I have no friends here. Period dot. None. Not one. I have been here over a month and I’m still on the struggle bus to Friendshipville. Of course, I’ve met people. And they’re nice. But I have like two numbers in my phone and I never use them. Also, no one thinks I’m funny. So, I just laugh with myself a lot. Have I told you that one of my best friends(?)/frenemies lives like 4 hours away and won’t talk to me? Cool man, cool. You win. You’re better than me. You’re having a good time with your friends and I’m not.
But I will entertain myself with all these things on my “no friend” to-do list:
1. Solo photo shoot in my apartment (let’s be honest, I probably won’t have clothes on in most of the pics, might be some fire/props in there too. Who knows?).
2. Have a competition with myself to see who can go the longest without washing his hair? Wonder who’s going to win?
3. Throw moldy food at the hooligan children downstairs in my apartment complex.
4. Have a séance to talk to the spirit of my dead cat Bubbles.
Let’s get all the bitching out right now. Everyone stares at me. And not discretely, like 15-second stares. Armenians CANNOT (CANNOT!) walk in a straight line. The sidewalk can be 8 feet wide and they will zigzag the fuck out of that slab of concrete. Always in my way. Like super jumbo maxi pad Always Ultra!
Armenians, like Turks, have a very distinct…smell. I’m scared because I think I’m starting to smell Armenian. ☹
Ok, venting is over. I have to tell you what happened a couple of weekends ago. My supervisor/boss? is a really nice British guy. I don’t understand his accent a lot of the time but we get each other. He invited a bunch of young(er) people from the office out on a Thursday night. We went. It was lots of fun. Food and wine at a fancy restaurant. The whole time I was hoping that one of the nice older guys would offer to pay because I’m poor, and they did! I drank quite a bit because the alcohol was free and I somehow end up with two old guys who said they would give me a ride home. The older one, probably around 60, was the drunkest and started talking about getting a prostitute. Haha. We’re laughing. It’s funny. Next thing I know, I’m in a hotel and we’re asking the front desk for a prostitute. How did I get myself in this position? Lucky for me, they didn’t have any available (maybe they’re all on maternity leave) so we ended up at Cinnabon at 2am. Needless to say, I was kind of out of it at work the next day.
Last weekend, I was in a mood. No surprise there. I had no plans, which is normal, so I decided to walk around the city a little. It’s easy to get stuck in my own little bubble so I tried to branch out. I sat at this restaurant and overheard these three girls talking. I realized they were speaking Hebrew and finally got up the nerve to ask them if they were from Israel. They invited me to sit with them and we spoke in Hebrew for a while. (Remember that one time I spent years learning Hebrew because I fell in love with a boy from Israel?) They were visiting Armenia and were trying to get to this Mime festival in another city. Mime like black and white shirt, painted face. Whatever floats your boat. I must mention that these girls were hippie shit. Not in a derogatory way but they were like the definition of hippie. Long dresses, dreadlocks, hairy armpits. Somehow I end up going with them to this festival. I thought we would come back that night but we didn’t. It was an adventure and I hardly spent any money so I can’t complain. We came back to Yerevan and they asked if they could stay with me for a night. Sure, I have no friends and nothing to do. One night’s no big deal.
Can I take a shower? Ok, fine.
Can we all do our laundry? Uhh sure but you have to buy soap.
No, it’s ok we’ll just use yours.
I was pretty on edge at this point because I like my space. The kicker was the next morning. They had to get up early to leave so they “tried” to be quiet. Well, they weren’t. I was wide awake in my bed and I look over and one of them is eating my cereal. EATING. MY. CEREAL! I hadn’t even opened the box. But she helped me out with that. Sorry this isn’t a kibbutz. Time to go! They were very sweet but obviously it’s hard to host 3 people in a studio apartment when you like your space.
This has been the bitchy post y’all. Stay tuned for pics from my sensual greasy-haired photo shoot. Fierce and Love…
I’m a failed model/international peace mediator. I like telling stories, traveling, and guys. Besides becoming Oprah, my biggest life goal is to be able to do the splits. All the way.