Of Course! Lip Tattoo

^[This blog is part memory, part journal, part life. Hence, the posted times per entry are accurate and the events are real. More or less.]
^^[Muscovite: One who was born and lives in the Russian city of Moscow.]



08/6/08

15:00 Russians love Japanese crap. (See Kremlin temporary exhibit)

15:02 Somethings about last night: J didn't make it; vomited in metro while going home. We found a Pizza Hut;Russians give confusing directions; Got rejected by Fabrique like 8 times; Face-control sucks[1]. Zebras are crosswalks-- that's what they call them. funny eh?


Amanda XXXXXX**
XXX-XXX-XXXX
Tallahasee, FL[2]

10/6/08
[Complicated map drawn by Maria should go here. I can't draw it on this blog. It details the location of "Fridays," yes, TGIF Fridays, a Russian favorite, as well as two bar/clubs.]


NAMCO3
-1 spoon small
+500 ml KeRUP [or something like that]
+1 egg
+flour[3]

Thursday 12/6/08 DAY OF RUSSIA

14:45 I'm on metro to Red Sq. Last night: Propaganda[4]; too many drinks, not enough $; Tasha & Tasha[5] -- Red Dress -- B may have found a GF; Then Kate & ______; got K's # but don't think she was cute; Tasha #2 was very cute but had a bf. XXXX and J made out in the middle of the dance floor for what seemed to be hours. T puked in the cab. We left later than them at 5:50am, went to Makdonalds -- disgusting I know. With C, J, and Amy now. Dodge is @ Red Square already. Plan to get some russian wear this weekend.

13/6/08

16:48 Here I am, resting on a black leather bench in the Puskin Museum of fine arts. I'm about half way through, a lot of egyptian artifacts, quite impressive, a lot of famous sculptures that have been cast, so they're fake, but still cool. I really enjoyed seeing the Old Man painting by Rembrandt; his work is incredible, blows me away.

Facebook name:
Tania XXXX
phone: 8 910-XXXXXXX

Somethings about last night: Well, above is my first Russian love. Well not love, but Kiss? Make out? She kissed me to be specific. It was on the dancefloor of B2, another rooskie club. I know I know, making out on the dancefloor is trashy, but making out on a russian dancefloor? well that's just sweet. She had dark hair, about 5'3" with the face of BGresc; meaning a very russian face. Getting to the club was near accident. We got rejected from Che first, we needed reservations, then Grafit 33, where i was supposed to be meeting my girl "snake bite nora," was too expensive (about 40 bucks a person), so we found B2. I actually saw this girl on the empty metro before we even got there, we followed her up the escalator even, just so happened they were going to the same place, ergo, hence, the first line i would say to her had been created. Tania & Anastasia, those were their names. Both were out of school and now are translators or something. Tania went to school in Montreal so she spoke very good english. The other spoke barely any, just french and russian. T texted me today, we'll see what happens. Oh, she told me that mullets are everywhere b/c a singer that won Europe's American Idol had one.

Sat. 14/6/08

[Nothing Written][6]
_______________________________________________________________
1. Imagine a 6 foot Rooski with blonde hair, slim, and wearing cool rooski clothes, aka all black with pointy shoes and one article of something white, standing at the door, surrounded by 4 big fat rooskis, and he looks at your face then down to you toes and back up again, only to say "not tonight." B tried to bribe him with about 50 bucks. That didn't work.

2. Most entries that look like this are phone numbers and other contact info i get from Muscovites^^. But sometimes they are from Florida and live across the hall.

3. My substitute Histology teacher was ridiculous. She took a break in the middle of class one day and invited us to her office full of weird plants. Her grandaughter, who was about our age, warmed the tea and pulled out the already prepared apple pancakes. This is the recipe I got her to write down for me. The KeRUP stuff is the white milky substance that doesn't move that I talked about before. After class that day, our teacher took us outside and explained the history of all the surrounding buildings, including the first ever Moscow State University building which sits next to our medical building. She also showed us "the best geological musuem in the world," at least that's what she said. She even continued to walk us to the metro stop telling us more about what it was like to live during the Soviet regime. "We had nothing," she points towards the Kremlin walls, "They... they had everything. It was not good." You can tell from her tone that it's a hard subject for her to speak about.

4. Propaganda is a restaurant that clears the tables later in the night to make way for pure Rooski style dancing.

5. The next day I find out their names were Dasha.

6. So a good deal went on these surrounding days. But I didn't feel like writing about it in this dumb notebook. No Time. On Saturday we got up early and went to the MARKET. I don't remember what it's actually called but it's huge, and sells anything you could every imagine, pretty much. I bought two things, presents, so i can't divulge what they are just yet. When i first walked into the market a strange thing happened: cavalier as i am, i trotted into the first stand that sells shoes that i see. Run by Chechnians, at least i presumed them to be, it was quite the shop. Hundreds of shoes. All quite fashionable. All quite obviously fake. Let me correct something, i remember now, I didn't just trot into the stand... the man grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the damn thing. But hey, I'm in russia, what will this chechnian try with me considering that i looked like a russian citizen (aka not dark skinned). Anyway, he gets me in there and starts babbling off the only english phrases he knows. "Very good!" he exclaims as he pulls random shoes off the wall, bending them in all directions, and even showing me how they don't melt when holding a lighter to the leather. Wow, chechnian, you got me hooked. But then he gets personal. He literally pulls my shoes off my feet. Wow, chechnian, this is great service! i don't even have to take off my own shoes. The young chechnian then put his shoes on my feet and told me to walk around. Damn, chechnian, you're giving these to me for free? The shoes were Dolce Cabbana, i don't know much about brands, but i know that this is a pretty fly shoe. As i walk around the dirt ground in my new Dolce, i realize these aren't the most comfortable things---- surely, not Kangeroos, which by the way he insulted because they were not capable of resisting flames. So, I try to tell him with pure gestures and english but he doesn't understand that I don't want these shoes. Well well, chechnian, you didn't like that did you. He took my kangeroos and put them in a bag, tied the bag, and put them in the corner. Are you really stealing my 5 year old kangeroos chechnian? Then he starts raising his voice, and physically won't let me take the shoes off my feet. That's when my brother Dodge shows up. Now Dodge, he's the man, he's from Kansas, so he obviously knows what's up. He walks right up to this guy in his boat shoes and polo, and gives a 'what's up.' The chechnian didn't like that at all, and starts poking him in the stomach and making that noise you would make if you're tickling a toddler tummy by fluttering your lips. Dodge thought this was hilarious, as did i. But really i just wanted my kangeroos back. So I wittily pull out my visa to show him that that is the only way i can pay. he understood, but new i was lying. 5 more minutes of Babel-esque bickering and he finally lets me have my shoes back. Bad Chechnian.***
For the next 4.5 hours i walked around this monster of a market looking at all the cool soviet stuff, nesting dolls, and just about anything... even a sub machine gun.
So when we left, we stopped at Arbat st. to eat a nice dinner. Then i did something else pretty crazy.
I got a tattoo. A lip tattoo to be specific. My friend Lindsay wanted to get one actually first, and then my boy Dodge said, "hey Neil, you should get one too."
I said, "Pff, yeah right. What should i get, Dodge?"
Dodge said, "get.... Da." And that's when the light bulb blew up in my head. Blew up, because this was the best idea for a tattoo i've ever heard, and because I just remembered that i've been wanting to get a lip tattoo for roughly 2.5 years. So, I made up my mind. I was going to get it. J helped me out with the font. He found a russian magazine, inside was an ad for some rice. There lay "Da." Da means Yes in Russian, by the way. The tattoo lady thought i was crazy. J thought i was crazy, even Dodge who told me to do it thought i was crazy. I finally met my artist, his name i find out later to be Dmitri. He was the shit. He had gray hair, obviously a sign of experience, and he spoke broken english, which is better than just about everyone in the shop. When it was over, he shook my hand and we got a picture together. He took one for his records too. see, Dmitri thinks it's cool.
So now I have a Da tattoo on my lip. You can only see it if i pull my lower lip down with my hand. It's quite convenient if I don't feel like using my vocal chords in russia. Just whip out that lip.
Lindsey ended up with Beealyy Slooan. A white elephant. It's pretty sweet too. Behind her ear. I love beallly Slooans.


*** I have no proof that this guy was even associated with Chechnia. But i'm pretty sure he was.





[PICTURES WILL BE UP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I HAVE SOME GOOD ONES. MOSTLY OF LIP TATTOOS AND RUSSIAN CHILDREN]