Hello Jews! Hello Fashists! (FYI, Two Seperate Groups)

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.

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 chel 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...

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.

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:

Rabbi: God so mad was at Egyptian he (gibberish in yiddish to determine the next word)
Member of the audience: fucked up
Rabbi: yes thanks to you for your helps. Yes, God so mad at Egyptian he fucked up the lambs that was his first.
Followed by all 150 Russian jew bastards giggling their asses off.

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.

That very weekend, we went to Ch P. The bar is really called Chort Poberi, but Russians have some weird thing with not saying Chort which means "Devil." Apparently if you say his name, he might show up and eat your eyeballs or something. Whatever...
So anyway, there we are at Ch P when who should we see sitting right across from us? Three whole Fashists. They immediately noticed us and we heard words such as "Shidovachki" (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.

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.

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.

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.

So, first Jews, then Fashists. I'd have to say that honestly, the fashists were more fun.

Gogol's Birthday and Spring is Here (But not reaaally)

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.
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.

So here's my moms in a costume.

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 chel 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.

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!

And here's what it looks like.

Anygogol, here's me at the fantabulous (sarcasm) celebration. Happy Birthday Comrade Gogol!

Plusha Loses her Shit Russian Style Thanks to her No-Good Expat Friends

Dear friends,

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.

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.
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!

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.
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:

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?)

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!!!
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.
Shit, at least I got all of my laundry done...

Cleaned Up!!!

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:

To this:

So yeah, I guess at least on the outside I'm "better". Still, the trauma, the trauma...
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.

All Better (But not Reeeeaaaalllyyyy)

Wow. Just wow.
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?

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:

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.

2. cold sore. Nuff said. This shit is irritating and uglifying. So I can't show my face in public until it goes away.

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.

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.

So now I look like the bitch pictured above, and I kind of hate this place again. Even though I'm finally all better.

Oh, happy belated St. Patrick's Day everybody.

Damn Epidemic!!! or (Any Day Now I Expect to Reanimate as a Zombie)

Dear friends,
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!

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 Narod. Did I mention the cold sore? Yeah, you get one of those too as a nasty little present from this "epidemic." Thanks Russian epidemic!

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.

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.

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.

Gradations of my Poorness as Demonstrated by Cigarettes

Dear friends,

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 chel 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.

Ok, so when I first got here, I was smoking these:
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.
I also smoked the occasional expensive cigarillos. Or little cigars such as these:

These are 400 Rubles a box.

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.

When I got a bit poorer, I couldn't afford the 120 Ruble a pack deal anymore, so I switched to these:

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.

But then, I got even more poor and started experimenting with slightly cheaper alternatives.
Here they are:
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!

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.

Shit was I fucking wrong.

So next, I had to move down to the 20 to 30 Ruble range. Here's what you can get for that:

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.

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:
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.

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:
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.

Ok, now just watch the following regress of smokes:

"Our Prima"? 9 Rubles
Yeah, these are real. 9 Rubles a pack. The USSR is alive and well, and polluting my lungs.
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?

And finally, I had to hit rock bottom:
BelamorKanal. 6 Rubles a pack. These are not cigarettes. They're papirosii. 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 papirosa actually looks like:

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.

So yesterday, I got fed up with it all and bought these:

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.
And that ends our tour of just how poor Plusha can get, as can be demonstrated by the cigarettes that she smokes.
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!