Wandering Mess

Russians need more names! There are simply too many Sashas and Mashas and Pashas… In my case, I know too many Sashas. There is Good Sasha from Kostomuksha, and Good Sasha from Moskva, but also Bad Sasha from Moskva. This causes problems. For example, I received a call while I was at work the other day. My phone screen said “Sasha – Moskva”. I thought it was the bad one and hung up. It turned out it was the good one, wanting to meet up for the evening. So we’ve renamed Bad Sasha into Good Old Kapusta (Good Old Cabbage), a tribute to kvashennaya kapusta, a foul tasting form of pickled cabbage.

D and I met Good Old Kapusta while trying to find an apartment. We had tea, chitchatted for half an hour, told him we didn’t want the apartment and left. Everything was fine until then. Then he started sending us text messages saying how great we were. I didn’t answer him right away, mostly because I didn’t know what to answer. Then he invites us to his place. Since I didn’t answer right away, he sent another message five minutes later asking why I DIDN’T answer him. All in all, I think he must’ve sent 10 messages within a day saying randomly weird things. So we sent him a text asking him to stop sending us messages. And this is where things became creepy. Apparently, we immediately became the worst hypocrites, double-faced people he knew. He’s been sending us random stupid creepy messages once every few days, at once insulting us and demanding that we answer him. His technique for making friends is all in all rather bad.

The good thing is that we met a Good Sasha to make up for Creepy Good Old Kapusta Sasha. We met Good Sasha and a bunch of his friends last weekend, when we had a little get together at his place, and then proceeded to go out to a club called “Krizis Zhanra”, where they practice “feis-kontrol” (face control). We went in the club in pairs, thereby reducing the risk of “feis-kontrol”. Katya and Zhanna and Sasha and I went got in fine. But D and the others got feis-kontrolled. She put up a fight and got inside, but only due to her unique brand of feistiness. I don’t quite understand the principle. Basically, you walk up to the door and they look you up and down. If they say nothing, you’re good. If they say “feis-kontrol”, you’re out. Crapooey. We want to go to a music venue tonight, but according to our guide, they practice feis-kontrol. I’m nervous. Leonid Fedorov is playing, I really want to go!

At any rate, we have now found a nice group of friends. As soon as Anna, one of Sasha’s friends, started talking about the problems of teleportation on Mars, where there is less gravitational force and how would our particles get back together, we knew we were among a good group. Which makes up for the difficulties of living in a city like Moscow. People are rather mean on the streets here, I find. On the subway, nobody moves to let you get out. The other day, we decided to go in town earlier in the morning. Right during rush hour. I don’t think I can explain in words just how cramped we were on the subway. Our station is one of the last ones at the end of a very suburban line, and no one gets off before getting downtown. So we get on the train and it’s already packed. At each station, more and more people pile in, somehow managing to stay clear of the doors, I do not know how. My face is pushed in some guy’s back, I can’t move my arms, I’m thinking I will die. So D and I decide to get off at the next station and wait out the rush hour a bit. Easier said than done. D tries to get off, she tells the lady in front of her “Izvinite” and tries to go through. The lady just looks at her and doesn’t budge one inch. To be fair, the lady probably had no place whatsoever to move to. So D just savagely elbows her out of the way and pops out of the subway car. But I’m still stuck in the crowd, desperately pushing the floor with my feet, trying to elbow people, nothing works. D takes one of my arms and pulls as hard as she can. Nothing budges. A man waiting to get on the car grabs my other arm and pulls. I finally pop out. I’m one meter away from the subway. One end of my scarf in on my neck, the other end is still in the subway. I pull on it, thinking I might have to sacrifice it, but it too somehow pops out. Breathe in, breathe out, all is good. Half an hour later, there is enough space in the subway cars to breathe, and we jump back on.

We still haven’t found a new place. It’s impossible to get a seat at McDonald’s, little babushkas elbow you to grab the chair you’re obviously waiting for. The subway is nuts, and so is everyone else. But things are looking up, we’re starting to know enough nice people to make life enjoyable. There is Sasha and his friends, and there is also Danielle, from LJ, whose birthday is this weekend and we’re going skating! :o)