Title= Current winner of my "Kickass Semi-fluency in English Graffiti"campaign.
I'm here. Today was our first day of classes. If by classes you mean godawful three hour long placement test and interview. Oh, and of course, my second HIV test in six months. Those of you who know me well know that needles+me = NOT GOOD TERMS. I was kind of hoping I'd totally lose it and pass out on them. No such luck.
I'm actually very pleased with the whole host family situation. Nice part of town, walking from our flat to the metro reminds me of Boston. No joke. Family includes the mom, two daughters, the 16 year old daughters boyfriend, and three cats. Not bad. My room is about the size of the one I shared in the village in Kostelec, and just a bit smaller than Masha's and I's in Akindom. So yea, fairly satisfied. I've got my three block radius from our building in every direction down pretty well, and now am attempting to move on to the other side of the river.
God I can't stand stupid americans. Hate. Shaking my angry fist just doesn't cut it. I've sworn at a couple in quick Russian and they just look befuddled. Yes, I'm an ass.
Riana- I met a muy simpatico bonito mejicano. You'd be very impressed.
Chris- God I love ya kid. Say the word and I'll beat her up.
J- Every time I pass a cathedral I think of you.
Basta.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Quotes
Quote of the day: Ben "Wait, they ahve animals here?!?" after happening upon a from while we were "exploring" (looking for the bar).
Well the freakish parrallels of my life and experiences continue. I made it back to the airport in one piece, and didn't even shell out half a kidney for the priviledge. Because I wasn't sure when precisely we were supposed to be meeting at the airport, I got there on the early end. By end I mean 6 hours. But it was fun, I read my book, and got to play spot the foreigner to my heart's content. Unfortunately, spot the foreigner usually implicates me. Off the rotation in my wardrobe for the duration include: flip-flops, sweatshirts, sneakers, and any sort of nonformfitting anything. Fabulous. Sometimes I really loath my perception capabilities, because after today, there is absolutely no excuse. After a few more hours (totatlly would have preferred hanging in the city, a la AFS) one of the leaders showed up and hearded us to the busses. Much to my irony, it was the exact same busses that I loathed and loved in Hradec way back when. SO we exchangers pilled in the bus, mingled awkwardly, and promptly all passed out for most of the two hour ride out to the boondockis. OK, so this place is totally several steps up from Cheznovice and the crazy boys, but the resemblances are eery. Substitute boys for hoards of babushkas, and you're good to go.
The kids seem pretty nice, but again, trying not to fall into that trip. Its interesting seeing who personality wise fall sinto which group, and who actually endevours to speak russian. As usual, I feel like I'll fall into place with the guys more than the girls, but we'll see.
I walked in the Finnish gulf today. As in, the gulf of Finland. How absolutely absurd is that ?!?
Damn it I haven't even started yet and I want to stay longer
Well the freakish parrallels of my life and experiences continue. I made it back to the airport in one piece, and didn't even shell out half a kidney for the priviledge. Because I wasn't sure when precisely we were supposed to be meeting at the airport, I got there on the early end. By end I mean 6 hours. But it was fun, I read my book, and got to play spot the foreigner to my heart's content. Unfortunately, spot the foreigner usually implicates me. Off the rotation in my wardrobe for the duration include: flip-flops, sweatshirts, sneakers, and any sort of nonformfitting anything. Fabulous. Sometimes I really loath my perception capabilities, because after today, there is absolutely no excuse. After a few more hours (totatlly would have preferred hanging in the city, a la AFS) one of the leaders showed up and hearded us to the busses. Much to my irony, it was the exact same busses that I loathed and loved in Hradec way back when. SO we exchangers pilled in the bus, mingled awkwardly, and promptly all passed out for most of the two hour ride out to the boondockis. OK, so this place is totally several steps up from Cheznovice and the crazy boys, but the resemblances are eery. Substitute boys for hoards of babushkas, and you're good to go.
The kids seem pretty nice, but again, trying not to fall into that trip. Its interesting seeing who personality wise fall sinto which group, and who actually endevours to speak russian. As usual, I feel like I'll fall into place with the guys more than the girls, but we'll see.
I walked in the Finnish gulf today. As in, the gulf of Finland. How absolutely absurd is that ?!?
Damn it I haven't even started yet and I want to stay longer
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Day One
Well, day one. I guess just being here, at least for the moment, is just about all I can ask. In the 12 hours or so that I' ve been here, I've had enough adventures and screw ups to satisfy me for a while. By the same token, that old exhiliration is pulsing smoothly again, and maybe I can put all this unease behind me for a while. My emotions are so much different this time around, its consistantly surprising. I feel like I should rename or atleast rededicate this journal to everyone that has grown so important to me in the past three years since I last fled the country, it is them I think about as I walk the streets, composing. Everything reminds me of conversations I've had, arguments, discussions. We always figured we had it easy, way back when in Czech, because just falling into that life meant no one expected anything of you. More so than just that, three years ago I was very much running away, very much alone, and very very very naive. Now I know better, but now I have no excuse. All day today I've been watching my actions in split screen, step by step overlaid with that first discovery back in Prague and New York. Definitly had several oh fuck kick me moments, defininitly had some stupid choices, and some serious resentment of having to deal with everything myself, versus getting blissfully led through all this entry bullshit. My actual language facility has already prooved both holey and oh so useful. I got taken for a ride in an unmarked cab coming from the airport. This I expected, but by the same token I'm not sure what I could have done differently. According to the girl at the reception desk here in the hotel I paid atleast double what I should have. Sitting there, I just wished I would've had the balls to take the marshytka or the electrichka train to the metro, atleast then I wouldn't have felt so ridiculously helpless. A good reminder, I guess. I've given myself today to wallow in my American-ness, hide in the room all day, eat in a restaurant, wear sweatpants, etc. Tommorow begins the assimilation.
Though I'm slightly resenting the responsibility that comes with having a decent handle on the language, I'm rapidly remembering the uses of linguistic proficiency. Tonight after I'd eaten in the restaurant at the hotel, I realized I probably didn't have enough rubles to pay the cab back to the airport in the morning. So I went back down to the desk to find out where I could change the rest of my euros. The girl I had talked to earlier wasn't there, so I asked the security guard. I started in English, but soon switched to Russian once he started answering. I guess I didn't quite catch all the directions (yea, how notoriously my brain turns off after the first five minutes of important information), because I ended up wandering around the metro station for about half an hour. Finally I gave up, and found myself back at the hotel near in tears. After further consultation, with both the guard and the girl, I figured out where the misunderstanding was (this whole conversation was in Russian, mind you) and was just about to set out again, when the guard offered to drive me. I was so blown away. But that kindness would definitly never have happened if I'd been speaking English. Never.
Enough. More masochistic adventures tommorow. Bring it.
Though I'm slightly resenting the responsibility that comes with having a decent handle on the language, I'm rapidly remembering the uses of linguistic proficiency. Tonight after I'd eaten in the restaurant at the hotel, I realized I probably didn't have enough rubles to pay the cab back to the airport in the morning. So I went back down to the desk to find out where I could change the rest of my euros. The girl I had talked to earlier wasn't there, so I asked the security guard. I started in English, but soon switched to Russian once he started answering. I guess I didn't quite catch all the directions (yea, how notoriously my brain turns off after the first five minutes of important information), because I ended up wandering around the metro station for about half an hour. Finally I gave up, and found myself back at the hotel near in tears. After further consultation, with both the guard and the girl, I figured out where the misunderstanding was (this whole conversation was in Russian, mind you) and was just about to set out again, when the guard offered to drive me. I was so blown away. But that kindness would definitly never have happened if I'd been speaking English. Never.
Enough. More masochistic adventures tommorow. Bring it.
Monday, August 22, 2005
OH FUCK.
"Stuff your eyes with wonder. Live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream paid for in factories. Ask no guarantees, ask for no security, there never was such an animal. And if there were, it would be related to the great sloth which hangs upside down in a tree all day every day, sleeping its life away. To hell with that! Shake the tree and knock the great sloth down on his ass." - Ray Bradbury
Quote of the day. Not sure why, 'cept that I'm tired, and that much anticipated oh fuck freak out moment is rapidly approaching. The day (my last in this country for a while) is breaking down something like this:
- Breakfast with Tickle Boy (yes. you earned yourself a new name)
- Run to school to get rid of several pounds of tomatoes to band staff, give out my address to any and all assembled
- Another Target run (return extra camera case, attempt to get my watch shortened, general forgetful mayhem)
- More errands
- Pick up pants from cleaners
- Mall for memory card, mayhap take two of watch repair
- Stuffing bags full of crap
- Laundry
- Stuffing more bags full of crap
- Meeting Fraddy for last minute consoling/bitching/god I adore that man
- Attempting to make bread with Mommy. Dunno, but it sounded cool.
- Last dinner with my family
- More laundry
- More stuffing bags
- Tea with most adorable wise church lady (she asked.)
- More stuffage
- Charge the ipod
- Pack plane bag
- Repack plane bag, remembering that I'm now officially on a terrorist watch list. Try not to be an idiot, smartass, or inviting (for that story just ask)
- Perchance sleep some
Flights leaving tommorow from Reagan National (it frightens me how many people in this area don't even remember it before it was Reagan, and just plain national airport. OK so maybe I do have a bit of the native pride in me. Just a bit) at 12, so we'll probably head out around 10ish. I will do my best to actually sleep.
So much irrational nostalgia right now. I scare my self. So much is just the same as my last departure three years ago, like exactly. But so much is so very very different. My mind can't switch gears fast enough.
Quote of the day. Not sure why, 'cept that I'm tired, and that much anticipated oh fuck freak out moment is rapidly approaching. The day (my last in this country for a while) is breaking down something like this:
- Breakfast with Tickle Boy (yes. you earned yourself a new name)
- Run to school to get rid of several pounds of tomatoes to band staff, give out my address to any and all assembled
- Another Target run (return extra camera case, attempt to get my watch shortened, general forgetful mayhem)
- More errands
- Pick up pants from cleaners
- Mall for memory card, mayhap take two of watch repair
- Stuffing bags full of crap
- Laundry
- Stuffing more bags full of crap
- Meeting Fraddy for last minute consoling/bitching/god I adore that man
- Attempting to make bread with Mommy. Dunno, but it sounded cool.
- Last dinner with my family
- More laundry
- More stuffing bags
- Tea with most adorable wise church lady (she asked.)
- More stuffage
- Charge the ipod
- Pack plane bag
- Repack plane bag, remembering that I'm now officially on a terrorist watch list. Try not to be an idiot, smartass, or inviting (for that story just ask)
- Perchance sleep some
Flights leaving tommorow from Reagan National (it frightens me how many people in this area don't even remember it before it was Reagan, and just plain national airport. OK so maybe I do have a bit of the native pride in me. Just a bit) at 12, so we'll probably head out around 10ish. I will do my best to actually sleep.
So much irrational nostalgia right now. I scare my self. So much is just the same as my last departure three years ago, like exactly. But so much is so very very different. My mind can't switch gears fast enough.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Confession
To be honest, I kinda dig it.
Yea. So there.
I both loathed and adored band camp for my three years of American High School because, well, because of the power it had over me. I grew so ensconced with the people, with the motions of it, with the unifying of everyone towards the one goal. I loved bonding with all the crazy kids, out on the marching field, rep after rep, in the sun, in the fog, in the hail, in the thunder storms. I loved working so endlessly, working so productively. I really loved the weekend trips to competitions (band busses full of band kids...what you know is truer than you think.) I grew to trust our director more than I trust my own father. Then, when I found myself betrayed by those very same people, I think some of that sadness just rubbed off on the activity by association. Senior year I resented being in our marching band, because it was such a far cry from the band I'd grown to know and love, the work ethic, the pure torture of a very competitive ensemble getting ready for a very competitive season. Sometimes I look back and think maybe it was just me. Maybe I was just scared shitless of all my drummer guys freshman year. Maybe sophomore year I was just scared. Maybe thats why everything else seemed so intimidating and overblown in comparison. But if nothing else, marching band was the focus of my high school, more so than foreign languages, more so than sports by far. And band camp, the whole glorious hell that is the two weeks prior to the first day of school, was the heart of the experience.
When I heard what was happening this year, how basically, everyone in charge of everything by some act of god through no fault of their own is seriously incapacitated and can't come to instruct, my first response was pity. And than quickly laughter. Insert one of those Nelson giant "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAAA" here. But most of all, I felt bad that it had come to this, two new instructors, which ever graduates they can sweet talk into coming to tech on the field, and for the moment, me running pit. Yea, I cursed alot of my time that I spent in the highschool music department. But it also played a big part in making me who I am today, both good and bad. I guess the easiest way to explain schizophrenic change of heart- I feel bad. And I feel like I owe it to the man and the place that gave me so much. I can say, without a doubt, without music, I never would have made it through highschool alive.
So here I am. Spending 8 hours a day of my last week in country working at Marching Band Camp. Trying to teach a bunch of munchkins their show, in less than 5 days. And honestly, I get the biggest kick out of being there. In the two days that I have been there, we've actually learned the whole opener of the show, the whole first piece. We wont mention its some twisted combonation of Paul Simon's "Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water", and someone else's "Pinball Fantasy". Yeaaaaaaaaaah 70's rock medley. But to my surprise, they actually sound decent. I feel like I'm the biggest fraud out there. We'll go through the music chunk by chunk, break the hard parts down, take the speed heinously slow, then move things quicker. Basically, everything I can possibly do to teach them this music. Now, having exhausted all the tricks of the trade I remember from way back when, I'm just making it up as I go along, just waiting for someone to call me on it. Sometimes I feel like life, destiny, most of my mentors, you name it, are all subversively pushing me in the direction of teaching. I keep fighting it, and they keep winning. Teaching swimming lessons, teaching czech, running rehearsals at school, tutoring with Russian. Why why why?
I dig it. I really do. And that surprises me...Today was awesome. We were outside all day long (I have the tan lines to prove it), just repping music while the band was setting drill and going through the motions. All in all, it was ridiculously unproductive activity, for those of us involved in the part of the marching band who don't march. But much to my surprise, we actually got stuff done. The girls just kept on working when everyone else was busy. They have most of their music to the first part of the show memorized. In my day, hah. Not likely. Far more than not likely. I'm the one that managed to fall asleep sitting under the marimba during band camp, while everyone was out on the field marching. So I'm totally floored by how well things are going, if still wondering when people are going to catch on that I haven't a fucking clue what I'm doing.
Why do the music and the language parts of my have to be in such constant and consistant opposition? Like, I'd be more than happy doing this for a good part of my life, music I mean. But I only feel like that when I'm in the middle of it. All summer long I was totally immersed in Russian, and thought I was happier than ever, wandering along by the beach muttering to myself.
Why can't I have both?
Yea. So there.
I both loathed and adored band camp for my three years of American High School because, well, because of the power it had over me. I grew so ensconced with the people, with the motions of it, with the unifying of everyone towards the one goal. I loved bonding with all the crazy kids, out on the marching field, rep after rep, in the sun, in the fog, in the hail, in the thunder storms. I loved working so endlessly, working so productively. I really loved the weekend trips to competitions (band busses full of band kids...what you know is truer than you think.) I grew to trust our director more than I trust my own father. Then, when I found myself betrayed by those very same people, I think some of that sadness just rubbed off on the activity by association. Senior year I resented being in our marching band, because it was such a far cry from the band I'd grown to know and love, the work ethic, the pure torture of a very competitive ensemble getting ready for a very competitive season. Sometimes I look back and think maybe it was just me. Maybe I was just scared shitless of all my drummer guys freshman year. Maybe sophomore year I was just scared. Maybe thats why everything else seemed so intimidating and overblown in comparison. But if nothing else, marching band was the focus of my high school, more so than foreign languages, more so than sports by far. And band camp, the whole glorious hell that is the two weeks prior to the first day of school, was the heart of the experience.
When I heard what was happening this year, how basically, everyone in charge of everything by some act of god through no fault of their own is seriously incapacitated and can't come to instruct, my first response was pity. And than quickly laughter. Insert one of those Nelson giant "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAAA" here. But most of all, I felt bad that it had come to this, two new instructors, which ever graduates they can sweet talk into coming to tech on the field, and for the moment, me running pit. Yea, I cursed alot of my time that I spent in the highschool music department. But it also played a big part in making me who I am today, both good and bad. I guess the easiest way to explain schizophrenic change of heart- I feel bad. And I feel like I owe it to the man and the place that gave me so much. I can say, without a doubt, without music, I never would have made it through highschool alive.
So here I am. Spending 8 hours a day of my last week in country working at Marching Band Camp. Trying to teach a bunch of munchkins their show, in less than 5 days. And honestly, I get the biggest kick out of being there. In the two days that I have been there, we've actually learned the whole opener of the show, the whole first piece. We wont mention its some twisted combonation of Paul Simon's "Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water", and someone else's "Pinball Fantasy". Yeaaaaaaaaaah 70's rock medley. But to my surprise, they actually sound decent. I feel like I'm the biggest fraud out there. We'll go through the music chunk by chunk, break the hard parts down, take the speed heinously slow, then move things quicker. Basically, everything I can possibly do to teach them this music. Now, having exhausted all the tricks of the trade I remember from way back when, I'm just making it up as I go along, just waiting for someone to call me on it. Sometimes I feel like life, destiny, most of my mentors, you name it, are all subversively pushing me in the direction of teaching. I keep fighting it, and they keep winning. Teaching swimming lessons, teaching czech, running rehearsals at school, tutoring with Russian. Why why why?
I dig it. I really do. And that surprises me...Today was awesome. We were outside all day long (I have the tan lines to prove it), just repping music while the band was setting drill and going through the motions. All in all, it was ridiculously unproductive activity, for those of us involved in the part of the marching band who don't march. But much to my surprise, we actually got stuff done. The girls just kept on working when everyone else was busy. They have most of their music to the first part of the show memorized. In my day, hah. Not likely. Far more than not likely. I'm the one that managed to fall asleep sitting under the marimba during band camp, while everyone was out on the field marching. So I'm totally floored by how well things are going, if still wondering when people are going to catch on that I haven't a fucking clue what I'm doing.
Why do the music and the language parts of my have to be in such constant and consistant opposition? Like, I'd be more than happy doing this for a good part of my life, music I mean. But I only feel like that when I'm in the middle of it. All summer long I was totally immersed in Russian, and thought I was happier than ever, wandering along by the beach muttering to myself.
Why can't I have both?
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Because I am More Than A Dork
Band Camp.
*Sigh*.
That is all there is to say.
'Cept that its funny, the director always swore hed get that last band camp back from me, the one I missed junior year.
*Sigh*.
That is all there is to say.
'Cept that its funny, the director always swore hed get that last band camp back from me, the one I missed junior year.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Summer Lessons
Уроки Лета
Я сижу на плаже сейчас пишая, когда я дольжна в конце учиться. Хотела я немношка подумать о том, что мне в этом летом было полезно. Вот что я придумала:
1. Никто и ничего нет как в первой гляде казались. Никого нет того человека, на которого они похоже, кроме того, когда ты попала ближе чем ты думала.
2. Туман нет совсем только тумана. Это не только недостатока сольнца, больше того туман есть присуствие горизонта, и сознание мальенких вещах. Очень лёгко я могу проводить несколько часов играя в отливе, больше чем на уроков.
3. Каждый день ходить нет совсем плохой, и даже на верху. Таким образом человек надо медленее ехать, и также медленее быть, больше смотреть на то, что рядом с тобой происходит. Я не управляю мир, и не буду никогда. Лучше стараться не быть беспокойна время, потому что не могу-ли я делать чтобы мениться его.
4. Крема на сольнце всегда каждым образом хорошо! Не важно кого-то дома нет, на каком-то настроение ты пропала, или что-нибудь больше, ЗАГОРАТЬ БЕЗ ОДЕЖДУ СОВСЕМ ПЛОХО!!! СОВСЕМ!
5. Всё однисительно. Всё всегда зависет от тебе, и больше того, от состояния. Не придумай, что будешь понимать. Может быть что да, будешь, и даже самый, что не будешь. Всё ровно, потому что всё однисительно. Лучше всего будет стараться слушать и слышать.
6. Отбегать из носталгии значет, что тем быстрее к тебе помяты приходят.
7. Иногда можешь пешком в море, но, обычно надо нерять.
Я до сих пор уверна, что програма была мне полезно, с всеми нашеми драмами ( придумала слово?) и всё. Ну, я ещё сначала безпокоиться...но я бы не обяснила от чево или о чём. На русском слово не знаю для...когда-то...когда ты только хочешь ездить и ездить и ездить...а не хочешь никогда нигде оставать. Так как неприятный или похоже на то. Я хочу начинать. Я уже терпеть ждать не могу!
Я сижу на плаже сейчас пишая, когда я дольжна в конце учиться. Хотела я немношка подумать о том, что мне в этом летом было полезно. Вот что я придумала:
1. Никто и ничего нет как в первой гляде казались. Никого нет того человека, на которого они похоже, кроме того, когда ты попала ближе чем ты думала.
2. Туман нет совсем только тумана. Это не только недостатока сольнца, больше того туман есть присуствие горизонта, и сознание мальенких вещах. Очень лёгко я могу проводить несколько часов играя в отливе, больше чем на уроков.
3. Каждый день ходить нет совсем плохой, и даже на верху. Таким образом человек надо медленее ехать, и также медленее быть, больше смотреть на то, что рядом с тобой происходит. Я не управляю мир, и не буду никогда. Лучше стараться не быть беспокойна время, потому что не могу-ли я делать чтобы мениться его.
4. Крема на сольнце всегда каждым образом хорошо! Не важно кого-то дома нет, на каком-то настроение ты пропала, или что-нибудь больше, ЗАГОРАТЬ БЕЗ ОДЕЖДУ СОВСЕМ ПЛОХО!!! СОВСЕМ!
5. Всё однисительно. Всё всегда зависет от тебе, и больше того, от состояния. Не придумай, что будешь понимать. Может быть что да, будешь, и даже самый, что не будешь. Всё ровно, потому что всё однисительно. Лучше всего будет стараться слушать и слышать.
6. Отбегать из носталгии значет, что тем быстрее к тебе помяты приходят.
7. Иногда можешь пешком в море, но, обычно надо нерять.
Я до сих пор уверна, что програма была мне полезно, с всеми нашеми драмами ( придумала слово?) и всё. Ну, я ещё сначала безпокоиться...но я бы не обяснила от чево или о чём. На русском слово не знаю для...когда-то...когда ты только хочешь ездить и ездить и ездить...а не хочешь никогда нигде оставать. Так как неприятный или похоже на то. Я хочу начинать. Я уже терпеть ждать не могу!
Friday, August 05, 2005
I think I'm falling in love.
Sorry for again Russian, but I came across this Anna Axmatova poem in my text book today, and I couldn't even begin to express it in English. Don't ask, I'm fine, this is just too beautiful to pass up.
Последний тост
Я пью за разорённый дом,
За злую жизнь мою,
За одиночество вдвоём,
И за тебя я пью,--
За ложь меня предавших губ,
За мёртвый холод глаз,
За то, что мир жесток и груб,
За то, что Бог не спас.
~Анна Ахматова (1934)
Last toast
I drink for the ruined house,
For a my malicious life,
For loneliness together,
And for you I drink,-
For the lies of my betrayed lips,
For the dead cold of eyes,
For that the world is severe and rude,
For that God has not saved us.
~Anna Axmatova
Последний тост
Я пью за разорённый дом,
За злую жизнь мою,
За одиночество вдвоём,
И за тебя я пью,--
За ложь меня предавших губ,
За мёртвый холод глаз,
За то, что мир жесток и груб,
За то, что Бог не спас.
~Анна Ахматова (1934)
Last toast
I drink for the ruined house,
For a my malicious life,
For loneliness together,
And for you I drink,-
For the lies of my betrayed lips,
For the dead cold of eyes,
For that the world is severe and rude,
For that God has not saved us.
~Anna Axmatova
Thursday, August 04, 2005
GAH. Yes. I said it again.
FUCK FUCK FUCK my fucking knee is KILLING ME. WHy the FUCK can't my body work right for once. I've got one more FUCKING week of walking 6 miles a day, and DAMN it all I will not shell out 4 bucks a day to take a FUCKING bus that doesn't get me REMOTELY close to were I'm trying to go. I do NOT have FUCKING time for three MORE months of THERAPY.
GAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
On a lighter note: beautiful man who gave me a ride two nights ago stopped by the store to chat. Wonder if he likes cripples...
GAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
On a lighter note: beautiful man who gave me a ride two nights ago stopped by the store to chat. Wonder if he likes cripples...
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Eh?
Ok. This is getting serious.
All weeklong I've been having these crazy days. You know the kind, where people on the street look at you like you're naked or something. Or your fly is down. Or you're Cindy Crawford. One day, sure, I didn't make anything of it. Two days made me smile. Three days, this is very fishy. This morning on my way to school this car full of guys stalked me, all the way into town. No joke. Stalkage. Theyd pull up at every street crossing where the bikepath went through, stop and holler, "hey beautiful...you gotta get your tennies on and start running otherwise you're never going to keep up with us..." Every single one. I'm not even wearing MAKE UP today. Too many days in a row of mascara and my face gets chapped. What the hell is going on?!?
I spent the whole walk daydreaming about the beautiful boy who gave me a ride up the hill last night on my way home from the market. Me being me, of course I didn't manage a coherent sentence in the car with him. Now though, let me tell you, I've got it all word for word planned out. I'd be brilliant. In my mind though, of course he speaks russian, yea, perhaps he failed to mention that.
Maybe its karma for befriending the crazy homeless crew with the teddybears and witch hat. I gave them all my change last night, and left them a sack of nuts this morning. Ok, lame, yes, I know, but its all I had that wasn't gonna be eaten between now and next Wednesday. Give me a break. I too am a poor college student. Lord, how I never tire of saying that.
Karma, man. Yea. I like that.
All weeklong I've been having these crazy days. You know the kind, where people on the street look at you like you're naked or something. Or your fly is down. Or you're Cindy Crawford. One day, sure, I didn't make anything of it. Two days made me smile. Three days, this is very fishy. This morning on my way to school this car full of guys stalked me, all the way into town. No joke. Stalkage. Theyd pull up at every street crossing where the bikepath went through, stop and holler, "hey beautiful...you gotta get your tennies on and start running otherwise you're never going to keep up with us..." Every single one. I'm not even wearing MAKE UP today. Too many days in a row of mascara and my face gets chapped. What the hell is going on?!?
I spent the whole walk daydreaming about the beautiful boy who gave me a ride up the hill last night on my way home from the market. Me being me, of course I didn't manage a coherent sentence in the car with him. Now though, let me tell you, I've got it all word for word planned out. I'd be brilliant. In my mind though, of course he speaks russian, yea, perhaps he failed to mention that.
Maybe its karma for befriending the crazy homeless crew with the teddybears and witch hat. I gave them all my change last night, and left them a sack of nuts this morning. Ok, lame, yes, I know, but its all I had that wasn't gonna be eaten between now and next Wednesday. Give me a break. I too am a poor college student. Lord, how I never tire of saying that.
Karma, man. Yea. I like that.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
He. Tehe. No really.
General public service announcement:
Slang words in one language often mean something verrrrrrrry verrrrrrrrry different in another language. And only appear to be humerous to me, personally. Yea.
Visa came through today. So yes, its offical. I'm freeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Slang words in one language often mean something verrrrrrrry verrrrrrrrry different in another language. And only appear to be humerous to me, personally. Yea.
Visa came through today. So yes, its offical. I'm freeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Well, then. I'll wear more clothes next time.
Вам бы мне сердыли, если бы я писала ещё сегодня одную историю. Сейчас могу-ли я больше напсать, и не надо ни с кем не будь спорить. Не знаю почему я совсем согласила с дядей, когда меня спросил нему помогать. Когда я днём подошла в магазин, меня уже ждали два старыка. Им очень не довольни были, потому что наш магазин не стало отверт. Так извинй, я только дойду до суда с такой скоростью как я могу. Я теперь сижу перед компьютером на работе, сердита как всегда, потому что НЕ НАВИЖУ НА РУССКОМ ПЕЧАТАТБ. У меня болит голова, наверно выпила ещё мало кафе. Или из-за того, что мне надоело быть в классах. Между проче, мне нужно прожить только ещё двух недели до того как улечу. Затем сойду сума благодаря свои семья. Мне жаль, что я не могу убежать сейчас. Действительно жаль.
У меня к вам анекдоту. Сегодня я была в классе с одным другым студентом. Все другие ушли в лекцию, но мне не хотелась. Так мы сидели у професора и занимались. Сейчас мы учимся об одежде, как мы одеваем, в чем мы ходим, и так далее. Преподаватель мне что-то спросил, но вдруг на меня посмотрил, и сказал:
"Ну, я тебе ничего об этом не спрошу. Ты сегодня почти ничего не носишь!"
Как смущение. Ну, и действительно очень забавный.
Well ok, so I did have a skant tank on. But christ, not like theres anything to show off.
Half an hour more of this hell. So definitly crossing out the people skills required jobs of my list.
У меня к вам анекдоту. Сегодня я была в классе с одным другым студентом. Все другие ушли в лекцию, но мне не хотелась. Так мы сидели у професора и занимались. Сейчас мы учимся об одежде, как мы одеваем, в чем мы ходим, и так далее. Преподаватель мне что-то спросил, но вдруг на меня посмотрил, и сказал:
"Ну, я тебе ничего об этом не спрошу. Ты сегодня почти ничего не носишь!"
Как смущение. Ну, и действительно очень забавный.
Well ok, so I did have a skant tank on. But christ, not like theres anything to show off.
Half an hour more of this hell. So definitly crossing out the people skills required jobs of my list.
*#&$()!)*#%&_!_@(#&*$&^!!!
NO MORE SCHOOL!!!!!! GAH I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE.
The longer this drags on the more I think this whole "summer" school thing may have been a bad idea. I'm wondering if its possible to overcome this 7th inning slump, wherefrom to find the energy for this last push. That would really help me out in the long run, considering my penchant for screwing around in school when it most matters. So tired. So unmotivated. So just want to play hookie. Damn American standards. Gah.
Ideas?
Why bother?
You know, there is something very wrong in the world when I'm reading academic texts as a means to avoid doing my academic work. Very, very, wrong. That says nothing about the dozens of That 70's Show reruns that I have watched, but so far I've been able to contain that to weekends, and or friday nights. I mean, downtime. Yea.
Who wants to come hang with me at Reagan for four hours Thursday morning week after this one? I'd be veerrrrrrry verrrrrrrrrry appreciative. And may actually resort to bribery ;-)
Happy Birthday to the great and ellusive Sara Grossblhowever the fuck you spell your last name. So shoot me, its friggin' early and I'm too cheap and lazy to spring for anything with justifiable quantities of espresso.
Yes. Summer school, very, very, bad idea.
The longer this drags on the more I think this whole "summer" school thing may have been a bad idea. I'm wondering if its possible to overcome this 7th inning slump, wherefrom to find the energy for this last push. That would really help me out in the long run, considering my penchant for screwing around in school when it most matters. So tired. So unmotivated. So just want to play hookie. Damn American standards. Gah.
Ideas?
Why bother?
You know, there is something very wrong in the world when I'm reading academic texts as a means to avoid doing my academic work. Very, very, wrong. That says nothing about the dozens of That 70's Show reruns that I have watched, but so far I've been able to contain that to weekends, and or friday nights. I mean, downtime. Yea.
Who wants to come hang with me at Reagan for four hours Thursday morning week after this one? I'd be veerrrrrrry verrrrrrrrrry appreciative. And may actually resort to bribery ;-)
Happy Birthday to the great and ellusive Sara Grossblhowever the fuck you spell your last name. So shoot me, its friggin' early and I'm too cheap and lazy to spring for anything with justifiable quantities of espresso.
Yes. Summer school, very, very, bad idea.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
