When Translation Problems...er...Rise

All names and identifying details in this story have been changed at the request of the individual who provided this story to the Expatella.

No Mum, this story is not about me.

So an English-speaking friend of mine, Mary, is dating a Russian man John, who speaks English well enough that they can converse fairly normally. A missing word here, a brief hesitation there, but by and large, they have managed to get past most major communication issues.

Recently, Mary and John began the physical phase of their relationship. One night, after a little too much champagne, it starts getting really hot. Thinking that she is not quite ready for this, Mary tries to slow things down a touch.

"Okay John," she tells him mid-makeout, "That's enough. You need to put on pants."

"Okay," John says, and begins to walk across the room, away from his pants on the floor. Just as Mary is about to ask what the Hell he is doing, he returns to the side of the bed, a box of condoms in hand.

"Here--I have some pants."

"Pants" is a pretty basic, low-level word. Just goes to show you that men the world round are never thinking of slowing things down. He heard "You need to put on..." and his brain shut down completely.

I am certain that the ensuing laughter out of Mary was more than enough to cool things down.

Banana Condoms and Banana Oatmeal---Do Not Mix Up the Packages...

In news surprisingly relevant to my Russian departure: I am HIV free!

Yes, in a report sure to please all past, present, and potential lovers of Larissa Supleve, my HIV test has come back negative (in a good way). "Why the Hell is this bitch posting such irritatingly personal information", you ask? Why it’s because the Russian government demands that I supply certified documentation of a recent HIV test with my visa application. It does not specifically say that said test must be negative, but I can't get in without it. No explanation is given on the website, but if anyone has a suggestion as to why I needed this, feel free to offer it.

Thankfully, you can get an instant test done. It's like taking a pregnancy test with that same instant anxiety but way more pricking your finger. Honestly, I was impressed. Except for the part where some jerkoff in the waiting room stole my fucking ipod. I know what you're thinking: "Who'd have thought anybody capable of thievery would be hanging out in a free clinic?" Well I am just as shocked as you are. And one ipod lighter. Then again, the nurses at the clinic did practically force me to take home about ninety-five condoms, so I guess I'm breaking even. Seriously, I have a ton. There is no way I can fuck my way through all these. I don't even know what to do with them. I've just been handing them out to people I know--like if you've run onto me within the past five days, there is an excellent chance that you are now carrying a banana-flavoured extra-sensitive rubber. You're welcome.

In other tasty news, did you know that oatmeal is not just a breakfast food? Nope, you can eat oatmeal anytime, at any meal. I should know. After my rent and all my applications to leave the country were paid (and mailed express), I have been left with a ridiculous daily food budget.

At least my condom expenses have dropped.

To ease the cost of groceries, instant oatmeal has become the staple of my daily diet (along with this Big Gulp filled with scotch of course). It’s only ten cents per off-brand packet. Of course, the key is off-brand: those corrupt capitalist fat cats over at Quaker seem to think that they can charge twenty--pfft. I'm no sucker. But don’t worry-I also eat peanut butter out of the jar, so my diet really remains quite balanced. Much like a World Vision child, I can be fed for as little as fifty cents per day! Who knew? And if I expect to have the money for an international move, this is all necessary. As to whether I’ll have the strength to even board the plane, well, we’ll see.

(As an aside on the topic of oatmeal: what the Hell is this lady feeding to her kids? I’m no parent, but should you be putting Oreos and Pop Rocks in a child’s breakfast?)