSxbGaMJG0J9W7RhN-cURgPwvVsUR3idE07Y3PkzhQfHj9quQJJBKUCATWXKuX4-WQnJBJ2l4q2XpIgPLEDSvUwVxyMaSD1fmaq_7iB-yRVln5feUiJ7nh4vJ-qYpIVqQnw/s1600-h/tea.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_PhDSUUMn5uSxbGaMJG0J9W7RhN-cURgPwvVsUR3idE07Y3PkzhQfHj9quQJJBKUCATWXKuX4-WQnJBJ2l4q2XpIgPLEDSvUwVxyMaSD1fmaq_7iB-yRVln5feUiJ7nh4vJ-qYpIVqQnw/s320/tea.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312279536705445746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>But then I called my trustly doctor. The same one that experimented on me before. (See post whatever for details). Anyway, he explained about the epidemic and told me to go and buy some antibiotics for this shit because everyone is hoping that it's bacterial and that antibiotics will work, him included. Yeah, my doctor has it too. Ha ha.<br /><br />And you know what? Here's where my faith in the Russian people was restored. They hand out antibiotics at the pharmacy like it's fucking candy. Without a prescription and it's cheap too. And it's the same good stuff you get in the U.S. I never really got why you need a prescription for antibiotics in the first place. It's not like they get you high or anything.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibTLDaPwZzbOXUfdNdDGgnuPI9KtzIcZPSp7N8PTrkjaFWSDtslCxQlDq2JuCvfv2ruSG4rpWw2ljkVMRBcnJcGR-d7aJiyDoIq0P4jgYjoQj_plQSJ6tAUp0EBR51Ym_B0AJIb_5USL1h/s1600-h/Antibiotic.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibTLDaPwZzbOXUfdNdDGgnuPI9KtzIcZPSp7N8PTrkjaFWSDtslCxQlDq2JuCvfv2ruSG4rpWw2ljkVMRBcnJcGR-d7aJiyDoIq0P4jgYjoQj_plQSJ6tAUp0EBR51Ym_B0AJIb_5USL1h/s320/Antibiotic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312279527955166978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>So I'm keeping my fingers crossed and hoping that this shit will work. Because if the antibiotics don't cure this plague, I don't know how much longer it's going to last. It's just fucking foul is what it is. Like corpse foul.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAjxnaNAtjbWHh1yPv5ydQ06DkE9m3HlEFRX0Sf1WLcFgQf-7wmVM3lMCGY9SxCEYxyu6TMxBCvnnu200krc4bBI8bhUtRDI8MlO7CQlzMp7TSd19lZda2OZSTt3gSWyd5UUPN7IWrAU8r/s1600-h/Mesick.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAjxnaNAtjbWHh1yPv5ydQ06DkE9m3HlEFRX0Sf1WLcFgQf-7wmVM3lMCGY9SxCEYxyu6TMxBCvnnu200krc4bBI8bhUtRDI8MlO7CQlzMp7TSd19lZda2OZSTt3gSWyd5UUPN7IWrAU8r/s320/Mesick.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312279533931851730" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-54126115006650174252009-03-04T10:48:00.000-08:002009-03-04T11:57:52.282-08:00Gradations of my Poorness as Demonstrated by Cigarettes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFXeYbnrQcqRR9xOHzebKjKK0RPYQlWZUiobJczoQJtrvywXQaziHyPROfSSPJcs9TuRaXA561lhYE3fwflBY5K4rjXUb8Qdn0f_X_Zjka6RNgx4fbSnLhBUAl0IdsiGRHnUE-hvO8vdx/s1600-h/2753154594_874c487d61_m.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFXeYbnrQcqRR9xOHzebKjKK0RPYQlWZUiobJczoQJtrvywXQaziHyPROfSSPJcs9TuRaXA561lhYE3fwflBY5K4rjXUb8Qdn0f_X_Zjka6RNgx4fbSnLhBUAl0IdsiGRHnUE-hvO8vdx/s320/2753154594_874c487d61_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309424194423401042" border="0" /></a><br />Dear friends,<br /><br />just in case it hasn't become super obvious from past posts, your humble writer is broke. Oh, she broke like a joke. I live in a very cute apartment, in a phantabulous part of town, and as a result, have become the poorest <span style="font-style: italic;">chel</span> in this city. Ok, I am exaggerating of course, but just the same, I thought that it might be fun to monitor my descent into poverty by seeing which cigarettes I smoked when I first got here and had money, and which smokes I'm down to now. So I went through all of the empty cigarette packs in my apartment and photographed them, to present you with this little smoking plunge into squalor.<br /><br />Ok, so when I first got here, I was smoking these:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNRQI4nciob1S2J3KvV3XrZ-DFhU88LR4oUnCRinC-x7FYhj9i-vi00_4uoisWWETWtZGZkQ3cACplHcdBlv6ZQW2EIbzPYxbeb_9O_VJfGHeh1F6FIkeHimftHrGi9VKHUhyMaVrL_9z/s1600-h/NatSherman.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNRQI4nciob1S2J3KvV3XrZ-DFhU88LR4oUnCRinC-x7FYhj9i-vi00_4uoisWWETWtZGZkQ3cACplHcdBlv6ZQW2EIbzPYxbeb_9O_VJfGHeh1F6FIkeHimftHrGi9VKHUhyMaVrL_9z/s200/NatSherman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309407745301142978" border="0" /></a> These are imported from New York, and cost 120 Rubles a pack. They're all natural tobacco and they were exactly what I smoked in NYC. And they were yummy.<br />I also smoked the occasional expensive cigarillos. Or little cigars such as these:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduKvhK96djXD4kEU9vOsSNoGc1ZBsRPUUu8GVlaENGosNA1c5euObS_cpPJ7pVB1sv0NicDVbqrZ0Q8NqZJmJrn_8IbgQe2gncg8fewMT-wMQ6bEb-NMYWYxtb5HxiD1zhNiFMr4gkybj/s1600-h/Cafe+Creme.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduKvhK96djXD4kEU9vOsSNoGc1ZBsRPUUu8GVlaENGosNA1c5euObS_cpPJ7pVB1sv0NicDVbqrZ0Q8NqZJmJrn_8IbgQe2gncg8fewMT-wMQ6bEb-NMYWYxtb5HxiD1zhNiFMr4gkybj/s200/Cafe+Creme.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309408845301006306" border="0" /></a> These are 400 Rubles a box.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDYNEefhFyEgfJL9bBSUGmgHJ0CHME0GXpJE4F_10oAW3TSZVXnJI_NfmjnUJXhflCFpHhUukPy2SKJtL4mIn-jhqr2cPkVEPRg2FETl7HgrSlwtQnP8cqkKqM8d0mW01jDI296SH5fwy/s1600-h/Captain+Black.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDYNEefhFyEgfJL9bBSUGmgHJ0CHME0GXpJE4F_10oAW3TSZVXnJI_NfmjnUJXhflCFpHhUukPy2SKJtL4mIn-jhqr2cPkVEPRg2FETl7HgrSlwtQnP8cqkKqM8d0mW01jDI296SH5fwy/s200/Captain+Black.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309409042607632098" border="0" /></a>These are something like 100 Rubles a pack and they are cherry flavored. I just smoked them for the lovely smell. Hey, I could afford it.<br /><br />When I got a bit poorer, I couldn't afford the 120 Ruble a pack deal anymore, so I switched to these:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTY3fevJ4C-nhr_NCidsIxFNJxfBtwgt0D7V1Y4Q0b5H4m4QBoiBZU6GqSFbgUL0OkQz9C2_UTdBwDOFCWTC9emrfLXix64HPSq_mXI_PHT4HIWWiLiPE4jdrxmOBpMpmTJVlg65FipzTx/s1600-h/Dunhill.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 154px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTY3fevJ4C-nhr_NCidsIxFNJxfBtwgt0D7V1Y4Q0b5H4m4QBoiBZU6GqSFbgUL0OkQz9C2_UTdBwDOFCWTC9emrfLXix64HPSq_mXI_PHT4HIWWiLiPE4jdrxmOBpMpmTJVlg65FipzTx/s200/Dunhill.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309408135779192466" border="0" /></a> Perfectly respectable Dunhills. Not entirely natural or organic, but they seemed to be a good fit. These cost 60 Rubles a pack. I was ok with that for a while. I thought I was all fancy and could afford them.<br /><br />But then, I got even more poor and started experimenting with slightly cheaper alternatives.<br />Here they are:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzuN9ylWfqoMZB2Uz_Q_uX86Ej1KJXVWvvK_Gb12Wy9yQRZcj9q6PgohT_R7KO6YBRdcqB6pjO-qFhA3Gz4jXE4wB_M9o59FT305wF2Pve3XeHZoeyJYrSJNJsMaYRw2pQ-F6BBJPdzPq/s1600-h/Diablo2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzuN9ylWfqoMZB2Uz_Q_uX86Ej1KJXVWvvK_Gb12Wy9yQRZcj9q6PgohT_R7KO6YBRdcqB6pjO-qFhA3Gz4jXE4wB_M9o59FT305wF2Pve3XeHZoeyJYrSJNJsMaYRw2pQ-F6BBJPdzPq/s200/Diablo2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309409711622255538" border="0" /></a>These are actually called Diablo Nero, and they are black, and smell like coffee when you smoke them. They are 48 Rubles a pack. Fun!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvV1fUf_vdnVwa7aDjzqYqQeQtkloRkh_dgVCNcFzl_JpMb2hvJhXYmG8RN9JtmxWc4IU4OZ9NPhD2tLzvwIbstuVmxQdTFWIN601LCpyVf73kpDYGOyOO4vT1XRwHHr3c-bl5jyvkxGC/s1600-h/Diablo.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvV1fUf_vdnVwa7aDjzqYqQeQtkloRkh_dgVCNcFzl_JpMb2hvJhXYmG8RN9JtmxWc4IU4OZ9NPhD2tLzvwIbstuVmxQdTFWIN601LCpyVf73kpDYGOyOO4vT1XRwHHr3c-bl5jyvkxGC/s200/Diablo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309409706809011730" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdTKkKrbv-uexyf2erKUpFZKGpN3GM91bjNryY6vGfXaxA_Pplx-F9KyyPZcdiHljr-Mhbi2yRqusqks1uVRsxQ25Od11J8q-96kZOS_KqWLKXc6Ie7bf0HD_nCdlBTmqCWMQDRirr8cNl/s1600-h/Gitanes.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 144px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdTKkKrbv-uexyf2erKUpFZKGpN3GM91bjNryY6vGfXaxA_Pplx-F9KyyPZcdiHljr-Mhbi2yRqusqks1uVRsxQ25Od11J8q-96kZOS_KqWLKXc6Ie7bf0HD_nCdlBTmqCWMQDRirr8cNl/s200/Gitanes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309409715008396690" border="0" /></a> I don't remember how much the Gitanes cost, but they were somewhere in the middle range too. I just didn't like them very much taste-wise. But they were somewhere in that 40 to 50 Ruble range that I thought I could afford back then, along with the Lucky Strikes.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh50UeABXixmgnWNe2PRxrWAY_-_3pKfSzHEISsNgEISgKRjftj-pFcNGTaIUPZ1WhGjiFaRRTvcZ9IIqL1xC6Ap6CBNVdYw_GWvK5xgJ5dpFZ36wzJo636SwvzK1aguXBUjCr6H5ddvJEy/s1600-h/Lucky+Strikes.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 139px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh50UeABXixmgnWNe2PRxrWAY_-_3pKfSzHEISsNgEISgKRjftj-pFcNGTaIUPZ1WhGjiFaRRTvcZ9IIqL1xC6Ap6CBNVdYw_GWvK5xgJ5dpFZ36wzJo636SwvzK1aguXBUjCr6H5ddvJEy/s200/Lucky+Strikes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309411092427027746" border="0" /></a></div>Shit was I fucking wrong.<br /><br />So next, I had to move down to the 20 to 30 Ruble range. Here's what you can get for that:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtGZRAwM8k4_ic-ozwXabyqX-OCOySP7XqeWA6gju0kfz16eojQHCTkXs6UZUhZIVkBluVhcGtHZNu7Z9xmQNuo6JKjE4WSCBqXwfhmdf7KUcJrv69fMzar88Ib0XNONUFZ6oXG13qgT5/s1600-h/Chesterfields.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 146px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtGZRAwM8k4_ic-ozwXabyqX-OCOySP7XqeWA6gju0kfz16eojQHCTkXs6UZUhZIVkBluVhcGtHZNu7Z9xmQNuo6JKjE4WSCBqXwfhmdf7KUcJrv69fMzar88Ib0XNONUFZ6oXG13qgT5/s200/Chesterfields.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309411528853576450" border="0" /></a>Chesterfields are about 27 Rubles a pack. They're not that bad, but they made me cough a lot, so no, not my cigarettes of choice.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjihuwV9EbKYU_y-L7LCpWOecnfBRYe_rTrVdZSobkeI6h61hZYV0uuLpDZ3yT8Uc7j4LjdvXkqu26mIBm1iwgrYtzdWsM3ZjqqzdN3T0PfGWpyFwCFKnKUV84p5YDw7a24cQag8OsrmUPn/s1600-h/More.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 136px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjihuwV9EbKYU_y-L7LCpWOecnfBRYe_rTrVdZSobkeI6h61hZYV0uuLpDZ3yT8Uc7j4LjdvXkqu26mIBm1iwgrYtzdWsM3ZjqqzdN3T0PfGWpyFwCFKnKUV84p5YDw7a24cQag8OsrmUPn/s200/More.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309412346221080402" border="0" /></a>Ok, I think these are like 19 Rubles a pack, and poor people smoke them in America too, so I think that we all know just how disgusting they are. I also tried these whack-ass Pall Malls. They were in my price range back then:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_c-ZzFeCrqa1YL4zauAHSkGdCzcsxECPJpRTr632w0FkPMYXuMyZ9sl47_pmb-Rud9zU2CG6dEGpDCqHCpM3aqnbBmb2BR4zM66xtYYa-SoLza2IVR7UlbsLM6mdUp_5D4U6II-eD1PJ/s1600-h/Pall+Mall.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_c-ZzFeCrqa1YL4zauAHSkGdCzcsxECPJpRTr632w0FkPMYXuMyZ9sl47_pmb-Rud9zU2CG6dEGpDCqHCpM3aqnbBmb2BR4zM66xtYYa-SoLza2IVR7UlbsLM6mdUp_5D4U6II-eD1PJ/s200/Pall+Mall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309412847618804402" border="0" /></a> Ok, someone actually brought these to my house, so I'm not sure how much they are, but I guarantee that they were also cheap because the dude that brought them over is also broke. Again, gross. But, of course, this is all before I realized that I didn't know the meaning of the word "gross" yet.<br /><br />Oh, but these by the way, are 27 Rubles and not all that bad. I mean, they're more smokable than the fucking Pall Malls:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3P6zZCYIfC_xqC9qR-OCeawqHrolUdM0knBetb_md6g1K8vOZffsIvyFvuzXLxGcf5iSviHOnOwobBWxyri9OYhutf4XsvXQ1WpvVllFk4r2GaMsF_9amE-rLgTG6RvU7_1bq_Zy9NkNh/s1600-h/Russian+Style.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3P6zZCYIfC_xqC9qR-OCeawqHrolUdM0knBetb_md6g1K8vOZffsIvyFvuzXLxGcf5iSviHOnOwobBWxyri9OYhutf4XsvXQ1WpvVllFk4r2GaMsF_9amE-rLgTG6RvU7_1bq_Zy9NkNh/s200/Russian+Style.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309413508774628418" border="0" /></a> And at least they're made right here in Russia. And they've got the lovely name of "Russian Style". Yeah, because it's really stylish to smoke cigarettes that cost less than a dollar a pack. Still better than Mores.<br /><br />Ok, now just watch the following regress of smokes:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSt7WQBWFKeakHMH2aVK7fQQkY_inQgZYXTTnHXMNoJQK4AHjInbmZXeUN5X3CfJCnIqrHkdG1k-O-tfpTpWKUMs2NZoslvxqMzKxCgVdnaqPi46SLHzdaZGj5-9KdRv-DOShB-2bL42T/s1600-h/Prima.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 136px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSt7WQBWFKeakHMH2aVK7fQQkY_inQgZYXTTnHXMNoJQK4AHjInbmZXeUN5X3CfJCnIqrHkdG1k-O-tfpTpWKUMs2NZoslvxqMzKxCgVdnaqPi46SLHzdaZGj5-9KdRv-DOShB-2bL42T/s200/Prima.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309414436009056178" border="0" /></a> "Our Prima"? 9 Rubles<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbrYHByyOuqyP7U6NddSXA-wN35jcivSrvxnXe4_aapEWvVBBxHtkTLQHX2IG5QHbaPlh_dpbCRxVSN6EeJsQVJH-HpjvUD8AIUvo8baeKqrORvI8vgZ8rMMAZ8jy6RJBljesGr3ql0eZ/s1600-h/CCCP.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 136px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbrYHByyOuqyP7U6NddSXA-wN35jcivSrvxnXe4_aapEWvVBBxHtkTLQHX2IG5QHbaPlh_dpbCRxVSN6EeJsQVJH-HpjvUD8AIUvo8baeKqrORvI8vgZ8rMMAZ8jy6RJBljesGr3ql0eZ/s200/CCCP.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309414949201858674" border="0" /></a>Yeah, these are real. 9 Rubles a pack. The USSR is alive and well, and polluting my lungs.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDteS2KgWUBxICgRs6o_YvE0qIrAeAor8xtCWtwEUtk5BMKqyap1oFEefEo5hZpDpyxpd4ftLFaVPFqU2mERraFwDz4uDPvbYvPxFlVUiPsMo9Oom-_h4hbDNbLaxwkHEGUIWReqYPAABB/s1600-h/Alliance.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 139px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDteS2KgWUBxICgRs6o_YvE0qIrAeAor8xtCWtwEUtk5BMKqyap1oFEefEo5hZpDpyxpd4ftLFaVPFqU2mERraFwDz4uDPvbYvPxFlVUiPsMo9Oom-_h4hbDNbLaxwkHEGUIWReqYPAABB/s200/Alliance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309416280373164770" border="0" /></a>These, I don't even know what the fuck hole these crawled out from under, or how much they cost, but they were disgusting. Someone brought them to my house. I think they're like 10 Rubles though. Just so everyone understands, 30 Rubles is like a Dollar. So do the math. "Alliance"? What are they the alliance of? Everything that lives in the bog of eternal stench?<br /><br />And finally, I had to hit rock bottom:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWm4R2OJxUwbFLf6Cu2V2gFH4ZLCPxfy4-2Fp2Pp-pEpTwyN6UwEkoOg4rtPk595DYJlSFC-AdJfV0VjK03OWmsWbQoixoLGOFYs2vVTD1Q007Ej2pxKUYkDNoe1ZDqNG4Y7Pw1wstAoj/s1600-h/Belomorkanal.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWm4R2OJxUwbFLf6Cu2V2gFH4ZLCPxfy4-2Fp2Pp-pEpTwyN6UwEkoOg4rtPk595DYJlSFC-AdJfV0VjK03OWmsWbQoixoLGOFYs2vVTD1Q007Ej2pxKUYkDNoe1ZDqNG4Y7Pw1wstAoj/s200/Belomorkanal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309416952675624338" border="0" /></a>BelamorKanal. 6 Rubles a pack. These are not cigarettes. They're <span style="font-style: italic;">papirosii. </span>I don't know the English word for this, but these bitches have been around forever, I'm pretty sure that the price hasn't changed since 1924, and also that while there may not have been food in Leningrad during the Blockade of '41, they did have these. So I'm basically smoking wartime blockade cigarettes. On the up side, the tobacco is actually pure. On the down side, they're so harsh that it's not unlike smoking exhaust fumes. Here's another picture just so you can see what a <span style="font-style: italic;">papirosa</span> actually looks like:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX5HOiOORtu6B1_PIks50VA3f20SN-s3WPsyiT6GsYSBBLTRUJKg-xfU1Ishw71sRJngg61avae2U8oTVzqGMLwQmM6Xwn3N08l-F2bA6CXk29INixt6OLJzXt-Apev3UOpm3NfD0KsoIv/s1600-h/Belomorkanal2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX5HOiOORtu6B1_PIks50VA3f20SN-s3WPsyiT6GsYSBBLTRUJKg-xfU1Ishw71sRJngg61avae2U8oTVzqGMLwQmM6Xwn3N08l-F2bA6CXk29INixt6OLJzXt-Apev3UOpm3NfD0KsoIv/s200/Belomorkanal2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309418267616791970" border="0" /></a><br /></div>One third of this thing is tobacco, and the other 2 thirds are not a filter, but rather just some rolled up cardboard to make the ride smoother.<br /><br />So yesterday, I got fed up with it all and bought these:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnJP2XFQbUCJaEh0iI7JPUKcF1HLz1C1dLPZIwhVsPA5D79qr9wP3izs7uYKk1qkF027_l7Yi70iVuJNWO0_ZL81n0VZqnuCjTXQejtjSFwjkQExctMudsOXH9KDYntesYvJRAXimzJfo/s1600-h/Rich.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnJP2XFQbUCJaEh0iI7JPUKcF1HLz1C1dLPZIwhVsPA5D79qr9wP3izs7uYKk1qkF027_l7Yi70iVuJNWO0_ZL81n0VZqnuCjTXQejtjSFwjkQExctMudsOXH9KDYntesYvJRAXimzJfo/s200/Rich.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309418890710594354" border="0" /></a> That's right. I bought "Rich" cigarettes. Fuck it! They're brown and PINSTRIPED, like a rich man's pants, and taste like apples. They were 39 Rubles, so I can't afford another pack, but after smoking the USSR and Prima and Alliance and some random Canal, I figured I owed it to myself to be rich for a day.<br />And that ends our tour of just how poor Plusha can get, as can be demonstrated by the cigarettes that she smokes.<br />Have a good evening folks. Enjoy your fancy expensive dollar-bought cigarettes. Hey, at least I can smoke almost anywhere I want, such as cafes and bars, and my job. So there!<br /></div></div>Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5663651593875087514.post-40216908389723080842009-03-02T05:14:00.000-08:002009-03-02T05:45:13.249-08:00OH MY GOD I HATE THIS FUCKING PLACE!!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYSWQp0QtTwI3gc94c0xHWLRSAPKDIKWZK2nDWR6DuZpez-uAvyJC70pcGYnHtabeo7nUVVMmXSssJh6NAqaBBLLicgsbu-JFPWmxPM1-EYnLCM5XBJcDO0nbePYo7JgwPkHLYFl972Sx/s1600-h/Frustration.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYSWQp0QtTwI3gc94c0xHWLRSAPKDIKWZK2nDWR6DuZpez-uAvyJC70pcGYnHtabeo7nUVVMmXSssJh6NAqaBBLLicgsbu-JFPWmxPM1-EYnLCM5XBJcDO0nbePYo7JgwPkHLYFl972Sx/s200/Frustration.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308586033520232450" border="0" /></a>Dear friends,<br />I hope that everything is going fabulously over there in the civilized world of America. Here, things have taken a rather depressing turn for me.<br />So yesterday was the first official day of Spring. Yay Spring! I've officially weathered out a full winter in this frozen hellhole. But what does this mean for me? Motherfucking nothing! That's what...<br />It's still cold and covered in ice. There's still no sunshine.<br /><br /><br />And last night, there was, once again, no goddamn internet. And why was there no internet you may ask yourself? Because the one lonely dude (rip-off con-artist motherfucker) that provides me with this valuable service, neglected to tell me the last time that I paid him for it, that I also owe him an extra 900 rubles. Now, 900 rubles may not seem like a lot. It's actually nothing when translated into dollars. But you know when it is a lot? When it's the end of the month, you've only got 1,500 rubles to your name because your loving mother decided to borrow 2 grand from you yesterday, and payday ain't for another 2 weeks. That's when 900 rubles is a whole lot of money. I could have lived on that shit for a week. This asshole just took cigarettes and food out of my mouth. And all because he decided to not tell me about this earlier, back when I actually had money. I hate him. And on top of all this, to pay for the internet, I had to go to this special ATM terminal type machine that accepts payments.<br /><br />Now, these machines are all over the city, but only some of them accept payment for some of the companies. And yes, con-artist was nice enough to let me look at a listing of the ATM terminals that accept payments for my particular internet, online. But I'm not so fucking street savvy here to actually know where terminal 171 on Vladimirsky house # 17 is located. So I keep calling this guy on the phone all morning, while wondering around the frozen tundra, looking for a usable terminal. Finally, we have this conversation:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">me:</span> Hello, it's me again. Look, I'm at Vladimirsky house "17, but I don't see this terminal anywhere. Could you be a bit more specific as to where it's located exactly? Is it in a store?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">con-artist:</span> Probably...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">me:</span> Well, do you know what store it's in?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">con-artist:</span> No, just em, just look around for it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">me:</span> Guy, I'm from another country and your list is very complicated. This is very difficult for me. Can't you help me out?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">con-artist:</span> Yes, well, it's very difficult for all of us right now.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">me:</span> (totally about to loose my shit on this guy) Where are you right now? Why don't I just come over to where you are and pay you in cash?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">con-artist:</span> (fully understanding that if I find out where he's located, unlike the terminal, I'm going to come over and punch him in the face) Ah, no no. I only accept payments through the terminal. Don't come over here.<br /><br />Fucker!!!<br /><br />Finally, completely by accident I found the right terminal. I'm still going to find out where this guy's office is and maybe he'll find a burning bag of shit on his doorstep or something. I'm not above that kind of thing after living here for 4 months.<br /><br />On top of all this, I think that all of the morning wandering around the tundra has made me catch cold. Again, I hate this place and don't recommend that anyone come here without a whole assload of dollars, a doberman, a fur coat, and a fucking gun. (The gun is just to shoot into the air when you get frustrated by all the amenities here).<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWuytFf4hqKVN4KuJIka7eQnuhlQBcC0ngQHuRitvMU4YN-Du7Oc1Uwd3iRNsRHuVrJNrgK_3umi8Q1_8Psfi7m71DqjkeWftdHdlOHwhyphenhyphenM9sNzjd3zGElRcON3iQGV82H2b8S1aEN1CJL/s1600-h/tundra.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWuytFf4hqKVN4KuJIka7eQnuhlQBcC0ngQHuRitvMU4YN-Du7Oc1Uwd3iRNsRHuVrJNrgK_3umi8Q1_8Psfi7m71DqjkeWftdHdlOHwhyphenhyphenM9sNzjd3zGElRcON3iQGV82H2b8S1aEN1CJL/s320/tundra.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308584999479701218" border="0" /></a></div>Plushahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12067126387245717364noreply@blogger.com0