Return of Drunk Georgian Girl

Sitting at a cafe last Sunday with one of the guys -- got a text message from the drunk Georgian girl saying she was at a crappy old-school Mafia thug hangout down the road a piece. (Real old school -- still has leopard-skin pattern sofas.)

"Would that amuse you," I asked my colleage, "to see the girl from that story?"

He thought about it. "Yeah."

When we got there she was drunkenly sprawled in the lap of a black-sweatered bull-necked gold-chined thug. Her little blonde friend who looks like Jodie Foster from TAXI DRIVER greeted me cheerfully, however, and she was looking good. She said she'd join us as soon as possible.

She did soon, and the durnken Georgian girl came over eventually and sprawled in my lap. "Ya c'taboy?" she asked, which generally means something like "Am I going home with you?" Then she got up and went to the toilet, pulling her skirt out of her asscrack as she did so, showing the whole bar her flourescent pink thong.

The one who looked like Jodie Foster was nice enough and apoogized and suggested it wouldn't be the best idea to take her home in the condition she was in. I agreed wholeheartedly.

When she came back, she flopped down on me again and knocked over a glass, breaking it and spilling beer. My colleague said something with the word "fuck" in it -- like "That's our fucking luck" or "No big fucking deal" and they both got up and left, angry, as "fuck" was about the only word of English either of them understood.

I got the blonde who looks like Jodie Foster in TAXI DRIVER's phone number before they left, however. . .

Penis Chicken

After work.

"How was your weekend?"

"Well, Friday was kind of quiet, but Saturday we had a party to celebrate English Teacher M's birthday. . . "

"What happened?"

"After the girls left at 3:00am or so, we started getting more drunk and bored, and I was treated to the horrific sight of seeing (two of the younger teachers) playing Penis Chicken."

"What the hell is Penis Chicken?"

"Well, you know how, if you play chicken in cars. . ."

"They took out their cocks and . . ."

"Yeah, kind of ran at each other, and the first guy to turn away was the loser."

"Who lost?"

I told him.

"Man, things are just getting worse and worse around here, aren't they?"

Backhanded

I had lunch the other day with a girl I haven't seen for about seven months or so.

"Everything changes so much around here. . . except you," she enthused.

She meant it as a compliment, it seems.

Piss On The Sun

Piss on the sun
My love is dead

-- Charles Bukowski, "To Jane"

Seven years is a long time; it's not surprising that things have changed a lot. I supposed one of the things I liked about this place, however, was that it seemed so far off the map -- a city in bumfuck Russia that nobody had even heard of.

It took the 21st century a while to catch up to it, but catch up it did -- hypermarkets, massive pre-fab furniture warehouses, shopping malls, yuppie sushi restaurants, chain Italian places -- all the bland, serviceable detrius of modern life.

There are, by one account TWICE as many cars on the road now as there were three years ago, and pleasant four lane tree-lined streets are now mini-highways.

I'm willing to allow all this.

UNTIL THEY CLOSED DOWN THE PIRATE DISC MARKET. Well, it's not exactly closed yet, but it's dying -- it's operating about 10 percent capacity, the lot having been sold for YET ANOTHER SHOPPING CENTER. (One of fourteen scheduled for construction THIS YEAR.)


My haven for $1 DVDs and $2 computer games and $3 MP3 collections with 9 hours of music on them -- all gone, gone, gone.

You go searching for something exotic, unique and beautiful, and find the whole world just kind of turning into Muncie, Indiana.

Except From ICQ Conversation I Am Having With A Russian Girl (Via Some Translation Program)

In Russia it is good to live. Yes here not as in other countries. Not so it is beautiful. But all native and close on a shower. Laws are, but they can be not carried out the some people, it not England. Here to live easier. It is possible to receive much from this country.

Word up, baby. . .

Grammatical-political joke

We were going through the difference between "will" and "going to" in class the other day. "Going to" for plans, and (in this case) "will" for predictions.

I asked some questions with "going to" and then some prediction questions.

"Do you think it will rain tomorrow?"

"Yes, I think it will."

"Do you think Medvedev will be the next President of Russia?"

They laughed. "That is not a prediction. It is a plan."

Ba-DUMP-bump. Rim shot. But seriously folks. . .