Funtitled.

Bought two opera tickets last week: one for La Boheme, the other for Don Juan. La Boheme took place in a small, SMALL opera house, where the acoustics were confusingly terrible, and the second act was set in a pizza place, within which the "waitresses" were wearing neon rabbit ears and sequined mini skirts (something you might expect to see at the Neon Cactus, but less so at the opera house). I have been led to believe the show we saw might have been the rehearsal for Saturday's show... I have a different theory. I've convinced myself it was all a dream; a whimsical Freudian interpretation of the real thing which my wine soaked mind conjured to protect myself from the mental rage boner that popped at what a waste of money it turned out to be... Russia is teaching me that run on sentences are okay to use. And if you're a fan of Vampire Weekend, and have all this time been wondering just who doesn't give a fuck about an oxford comma, its the Russians. They have no fucks to give for that shit. Anyway, Don Juan was tonight, but I was too swept away in the Maslenitsa holiday spirit to be bothered to attend. (It was supposed to be in the same theater, and presumably the same cast... fuck why.)

Wikipedia can help clarify the holiday for you. But, essentially it's about blini (thin, some might say inferior, pancakes), singing, dancing, drinking, organized fist fights, and setting things on fire. I don't think I need to say more. Except I've never seen so many Russians so happy at the same time. I stepped on someone's foot on accident and they SMILED at me. That is WEIRD and frankly unnerving after my past experiences with that. Once on the metro, I stepped on a babushka's foot and she wailed like a fucking banshee for like two minutes. Oh, babushka means grandmother, but also refers to very old women who seem slight, but have the balls and the low center of gravity to bowl you over if, so help you god, you get in their way.

They are wily little fuckers and are not your friends. 

hehehehehe