So, I think I mentioned awhile back that we had to do a skit at some point for a "foreign student mixer" party at school. That was today. And this party was one of the most painfully awkward experiences of my life. It kinda actually comes close to senior prom when my ex that I'd dated for three years (and lost my virginity to, for Christ's sake) showed up with the chick that he dumped me to hold hands with at architecture camp. I take it back. This might actually have been worse.

This party was for all the foreign kids studying Russian at Gertzen to get to know each other and hang out and have fun. However, the Russian prof's idea of "having fun" consisted of each group doing some kind of skit, song, or dance. This part actually wasn't that bad. And everything would have been okay had that been it. My dumb group did a skit about ordering lunch in the cafeteria and dealing with the bitchy waitress. I was the bitchy waitress, remember? One of the other groups did a Swan Lake ballet parody, and there were some songs, which weren't as cool.

Then they told us that we all had to go outside to the courtyard. We were divided into teams and did those horrific "team-bonding" relay races that everybody hopes that they're done with after first grade. There was the "run in a squat" and the "run with huge hops" which were only mildly embarrassing, but then they got serious with the "everybody stand in a line, bend over and put your left hand through your legs and grab hands with the people in front of and behind you—then run as fast as you can with your face in their ass and your hand in their crotch." Seriously. What the fuck. That's not fun. That's awful.

Then back inside for musical chairs and forced dancing. I don't dance unless I'm trashed, and certainly not in front of a roomful of people I don't know. Fuck that shit. And especially not while some dude I don't know has to either hold my leg or my ear. Yuk. You're just kidding yourself if you think I'm even going to try. No, I'm not a good sport. Anyway, I was some seriously pissed off by the time I finally got to leave. Zhenya (I guess I should be correct and call him Evgenii Yurivich), the dean of the students (who spent the whole time rocking out—he was the best part of the day) came up to me and asked if I was okay. I said yes, but that I was going the fuck home. Except without the fuck, because I can't swear in Russian. Which is also lame.

Laura ran out behind me and we ended up going into Gostinii dvor because she wanted to buy a wallet and I was still too mad to deal with getting on the metro and being touched and molested by more people I don't know. We walked around the mall and looked at expensive clothes and ugly fashion and Laura didn't buy a wallet. But we did spend some quality time bitching about that shit-awful party. Jesus fucking Christ.