I Just Discovered One of the Worst Ways to Wake Up. Ever.

Last night I was kind of having a hard time nodding off, but finally, finally, I started to doze. I was just in that place between asleep and awake, nuzzled in that nook in the guy's chest that girls love so much...I can practically count down to a nice, needed sleep...gently drifting off...feeling lighter... letting go....5...4...3...2...

WHAP!

Somehow, in his unconsciousness, The Limey manages, half-closed fist, to box me in the ear. He's got more than a little experience in boxing and martial arts, so asleep or not...
A one in a million shot. And he was absolutely horrified when I told him.

I had to tell him, because I woke him up laughing so hard.

He insists that he was probably having dreams of Eurovision Weekend.

What is Eurovision you ask?

Why it is the single greatest, gayest, glitteriest, campiest spectacle held this side of the Atlantic. And I got a crash-course this weekend, since it was held in Moscow this year.

My recap isn't done yet, but I'll post it when it is.

In the meantime, here's a taste of what you can expect to hear about:



On an unrelated note: Doesn't Liberace suddeny remind you of the Marlboro Man?

This Tour of my Apartment Guest-Blogged by The Count

Velcome Cheeldren!

Apartments for rent in Moscow are usually furnished.

This means that every lucky renter automatically gets dishes, a television from the eighties, a single bed, and at least one--ONE!--gigantic wall unit capable of hiding an entire family of smuggled immigrants.

But Kira and Larissa also got a few extras! And what fun extras they are!

Count with me now!

ONE! ONE TEAPOT! AH-HA-HA!

NOW...

TEN! TEN TEAPOTS! AH-HA-HA!!!

They also have three water pitchers and seven wall units.

But they had to buy their own butter knives.

**This post has been brought to you by the letter "L", the number "10", my landlord Nikolai, and the good people at Pepski-Cola!

Because Things Always Make This Much Sense in Russia

Using free internet in a restaurant.

I ordered a beer, then tacked on a pack of smokes, which they brought with a lighter which I did not ask for. Then I get the bill.

The total is 320 roubles.

The number on the top is 200 ru for the beer.

The zero rouble charge? Why the cigarettes are free!

But the 120? That's for the lighter.

To clarify, I just bought a 5$ lighter. But the (2$) smokes were completely complimentary!

I think I just got had, but am too pumped about the free smokes to care.

Consumer Psychology: Letting People Screw You Since 1955.

Worth the Price of Admission

Last Sunday I was playing football (soccer) in the park with some Expat friends. Okay, no, they were playing and I was barefoot because my heels would have sunk into the grass. But I digress.

We get to the end of the afternoon and are drinking beer on the grass, when we are approached by militsiya. In Russian, they tell us that it is illegal to drink beer on the grass where we are (elsewhere on the grass, yes, just not here.) We're 99.9% sure it is not. But in proper expat fashion, we all "don't speak Russian." (Even though we all pretty much do.) But they tell us we are in trouble in Russian, and we tell them we don't understand in English.

And so there we are in what basically amounts to a game of linguistic chicken. Because we can't challenge their authority without admitting we speak Russian, and they know that they have no authority to speak of in this situation. It's a catch 22. All they are lloking for is a small bribe, and in order to give it to them and walk away happily, all we have to do is turn over next to nothing in cash (because even though we may not have been doing anything illegal, they could always SAY we were doing something else...)

This would be upsetting if it weren't so funny. At one point, one of the cops (after making the intenational finger-and-thumb rubbing sign for "bribe") had the balls to use his limited English and say "Hah. Russia police!" and laugh. And believe me, we were all laughing.

The Cop: "Beer! So--" (makes the money-motion)

Me: (with feigned innocence)"What are you saying? You'd like us to buy you a beer?"

OR

The Cop: You drinked beer!

My Limey: Yes

(Edwina the Aussie slaps him on the arm)

My Limey: I mean, No.

OR

Mya: "These beers? They aren't ours-- these are rubbish. We were just cleaning up after other people who were drinking beer, that's all."

Imagine much of this going back and forth, and you can see how the situation was funny.

In the end, their patience with the back-and-forth outlasted ours, and we did end up paying them.

Total cost to bribe two militsiya and make them lay off five foreigners?

300 rubles.

12 lousy bucks.

The best part is, they didn't want to take any of our small bills. Because that would have been tacky, right?

Worth every penny for a good twenty minutes of entertainment that you can only find in Moscow.

IT'S A WAR!

Nah, not really. Tomorrow is "Victory Over Europe Day" in Russia. It commemerates the day that Germany surrendered*. Tomorrow there will be a parade etc all on theme, and the tanks have been practicing all week, running up and down Tverskaya, one of the busiest streets in Moscow.

You think that's weird? Yesterday, at midnight, we saw two random dudes in motorcycle jackets go past the window of our restaurant on horses.

Thanks to Ed for the sweet pics.

*In WWII. Since Germany was quite the stone-cold bastard for the first half of the 20th century, that may not have been clear.

Katie, You're Gonna Hate This

It is a carbonated beverage that tastes like барбарис, apparently called "barberries" in English, which I think are native only to this region. Barerries are naturally sour, but not in pop form. In pop form?

It tastes like Red Vines*. Aw yeah.

*I know I'm the only person who likes those. No need to point it out.