Saturday, February 25, 2006

Another Evening

Last night I mistakenly made dates with two women at the same time. I had promised to go out with one, but had met another the night before, and my casual suggestion to meet sometime she decided to take me up on immediately.

So we all ended up going to a nightclub together. A bit of a problem, because one of the girls is kind of a snob and thought the other one was a cheap trollop.

(Admittedly she kind of looks like one, and probably is, but I'm not really inclined to differentiate much between a cheap trollop and an expensive trollop.)

So the snobby one finally went off to a party at another nightclub, which would have left me alone with the cheap trollop, but then an Armenian gangster who the cheap trollop knew arrived, so she had to stay with him. This after I spent quite a lot of money on her, even getting a Turkish water pipe to smoke (this is a very trendy thing to do in Russian nightclubs.)

I decided to go home at 2:00am, tired from three days of partying (a long weekend to celebrate the Heroes of Motherland Defense, or some shit) but then another girl I know made a booty call to me (the girl in the boots from the picture), inviting me to the flat where she was getting drunk with a couple of other girls, making little bones about the fact she was calling because she was horny.

So, I went there, and had sex with her until 4:00am or so after the other two girls fell asleep.

I wonder if that qualifies as a good night. I suppose so. I didn't get my skull cracked, at least. The Armenian gangster didn't buy me any drinks though.

My penis hurts, though, too. The girl in the white boots is insatiable.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

The Slaughtered Pigs of Destiny

I just watched the movie HOSTEL -- man is that one fucked up movie. Of course I've been a bit freaked-out all day -- hungover (thought not as badly as usual due to a moratorium on hard alcohol drinking) walking around the outdoor DVD market with another guy, and I was rambling on about the movie THE RINGER with Johnny Knoxville, walking past some shops and I turned my head and was suddenly looking a decapitated pig head in the face, in a truck full of recently-slaughted hogs.

I damn near fainted. Not that I'm over squeamish about dead animals, but I just wasn't expecting it, and something about it was like suddenly being in SILENT HILL. I thought I'd just lost my mind completely.

So I decided to go with it, and next I'm going to watch WOLF CREEK and then go to some websites with information about serial killers and such.

Two of the other teachers here in town got Mickeyed at a bar here a few days ago -- a guy invited them to sit with them and offered them the two beers that he had on the table, which he said he'd bought for a couple of girls who weren't coming now. One teacher made it into the toilet and collapsed, the other's liver turned out to be a bit of a tougher thing and he managed to get the other teacher out and get home before he passed out.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

It Ain't A Party Till The Sasquatch Fights The Woman With Steel Teeth

My personal binge regulator malfunctined on Friday -- after the usual Friday and Saturday night club attacks, we spent Sunday wandering around the market and drinking beer, then had some vodka at my place, but at 12:00am, when the law and rationality demand an end to the evening, that always-deadly fourth bottle of vodka (largely among three people) appeared and then it was kind of like the movie Fight Club, except everybody was black-out drunk.

There are some pictures of this, but I really don't want to look at them right now.

I think the cops came, after 2:30am when ETC left and went out to apologize to my screaming steel-teethed neighbor; of all the weird people she's seen going in and out of here, to see the Sasquatch-like ETC (all six-foot-eight and two-fifty of him) come out must have frightened the bejesus out of her

I didn't open the door when it rang the second time; I'd heard the cops are effectively powerless until you open the door. ETA fell down and smashed his head on a cabinet, and has a lovely black eye. Their girlfriends were furious with them, I was terrified all day yesterday the cops were going to be coming for a little chat, Rodney King style, and I'm still so shaky and sick I haven't been able to eat anything but crackers and a bit of rice, this some 36 hours later.

I don't know, this is the first time I can remember being abjectly ashamed of myself in quite a few years. I mean, half the time when the neighbors complain, we aren't really doing anything, just being a tad talkative and staying up past 11:00pm.

But this was a grotesque, pointless riot of near-lethal drunkeness by three middle-aged men acting like morons. Among the other highlights was a push-up contest, slam-dancing to FILTER songs, the usual wrestling matches with associated destruction, and an attempt to dead-lift a 250 pound man. As well as numerous cases of giving the cat noisy orgasms. Which you can do by pushing down where the tail meets the body, if the cat's in heat. Really.

Most of my neighbors are really old, and I can only imagine that we must have sounded like we were about to stomp through the walls and sodomize them all to death. Shameful, really.

The administration laughed it off at school, boys will be boys, and as of yet I have received no more visits from the cops, the neighbours or the landlady. Afraid, perhaps that my pet Sasquatch will eat them.

Drinking is bad for you!

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Jack London Memorial Hike And Bacon Lunch

So last Sunday, feeling in need of something different, me and three of my American friends here hiked across the frozen river and into the forest, with the goal of starting a fire, cooking some bacon, and drinking a bottle of Ukrainian pepper and honey vodka.

And we did it; it wasn't too cold, only about -10 Celsius. The day was overcast, but not too windy; and it was nice to have some oxygen in the bloodstream on Sunday. Usually it's nothing but carbon dioxide from all the beer and vodka I'd drunk on Saturday night.

If you ask the guys about the trip though, they'll just bitch about how I burned up some of the bacon. I mean, it wasn't just crispy, it was incinerated. The grease caught on fire and vaporized about five pieces of bacon to ash.

There was still a good 3/4 or a pack left though, I don't see what they're bitching about.