Monday, August 31, 2009

Yeah, You're Right. . .

that was stupid to use the company computer to blog with my personal login and stuff. My lack of guile has always been my Achilles Heel.

My last employers, Ruble-Pinching Bastards of Vodkaberg, found out about my blog apparently. One of the Russian teachers saw it in the history log, or something, and eventually deduced it was me. Nobody ever said anything to me about it, but it probably didn't do any good for my chances of getting that German visa run thing paid for, Then again, there wasn't much chance of that anyway, and it amuses me to no end to imagine the staff hitting the dictionaries to translate some of the words in that orgy story.

Judging from a bit of google searching, however, a LOT of people blog about their experiences within Saudi Arabia and don't have much trouble with it. Albeit most of it is pretty innocuous. I suppose mine will be pretty free of scandalous behavior also, however, unless I recap the episodes of THE SOPRANOS and DEXTER that I've watched recently.

Of course the only pictures I was going to put up were shots of the desert and the beach and camels. I'll do that when I get around to it.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Damn It's Hot

Around 40 C / 100 F every day . . . and it's hard to acclimatize when every building is kept at refrigerator temperatures on the inside.

Arrived in Saudi Arabia last Tuesday -- no problems getting through customs, but we got a flat tire out in the desert on the other side of the causeway and had to wait a couple hours as the driver tried to figure out how to work the jack. And this is Ramadan so I had to be discrete about drinking water -- the poor guys changing the tire must have been parched.

As for the Kingdom -- well, it's amazingly like I'd imagined it, with sand dunes and camels, everybody wearing white or black sheets -- which wikipedia tells me are called "thobe" -- and head coverings, women covered up like ninja.

I'm living in a room in the "faculty dormitory" on the campus -- like a small apartment, nothing particularly fancy, but it has a kitchen and is plenty big for one guy.

There's a beach across the road, and a modern shopping center with an Applebee's in it about a ten-minute walk away.

I went to the nearest "city center" area last Thursday with one of the teachers to eat Thai food and was surprised how grubby, chaotic and southeast-asian it looked -- like a back street in Bangkok or New Delhi. (Hardly a surprise I guess, with all the guest workers from India and Bangladesh and the Phillipines.) Previously, I had sort of thought that everybody drove Rolls Royces here -- in fact, though, I find that the people I'm teaching will generally be from low and middle-income families. (It's a government educational project, apparently.)

Today I had my second medical exam of the week. Managed to produce a stool sample a bit more easily this time, probably owing to my breakfast of mango and cornflakes. I wonder what the Saudi Government does with all that shit from their guest workers. . .

My blood pressure was a much more reasonable 117 / 60 this time. This is kind of like being in rehab except of course for the fact that I'm getting paid large amounts of money for it.

In fact, I'm in the somewhat enviable position of being here for a month more before classes begin; I'll get a full month's salary for not doing much of anything.

I have an office I share with three others -- all of whom, along with most of the rest of the teachers and students, are on summer vacation now -- and there's internet here but not yet in my room, as they're upgrading the wireless internet service.

Pictures coming soon.

Monday, August 24, 2009

To Travel Hopefully Is Better Than A Kick In The Nuts

Somehow I didn’t imagine Bahrain would be so . . . Arabic.

It’s unbelievably hot – 40 celsisus, nearly 100 degrees farenheit – and all the buildings are low and brown and there’s a lot of dust. There are a few high rise office buildings poking into the sky with Middle-Eastern phallic opulence, and more being built, but the overwhelming impression is of low brown indeterminate-looking concrete buildings and dust. And of course you see minarets here and there.

I’m here for a couple of days to get my Saudi visa, which first involves getting a medical exam – blood screening, chest x-ray, and a physical.

They told me my blood pressure was a little high yesterday, 140 / 80.

Hardly surprising given the inordinate amount of going-away parties I had, and the previous three days especially, and about 18 hours in airports and planes.

Thursday involved a party at a banya, a Russian sauna – with a four guys and five girls. I’d like to say I had a wonderful time, but in point of fact I can’t remember most of it – vodka blackout. I woke up missing 6000 rubles and covered with mud. But at least I woke up in my own bed. And at least I woke up.

Friday involved giving my cat away, then being greeted by a girl who I had met the previous week and one of my other going-away parties. (I’d irritated the people at that going-away party by disappearing into the toilet for quite a while with this girl.) She gave me a Long Goodbye, while Crazy Bob cooked an omelet in the kitchen.

The final going-away party was at a Russian chain microbrewery called Tinkoff – and I was very moved to see so many -- pretty much all -- of my friends turn out. I picked up the bill and bowed out at about 1.00am – completely ill and exhausted from the last few days and mostly unprepared to leave.

However, two voluptuous blondes I've known a long time insisted on coming home with me and drinking a couple last bottles of champagne. Ill, exhausted and feverish at this point, I can’t say their extremely thoughtful idea of a going-away three-way was very successful by porn-movie standards, but I thought it was a nice thing of them to do. (The fact that at one point I actually told them to leave me alone and let me get some sleep should indicate to all of you just how burned-out I am.)

They went home at 4.00am and I got up at 7.00 to begin cleaning out the filthy rubbish strewn remains of my apartment; it was still such a hopeless mess I just told the landlord to keep the week’s rent he owed me and hire a professional cleaner.

I was seen off to the airport by thoughtful friends, but encountered my first problem with I tried to check in – my bags weighed too much, I was told, and I would have to pay about $100 for the Vodkaberg to Moscow leg . . . and approximately $2000 for the Moscow to Dubai leg. About four times the cost of my ticket.

Not seeing how that could possibly be correct, I paid the extra $100 and then went to check with Air Emirates at Domedeovo airport in Moscow – they told me that number was indeed not correct, because their baggage allowance was 30 kg, not 20kg.
So actually, 20 kg extra only actually meant I had to pay 570 Euros – about 800 US dollars.

Now if you took the entire value of everything that was in my third bag, it would be worth MAYBE 200 dollars, considering the purchase price. Because nobody would particularly want to buy a bunch of old books, blue t-shirts and black trousers from the Gap and Old Navy after-Christmas sales.

So I went and sat outside the airport and threw away a bunch of clothes, one of my bags, a few books, and a travel steamer that never really worked correctly anyway, and managed to get everything down to 30kg.

570 Euros. I could buy enough new clothes for three years at the Gap and Old Navy after-Christmas sales with that!

So here I am. My hotel is a bit dingy for the price, but they’ll serve room service during the day (against Ramadan regulations) and it’s comfortable enough.

I met with the "manpower agency" for my future employers and they started the medical process yesterday. I finally managed to produce a stool sample this morning, and they took it back to the lab -- I'd assume I'd have heard by now if I failed, but I considered it a distinct possibility, my body chemistry must have been an absolute mess after the last few days.

If all is acceptable -- which I think mainly means I don't have HIV or Hepatitis -- then they're getting my Saudi visa now and I'll have it by the end of the day, and I'll be off to Saudi tomorrow.

And of course some of you ask yourself -- did English Teacher X cry at the thought of leaving Russia and his life of the last nine years?

You bet your ass. After a blackout vodka hangover and right after I gave my cat to a colleague to keep, you can bet I wasn't feeling too steady. And all it took was a reference to this song on Howard Stern to have me crying like a little girl with a skinned knee when I watched it on youtube:

Sharing this fact with the two voluptuous blonds late in the evening, even they thought it was a bit corny. "You're a grown man crying at a song sung by puppets," one said, sitting in my lap in her underwear, arms around me.

"They're not puppets," I informed her. "They're muppets."

Saturday, August 15, 2009

The Essence of Professionalism

> Dear (English Teacher X)
> I've read through your letter and to be quite honest, I'm tired of trying to play referee between you and (the school). Therefore, let the cards fall where they may. You are an adult and it is for you to decide how best to proceed from here.
> I wish you the best of luck and hope your next teaching assignment lives up to your full expectations.
> (Director of chain school in Moscow)

* * *

Dear (Director of chain school in Moscow)

Yeah, it must be tiring being the nominal leader of the absolute worst McLanguage school in Russia. I can only pity you.

Oh, and best of luck to you too. I suspect you'll need it.
(English Teacher X.)

Thursday, August 13, 2009

The Sweet Smell of Burning Bridges

Dear (Director of chain in Moscow)

I just had a blow-up with (deputy Director of our school) and walked out of the school. I have been working part-time since July with no contract for the princely sum of 230 rubles per academic hour, and decided I can't take any more disrespect from her, at least not for that amount of money.

As always when this happens, she threatens the teacher with the fact that he or she must leave the country within 24 hours. (As far as I know, OVIR regulations provide 72 hours.) I have booked a plane ticket to Bahrain for next Saturday, August 22nd, so it would not be convenient for me to alter those plans.

I offer the following conditions, just to straighten everything out:

If (the school) does not attempt to interfere with my visa before I leave, they can keep the salary that I have earned over the last week and a half (I don't know the exact amount, but it's something like 5000 rubles.) If students were not satisfied with their lessons over this period, perhaps this money could be refunded to them.

In addition, since I paid for the visa myself and will be leaving while not employed by (the school), I will not expect any reimbursement for the visa which I purchased in January (about 250 euros.)

I am not currently in a (school-provided) flat, so that should not be a problem.

If (the school) DOES attempt to make me leave the country, or cause problems with my visa, I will contact the lawyer that represented (an angry former teacher who walked out) and file suit against (the school) for its contracts (or lack thereof) which I'm told are completely illegal.

I think this is more than fair and I hope that we don't have any further problems with each other.

(English Teacher X)

Those dummies shouldn't have pushed me. . . I was going to buy them a cake tomorrow on my last day!

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

The Fates Enjoy A Good Laugh At My Expense

I'm leaving for the Middle East on August 22. I'll be arriving in Bahrain on August 23, and I'll need to stay there for a few days to get my Saudi visa, and then on to Saudi.

Coincidentally, I'll be arriving on the very day that the month-long celebration of Ramadan begins.

Long story short, according to Wikipedia, it is a time to "refrain from eating, drinking, sex, smoking, and anything that is not of a good nature or in excess from sunrise until sunset." Apparently you can't even drink water during the day on the street during Ramadan or you might be arrested. In addition one should "ask forgiveness for past sins, pray for guidance and help in refraining from everyday evils, and try to purify themselves through self-restraint and good deeds."

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. . .

Saturday, August 08, 2009

Uh huh. . .

A website and series of videos on YouTube in which a Russian blonde with large (probably fake) breasts discusses the etymology of various words and expressions.

(Edit, Saturday evening, 8:07pm: I just watched that movie THE HANGOVER and I'm thinking, what's the big deal, every weekend is like that around here.)

Wednesday, August 05, 2009


The first orgy ended with Crazy Bob thumping naked through his apartment holding up a bloodied condom yelling, "LOOK AT THIS! IT'S ORANGE! IT'S ORANGE!"

I offered to let him smell my fingers; he tossed me out into the street and I spent about an hour tromping through the snow giggling with a 2-liter plastic bottle full of beer under my arm.

Things had gone wrong for him in several ways. He'd picked up a girl at the House of Pain nightclub, but her rather cuter friend had gone for me. When we'd arrived at his apartment, he'd taken his into the kitchen to be alone with her; I was somewhat surprised when her friend pulled me onto his bed and started kissing me.

The next thing I remember is that she's half naked, writhing and squirming beneath me, and Crazy Bob is coming into the room to get some cushions off the bed.

"You better not get any spooge on my bed," he says mildly, going back into the kitchen.

A while later mine is completely undressed and Crazy Bob is coming back into the room to get a condom.

"Uh, break me off one of those," I say, as my girl, delirious with passion and alcohol, is pushing my head down to her crotch and paying no attention whatsoever to Crazy Bob. Soon she's doing a backbend, crying out, as I'm eating her out and sliding a finger into her asshole.

I remember it all, but I remember it in fragments that probably don't go in the right order.

I remember getting up to use the toilet, and then deciding to pay Crazy Bob back the favor by walking in on him and his girl to get a glass of beer from the two-liter plastic jug of it we'd purchased after leaving the nightclub at 4.30am.

His girl is shocked and jumps off of him; I say, "Sorry, just needed a drink."

Outside, my girl, 19 but looking about five years younger, hair messed up and her dress pulled on over no underwear, greets me with a drunken smile, "Hey!" and a kiss. After we both use the toilet, we get back in bed.

Next I remember her naked again, giving her two fingers from behind as she writhed and moaned, pushing her beautiful shapely young ass up into my face.

I did something very unhygeneic, that I once told the guys I'd never do.

The next thing I remember is both of the girls sitting in the bathroom crying. I don't remember why, or what Crazy Bob and I were doing at this time. I think I went and plopped unconscious on the bed. The March sun was up by now, 7:00 am or so, shining mercilessly through the windows.

Then I remember being wrapped around my girl, both of us naked, dozing, and her friend coming and waking her up and telling her they had to go. I also seem to remember Crazy Bob coming in and swinging his penis around and saying, "Where are you going, huh? Stay for a while."

I helped my girl put on her bra, which was white and frilly with red spots. I have no memory of her taking it off, but I clearly remember her putting it back on. She asked me to accompany them outside, but by the time I got my shoes on, they were gone.

"In addition to being kind of pudgy, she was on the rag!" raged Crazy Bob. "It was nauseating!" He would later describe this by SMS as "a festering vagi-volcano of blood and pus."

After he threw me out, I called Crazy Bob and described the lovely butterscotch smell on my fingers, and apologized that my chick had been so unrelentingly sexy and hot while his had not. He shouted obscenities at me and I cackled drunkenly through the snow as I walked home.

* * *

Our second orgy was in May, I believe. He and I had been drinking vodka in my kitchen -- a half-liter bottle -- and he was sending out text messages to all the various girls he'd met prowling the shops and bus-stops during the week.

"I met a girl a few days ago, rather pretty although not the thinnest girl on Earth, and she says she's not far from here on the street with a friend. Should we?"

"Sure," I say.

Indeed his girl is as he says -- rather pretty, honey-colored blond hair, if not exactly svelte. Her friend is the opposite -- small and dark, nice slim little body but not the greatest face ever.

After a short time on the street, Crazy Bob invites them over to my apartment for more drinks. He buys them a bottle of champagne and I get some beer for us.

They're not bad company, and I happen to be in the mood for stupid "Why did you come to Russia?" small talk for once, so things are going well when Crazy Bob takes me aside in the hallway.

"Look," he says. "This girl I was fucking the other night just called me and wants to meet at my apartment. I think I'm going to do it."

I'm pretty rosy-faced drunk at this point, so I say, "Hey no problem baby, you're leaving them in good hands."

"I'll try to make it back in a couple of hours," he says.

I laugh evilly.

He has me surreptitiously call his cell phone; then he mimes one-side of a conversation in which one of our friends is nearby and in trouble with some hooligans and he needs to go to the rescue. "Oh my god, English Teacher R is being devoured by wolves you say? Good heaven, please go help him!" I say in English. Crazy Bob thunders away.

I turn my attention back to the two girls; things have reached the point where a candle has been lit, the lights are out, and dancing has commenced, moving back and forth between radio music in the kitchen and music from my computer in the combo bedroom / living room.

The dark-haired one is really into it, pulling my hand onto her breasts and kissing me; I'm trying to include the blonde one, too, though, as English Teacher etiquette pretty much demands I try to get off with Crazy Bob's girl before the evening is over.

The dark-haired one has had a lot to drink and at one point she lays down on the bed and closes her eyes. I'm dancing with the blonde one and we're twirling around and such but she won't let me kiss her. She keeps disengaging to find "good Russian music" on the radio. By this time it's three a.m. and there's not many choices. She's obsessed with it.

I wake up the dark-haired one and as she's dancing I take her shirt off; she's happy to dance around in her bra for a bit. Then I start dancing with the other one and again the dark-haired one falls asleep.

Crazy Bob calls, a couple hours after he left. "How's it going? What's up? Is it happening?"

"Sorry Bob, bad connection, hiss- zzzz- hssst, can't hear you," I say and hang up.

The blond girl's phone rings, and she's happy to hear Crazy Bob is still alive.

Soon Crazy Bob is ringing the doorbell. I get some cushions from the bed as he enters the hallway with a couple more bottles of beer; I'm carrying them into the kitchen, where the blond girl is still searching the radio for good Russian music.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Building a fort," I say as I dump the cushions on the floor and return to my bed, where the dark haired is still sprawled. I wake he up; an enormous smile spreads across her face as i wake her up and pull her bra up and begin unbuttoning her pants.

She won't blow me, though, and there are no condoms in the bedroom -- for some very illogical reason I keep my condoms in the kitchen -- and after some fooling around she says, "Let's get a drink," and we go out to the kitchen. She's pulled her scanty top and jeans back on, I pulled on a pair of shorts.

Crazy Bob and his girl are making out on the cushions; when we go in, Crazy Bob asks, "She keeps asking if we can get in the bed."

I pour drinks for everyone and say, "Hell yeah! Orgy time!"

We all four pile into my not especially large bed. Crazy Bob has his girl's top pulled up and in squeezing and sucking her tits; I've got my hand down mine's pants and am rubbing her clit. She's moaning loudly. I say, "Hey let's have a contest and see who can make their girl come first."

Crazy Bob's girl objects when I try to touch her breasts; my girl is not at all shy about letting Crazy Bob feel her ass however, which we decide is pleasantly small and firm. "Like a 14 year old boy," I say, and the Russian girls like this joke. The dark-haired girl is quite clearly into the orgy scene. . .

Becoming increasingly silly, I put a t-shirt over my head like a ninja mask and strip down to my underwear. I begin giving bizarre orgy instructions in a deep Satanic voice. The dark haired girl pulls my mask off and kisses me.

Crazy Bob tries to pull his girl's pants off and she laughs and screams and objects; this is probably what woke my evil downstairs neighbor up, the old woman with the steel teeth.

He leaves the room for a while and says, "Get them warmed up."

I sweet talk them for a while; the dark-haired one is curled up in the arms of the blonde, spoon style, and I kiss the dark-haired one for a while, and then try to kiss the blonde while the black-haired one is licking one of my nipples but she says it's not right to kiss two girls at the same time. She suggests it would be cool if I kiss Crazy Bob.

"Ah. . . don't think so."

At that point Crazy Bob comes in again, naked, swinging his fairly erect penis around.

We all scream.

"If you come on me I'm going to fucking punch you!" I yell.

He gets into bed, fortunately on the other side of the blond.

The sun was coming up by this time and the magic spell of darkness was broken; I spanked mine on the ass hard a couple times and she got kind of mad. We tried to mollify them but they wanted to leave. Fumbling around for clothes and purses, everybody blinking and blotchy-faced in the morning light.

"We're not very good at this," I say to Crazy Bob.

He shrugs. "I got my nut off twice tonight already, I don't care."

At about that time, the girl he had fucked, still locked in his apartment, calls, screaming.

"Shit, I locked her in. She was asleep. . . I better go let her out, eh?" he says.

"Yeah, I think that would be neighborly."

We show the girls out -- they rush away -- Crazy Bob and I finish our beers in the street, a warm and sunny spring morning, agreeing it had been another swell evening.

When I get upstairs, Crazy Bob calls after about twenty minutes.

"Oh shit. . . I burned the apartment down. I left a candle burning on top of the TV set and it caught on fire somehow."

"You burned it DOWN?"

"Uh, no, there's just a bunch of soot and ash and shit everywhere. . . the TV's a blob of melted plastic. . ."

"And the girl?"

"A bit hysterical but otherwise okay. . . she dumped some water on it and put it out."

"Good thing it wasn't turned on, I guess. . ."

"Shit, this place is fucked. . ."

It was eight a.m. or so at that time. The angry neighbors started pounding on the door.

I ignored them and crawled into bed for some blessed unconsciousness.

Funny postscript: the blond girl forgot her telephone and had to come get it from me on the beach the next day. she was clearly mortified, but the black-haired girl smiled happily, "call me sometime!"

This video happened at a nightclub called Lust. You can see where Crazy Bob's hand is if you look closely.

Saturday, August 01, 2009


I have to say, I'm not sure why sloth is considered a sin. I mean, if you're not doing anything, well, at least you're not doing anything bad.

I suppose it's in the line of inactivity when you should be working, etc. And that's certainly what I've been doing since I got back in January and they fucked me with that visa thing. I mean, I continue to teach my classes, but generally almost always less than twenty hours per week.

I haven't been Director of Studies for a while now. I'm working part-time, at a rate that would be equivalent to less than minimum wage in America (and now costs are fairly similar.) I ask them for as few hours as possible, and they give me maybe 12 - 15 per week. A lot of my individual students cancel; I got an impromptu three-day weekend this week because of that.

It's awesome.

Anyway, the "Seven Deadly Sins" series concludes soon with "Lust," which as you can imagine is a gruesome story indeed.