Bad Habits

Technically, Mike isn't a bad habit. Mike is great. The bad habit I am referring to is our tendency to get shit faced when we are together. I think he's funny when drunk, he thinks I'm hilarious, I think he's terribly clever, and that's how we end up on Tverskaya at midnight trashed arguing over how Paris is amazing (even though I've never been) and how if he slaps my ass one more time I will kick him in the balls. I know these don't sound like actual arguments but you don't understand. Mike and I don't care. We will easily argue for hours even though we are both arguing the same thing. It's quite charming really. Or aggravating. Mostly charming though.

We met up earlier today, we wandered around near my house, then it started to rain, so we left his friends and went back to my house. I attempted to prove my culinary proficiency by cooking blini, which I managed to burn. I mean sure I make this dish EVERY single day for myself but of course when I have to cook it for someone else I get distracted and burn them. Making Mike look at them with hesitation. Fuck off. Stop looking so unenthusiastic they are amazing! Which they were. He admitted it. It's true. Btw I am totally aware that this blog isn't going to make any sense because I am still quite drunk, but if I write it later I'll forget shit. You know?

So we ate the Blini and then spent two hours drinking two boxes of wine and watching Youtube videos. Aka my favorite thing to do. EVER. It was great. Except for that part where Mike elbowed me in the boobs. That wasn't that great. That hurt. Fuck you.

The we went out. To Tverskaya. I think our plan was to find a bar, but we never ended up doing that. No no I mean we were in a bar. I peed in a bar. Not like in THE BAR though. I went to the bathroom in one. We didn't really go in though, it was too expensive. The bathroom was IMPRESSIVE though. The mirror, it turned into a TV and played commercials. It would have been really cool if I didn't freak out and think it was an acid flashback. By the time I figured it out I was too embarrassed to stay in the bathroom any longer.

I am convinced that the best compliment you can give a girl is to tell her that she is light. No. Seriously. Or maybe just me. I have absolutely no idea how Wiley and I decided that me in his arms was a great photo opportunity (though I admit, I suspect it was my idea) but then when he told me I was light....awz. So charming. No really. It's not the same as saying a girl is skinny, if you say a girl is skinny, or looks good, well I mean it's a nice thing to say but at the same time it is referring to culturally determined standards of beauty. But being picked up by a boy and being told, "Wow you are really light!"... it's just so casually flattering. I mean it's not like he said I looked good or was attractive, it's just a statement about weight, that might actually refer to my unhealthy eating habits.. but fuck. It was nice to hear! Though clearly I have just determined that I have NO idea why I am so flattered.

I have pigtails.

Hehehe. Handlebars. Jesus. It sucks when you realize that your mind it dirtier than that of your male friends.

Oh Mathew!

This never fails to make me cry!

Good Morning To You Too!

I was awakened this morning when my wooden floor was turned into a tuning fork by my mother who from what I could deduce by the noises she was making, had climbed up onto the kitchen table and was banging on the ceiling with a large hammer. "WAKE UP MASHA WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP MASHA". Then there was silence. I waited a few minutes... there were no more sounds. I could not smell anything burning. So I went back to bed. More specifically into that particularly delicious half doze where I'm really aware of my lucid dreaming. So I was about right in that particular moment of the daydream where sexy things were about to happen... when it happens again. "MASHA GET UP! Did you hear me? Get up! Get up! It's almost one! We are going to be late!! GET UP! GET UP!". What the fuck?! What... I don't understand... what are we late for? What time is it? Did I sleep till five again? Nope. I checked my cellphone its 10:30 a.m. How is that almost one? Wait what time code are we going by? What are we late for? What's going on? I'm not quite sure, but I think I asked some of these questions out loud. I got no response. Everything was silent once more. I wait a few minutes. Nothing. I cautiously yell, "Hello?". No one answers. I wait a few more seconds, "I'm... I'm going to sleep for five more minutes...". No reply.

So I lay back down. In literally what seems like 3 minutes, my mother throws open the hatch door, and starts laying it on me. "You are so SELFISH! We are not going to make the train!! I am leaving WITHOUT you! I hope I never see you AGAIN! You are so LAZY!". With this she pounds back down the stairs and starts bitching to my grandmother about me.

Woah. Woah . Woah. What?

I throw on my clothes, I pack my bag, I go downstairs and in a very calm and mature tone I say "What the holy fuck is going on?!".

"We are going to miss the 11 a.m. train! You think it's more important to lie around being lazy!"

"What 11 a.m. train?!" (See how MAGNANIMOUSLY I ignore being called lazy)

"The one we decided we are taking this morning!" (This is the first I've heard of this "decision")

"When the FUCK did we decide this?!"

"Yesterday! Oh oh I see what you are doing, DON'T PLAY THIS GAME MASHA!"

(What game? What are you talking about? What are the rules? Are there rules? Whats the scoring system? Can I win?No? This game sounds like it SUCKS)

"WHAT. THE. FUCK!" ( Do not mess with me in the mornings. I am serious. I am not a nice person at all. Also very eloquent as you can tell)

"So NOW we have to wait till 1 pm since its 11 and the train leaves Dubna at 11 and gets here at 11:15 and we will never ever ever make it"

(Ok, first of all, we are like 10 minutes walk from the station. It is currently 10:55 pm. So instead of actually leaving, she has been yelling at me for the last 10 minutes. Just wanted to point out how my mothers logic works. I mean I suck at math, but... what the fuck?)

"WHAT THE FUCK!?! I am leaving. You can stay here. I think you are crazy. Oh and btw next time SHARE THESE FUCKING PLANS WITH ME!"

Then I made her race me to the train station. She has shorter legs but I'm sort of thankful she won just because it put her in a really good mood. Though I am not happy about falling into the mud at all. But sacrifices have to be made. She looks so cute and innocent too. So unlike the fucking insane harpy she really is. I should have just started singing "Mambo Italiano" and then could have avoided this fight completely. Though really it's hard fighting with someone who doesn't use any logic and just starts screaming. God.

Lost In Translation

It's my lovely lady lumps... Ok?




Maybe not in Russia. It's ok. It's ok. Don't look so confused. Try again. Sing something else.




Nice. Nice. Good Choice. I like your repertoire so far, "My Humps" and "There's something in my tummy, Oh Yeah". You must be really popular in kindergarten.

Not Sober

I can't believe I am not watching Fatboy Slim right now. This is ridiculous. Ridiculously NOT fair. Fuck. I am a level 3 tipsy, I am dressed for raging, and all I got to see is that stupid guy who was in Prodigy. True, the sneaking in was not done in a stealthy manner AT ALL but I got really excited about the prospect of being a bad ass! Then like 15 minutes later, and after guzzling like 4 sodas which turned out to be alcoholic, the security guards found us and we got kicked out. Well fuck! Whatever. I bet it was WICKED lame. So lame. The lamest. Except I'm pretty sure it's fucking AWESOME.

Reasons why I think it might be have been awesome and I am missing out:

1. This random drunk kid heard my accent and was like, "Oh! You American?! Tell the Bush, "You SUCK"! Ok?".

What Bush? Do you have some transatlantic hatred for an American ficus?

"Haha. Yeah yeah OK!"

What the fuck? What do you want me to do about it? Oh hold on, I share a telepathic tie with all American plant life. Let me just send a horde of bees to destroy that bush with my mind. Do you perhaps know where it is located? I mean latitude and longitude would be really great, but states are good too.

"No No, George Bush Suck! Yeah ok! OK American?"

Oh GEORGE Bush. Well then my telepathic ties are useless. Hold on let me send him a telegram. I mean if I was near a phone then really I would just call, but no no a telegram will work just fine. Or maybe when I get home I'll send an email. Or IM, you know if he's online. Yeah we're tight. Yeah all Americans have him on speed dial actually.

This could have lasted FOREVER! He had no idea what I was saying and would just reply "Haha Yeah! OK!" after everything I said and then string together more English words, creating even more bizare sentences that required extensive mockery. This was basically the face I was giving him the entire time. This is the face.

2. When Kostya was trying to flirt and pull me closer by dipping his finger in my cleavage my bra bit him. No. Really. That's what happens when unwanted hands try to touch my breasts. They are sort of like the sword in the stone. Only the worthy than pull it out. OH SNAP!! Hah. I didn't even mean to make that connection. That's so deep. It can be interpreted in so many ways. As in, pull out the penis. OR the boobs. Pushkin got NOTHIN' on me. Also I am more gangsta. Really what happened was that the underwire ripped through a little and scratched his finger. I have never seen a more baffled look on a boy. Then when his finger started bleeding and I told him the Sword in the Stone explanation he scrunched his eye brows together and for a few minutes... for a few glorious minutes during which gleeful satisfaction spread through my entire body... he believed me. Then he said he didn't but I saw him giving my boobs fearful side glances. I could have exploited his fear EVEN MORE!

3. Clearly the Russian alcohol industry has extended it's target demographic to young pre-teen girls, because that is the only thing that would explain why they would create alcoholic soda. Seriously. It's packaged in bright fun colors, the alcohol content label is not clearly visible and you can't taste the alcohol. Then you INNOCENTLY chug four of them in a row and find yourself belligerently trying to convince the security guards that you are Groove Armada. As in, first name Groove, last name Armada. This did not work. Neither did claiming to be Fatboy Slims girlfriend. Bastards. YOU DON'T KNOW. So then you end up outside, your arms wrapped around a birch tree, wondering why everything is spinning and whether maybe you are fainting.

This is how I found it they were alcoholic:

Kostya: Why are you hugging that tree?

Me: I like this tree. I like trees.

Kostya: Clearly. That's not how you climb it if that's what you are trying to do.

Me: Shh. Shhh. I might be fainting.

Kostya: What?

Me: Everything is getting dark.

Kostya: You closed your eyes.

Me: Oh.

Kostya: You are drunk

Me: Impossible. I didn't drink.

Kostya: You chugged those drinks I got you and they were like 8%.

Me: .... 8% of what? The sodas?

Kostya: They weren't sodas, they were like half vodka.

Me: ... vodka?

Bastard. He asked me if I wanted beer and I said "No, I don't wan't to DRINK. I am just THIRSTY". As in, I don't want to drink alcohol, I am thirsty. He thought I meant I didn't want beer, but something harder. Good god. How hardcore do you think I am? Jesus. He felt guilty and offered to buy wine and get drunk to keep me company. It didn't sound bad. Then he let me hold the wine bottle and that wasn't the greatest idea. I gesture OK?! I was telling the bear story and things got a little heated. Really it was his fault for buying red wine when I like white, and then on top of it wearing a light blue shirt. Also for not capping the wine. Also he hit on me so boo you. Then he went to shower, I promised him I would meet up with him later and went home.

Hey. Hey. Guess what. I'm not going to meet up with him later. Fuck that. I'm tricky like that. Tricky tricky tricky. I didn't take my mad nice camera to the show, so here are some old photos. Drunkity drunkity DRUNK.

Irony Of Fate

I Think About You When I Eat

I pout when you aren't online.