6-year-old nephew cries out loud: I want some whiskey too!!
Brother replies: -Sure...but do you remember what happened last time you had a sip of whiskey?
- I vomited.
- Do you still want some?
So it was with a sickly feeling (which had nothing to do with my booze consumption yesterday) that I received and slowly opened my new passport. And alas, there it was, the photo that shall follow me for the next ten years (or until I lose another passport), and I look just like Zombie Barbie having a stroke.
The camera has caught me in such an amazingly freaky stare that if I met myself in a dark alley, I would scream and run away.
I suppose it could be worse.
I have a French friend who texts me with an accent. If it was anyone else, I would assume they are just making fun of themselves but this guy is not one to do so. He also has the most amazing ability to make his text messages sound just as irrationally and passionately upset that only the French can get.
"No, no, no, no...it is u woo is ze opeless one, I ave ze next 3 evenings off..."
I really quite like it.
I think I might start texting in Swenglish: "Hallaaa. My neim is Inga, ja!"
I had an evening of badness yesterday. I don't want to talk about it. Instead I'll tell you about another dumb thing I once did.
In 2000, sitting on a train between Murmansk and St Petersburg, I stroke up a conversation with group of Russian soldiers. They were on their way to Chechnya, I was going back to St Petes.
Thinking it could be cool/educational/interesting to keep in touch with one of them, I gave him my address. I gave him my address as in "write me a letter". He assumed I gave him my address as in "come for a visit"...which is obviously what he did!
The evening after the train ride, he appeared on my doorstep with flowers, champagne and cake.
What happened next is a bizarre story of badness, stakeouts, hiding, the Queen of Lalaland (my flatmate) loudly protesting that she does not feel comfortable lying to a Russian sniper, and H appearing like some sort of deus ex machina to be greeted by "shit, get down on the floor and stay away from the windows".
When it was all over, and sniper boy was finally on his way to Chechnya, the Queen of Lalaland was asked how she dared living with me considering the company I kept. "At least my life isn't boring" was her general response, adding "and he brought champagne!".
This is what is generally referred to as the "incident with the Russian sniper". So now you know!