Don’t you just love a new fling in its early stages? The thrill every time you think of them? The little smiles remembering something funny they did that day? The way you take off from home, even on your days off, just to be with them, and stay out way too late because you just don‘t want the night to end? The way you gaze at them adoringly because you just can’t believe that this amazing creature is with you? Everything is new, everything is exciting, and you feel drunk and giddy all the time. The world can't touch you.
Well we’re past the first few meetings, and while things are still occasionally awkward as we try and get used to one another, I think it’s safe to say that our new relationship is really progressing.
Me and Moscow, that is.
Right now we’re in the taking-long-walks-together, “I want to know everything there is to know about you” stage. Its given me a pet name (I’m Loryk, here--the common nickname for Larissa). We’ve even come up with our own secret language: sparse Russian filled in with bits of Ukrainian and English words pronounced with a Russian accent (a remarkably ineffective form of communication, as it turns out).
Oh, we are so right there.
Though we got in our first spat today: a little kerfuffle where I couldn’t get into my office, and someone at the front desk lied about having the office extension number because she’s sick of dealing with me and my English-ness, and she was all excuses and eye rolls, but I can still tell you‘re lying, lady because I know that much Russian, even if I don‘t have the verbiage to back myself up and chew you out, but just you wait ‘til I get my permanent papers for building entry, because I am gonna walk by you everyday and wave it in your face you unhelpful, cantankerous, miserable…
Ahem.
But it was just a little spat, see. Me and Moscow, we’re patching it up. It’s all good. We’re getting some champagne tonight and hanging out with my roomie. By the way, that lovely bottle of Russian Shampanskoi goes for a whopping 5 bucks a bottle around here.
So this relationship could go one of two ways right now--either Moscow will become a serious soul mate of mine, or it will stop returning my calls and start sleeping with my sister. Hopefully the first one.
Me and Moscow, that is.
Right now we’re in the taking-long-walks-together, “I want to know everything there is to know about you” stage. Its given me a pet name (I’m Loryk, here--the common nickname for Larissa). We’ve even come up with our own secret language: sparse Russian filled in with bits of Ukrainian and English words pronounced with a Russian accent (a remarkably ineffective form of communication, as it turns out).
Oh, we are so right there.
Though we got in our first spat today: a little kerfuffle where I couldn’t get into my office, and someone at the front desk lied about having the office extension number because she’s sick of dealing with me and my English-ness, and she was all excuses and eye rolls, but I can still tell you‘re lying, lady because I know that much Russian, even if I don‘t have the verbiage to back myself up and chew you out, but just you wait ‘til I get my permanent papers for building entry, because I am gonna walk by you everyday and wave it in your face you unhelpful, cantankerous, miserable…
Ahem.
But it was just a little spat, see. Me and Moscow, we’re patching it up. It’s all good. We’re getting some champagne tonight and hanging out with my roomie. By the way, that lovely bottle of Russian Shampanskoi goes for a whopping 5 bucks a bottle around here.
So this relationship could go one of two ways right now--either Moscow will become a serious soul mate of mine, or it will stop returning my calls and start sleeping with my sister. Hopefully the first one.
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