Im a clutz, but atleast I'm attractive to drug addicts (ask me later)

Again, I sit down to write, and realize everything that I've prepared and brought from home is in like three languages and its really not worth the effort to try to translate and transcribe what will really only make sense in my own head. And even then, well, yea.

Spent the weekend romping around town, taking pictures in the snow. Sunday I went out to the end of the metro, caught an elecktrichka illegally (yea...i know...just be damn thankful the komptroller didnt come through, because can you even picture me trying to bribe someone??!!??) and ended up out in the suburb of Pushkin where my friend Masha lives with her babuska. We wandered around all day in the palace parks and forest, highlights of which were very definitly walking through town loudly teaching each other swear words (the expressions on the babuskis' faces were more than priceless...), stealing some sleds in the childrens park and sledding (what...the magnet in my nose leads me for the drifts...honest) teaching her the concept of Snow Angels and getting harrassed by a bunch of old women for exposing our reproductive organs to the cold. There is this big mound/hill type thing in the park with this beautiful chinese gazebo on top, which either according to tradition, or this girl just has a wicked sick sense of humor, everyone is supposed to climb. Now this is me, clumsy at best, trying to haul my weak ass up this hill in about a foot of snow with sheet ice on top. I got up about half way, slid all the way back down, half way, down, repeatedly, till eventually I hauled myself hand over hand with the pine trees to the top. I found snow in my bag when I got home a good 7 hours later...After the park jaunts, we went back to their appartment to do the whole official visit thing. I got accosted for not speaking german again (I feel like every time I'm with russians, the conversation usually comes around to your family background, and everyone that I tell that I'm a good 90% german and don't speak a single word is just appalled. Like, "how are you not ashamed of yourself that you don't speak your native tounge?!?" I am, people, I am. I'm working on it...might even be my next language) by her grandmother, which I find hillarious. After dinner we just chilled in her room with the guitar swapping folk songs. By which, I mean, I sat in awe as she played the guitar and sang for me, and wished passionately that I had any guitar knowledge...I left to head back to town and they gifted me this beautiful anthology of Russian poetry of the 19th century, with an inscription "Dear Rita: for you to remember your day in Pushkin, and as inspiration to stop reading crappy american novels in the beautiful russian language..."

Ok so no one but me respects the greatness that is the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants, or as it is so perfectly put in Russian: The Union of the Bewitched Trousers :-D :-D :-D

Scheduling Update of the hell that is awaiting me next semester: Heres the most recent translation:

MW: 8-9 Swimming

9:10-10:10 Intro to Sociology

10:20-11:20 Either music theory or Aural Skills, cant remember which is which

11:30-12:30 Spanish 301

TTH: 9:40-11:10 Russian 480 Advanced Special Topics= Lets read Russian classical literature and watch Peggy die several small deaths

1:50-2:50 Theory or Aural Skills...

then sweet rest on Fridays, with no swimming and no Theory.

Oh god. I have officially lost it. But I'll be back in Pland by Jan 14, by way of the Czech Republic, Isreal, and Ukraine, and maybe perhaps Maryland. That is, if I live through two weeks of my parents...