As I walked home at 3 am, the snow on the sidewalk looked like glitter. Little perfectly-square dots of sparkly light reflected from the street lamps danced across the path in front of me and I couldn't help but wonder how I could possibly describe this to other people. It was as if though I were walking across a cold white disco ball.
I have spent the past several weeks in a state of normal day-to-day-ESL-teaching living, with the exception that I no longer have to work on Saturdays and I now have 2 consecutive days off work. It's about time, too, because I was offered a job with a competing company in November but I really like the company I'm working for now, and the only reason I would have changed is because of my schedule.
Last Saturday I went to the Red Army Museum with Wonderpants, Quagmire and Katerina (who wanted to bring a couple of girlfriends because Quagmire needs "a good Russian girl" but her girlfriends weren't interested in Red Army history and thus failed to show up). The museum was fascinating and dissapointing at the same time, which I guess sums up Russia. The eagle and swastika from the roof of the Reichstag in Berlin were brought back to Moscow in 1945 and were laying in a bed of gravel amongst captured nazi banners, and there were other interesting exhibits, but for the most part it was a small museum.
Then on Sunday I slept in, and on Monday began work. On Thursday I have no classes and went into Moscow with Katerina. She had a job interview at 9 am and we planned on going to another museum, so I escorted her to her interview and waited, walking around a snowy park for over an hour. Suddenly my phone rang, and it was Mr. Irish. My handlers (the girls in the office) had, in a very Russian passive-aggressive way, called him to tell him that Ms. Tennessee had called in sick and they needed me to cover one of her classes. The fuckers.
Katerina got the job (an office supplies sales job which paid less than what she wanted) but wasn't sure if she would take it, so I took her out to lunch at a cafe and broke the bad news that I had to work and wouldn't be going to a museum after all. It was a shame, too, because I was really enjoying our lovey-dovey morning together and was looking forward to spending some quality time alone with my girl in one of the most famous cities in the world.
We said goodbye and I went and taught English to a bunch of 10 year olds who acted like bastards the entire time.
Today I taught English to my own classes and then went for pizza with Ms. Australia and Quagmire. "Going for pizza" involves, of course, drinking 4 or more pints of beer.
Now I'm writing this entry.
So there's not much to write about. It has been a boring couple of weeks which, by Russian standards, means something pretty retarded is bound to happen soon.
Where is your fave pizza? I gotseriously hooked on the four cheese pizza at Mir Pizza near Arbat. Mmmmmmmmmmm.ReplyDelete