More randomness

So, I could kick off an entry on my last month in Lviv, Ukraine (yes, it's already been a month). However, I feel inclined to insert more random commentary I've run into over the past few months that I found interesting. And by interesting, I mean hilarious and possibly hurtful. Who's with me!?!?!?

-Sitting on the beach in Croatia, I had a revelation. I have no problem laughing at fat kids. If you're fat at 9 years old, the only help you have is the shaming glances of thin beautiful people. That is, in recognizing the obvious parental neglect that led to this problem, as being an obvious void for more traditional corrective measures. That's where we (I and all of you) come in. We would be on the beach, looking thin, tan, and beautiful, and every time we see a fat child, we'll open a bag of chips. When he/she inevitably comes running over to ask for some, we will smear their belly with peanut butter and watch the seagulls taunt them as they run away screaming.

Think of the comprehensive service we'd be providing: the peanut butter (with it's oily outer layer) acts as sun screen, and a powerful exfoliant (I've heard). The running provides a good cardio workout, and the sobbing targets the midsection!! The shame will last forever. Child obesity: eradicated.

-The following is a conversation that actually took place between me and a guy from Ireland I met in Budapest:

Irish Douche: Hey, where is an Irish pub nearby?
Me: Dude, aren't you Irish?
ID: Yea, mate. And from Australia, but I live in Dublin again now.
Me: And isn't this Budapest?
ID: Eh, yea?
Me: Sooo.... don't they have Irish pubs in Dublin?
ID: Oh, the best, mate.
Me: I'm sure. So, what the fuck?
ID: I just want to find one and have a pint of Guinness, mate.
Me: Oh, I see what you mean. Yea. When I come to Budapest I, too, think to myself 'Gee, I wonder if I can find a shittier Irish pub than all the shitty Irish pubs I have access to back home.
ID: [look of astonishment]
Me: Seriously dude. Irish pubs are garbage. You need to get over your lame love of Guinness and evolve past kitchy brass railings and slobbering loud drunk Brit fucks. This is Budapest. Let's get a drink in some weird local joint.
ID: Ok, ok!! Can I get a bite at McDonalds first?
Me: You know what? I tried. You're on your own from here on out. Fucking kill yourself.

-Ukrainian men are like So You Think You Can Dance rejects, only they dress worse. I think Nino had a blog entry about how he's the best dressed man in Prague. Believe me, if you knew Nino, you'd know this was saying plenty. In New York, he dressed like a Staten Island Guido (hell, his name IS Nino, after all) with a better haircut and fewer necklaces, so you can imagine the state of things in Prague where he is.

Well, I've been to Prague. And I have to say, the fashion culture here in Ukraine is sublimely absurd, even in comparison. Herringbone suits with white shoes and belts (which, mind you, are hiked up near the navel), fake D&G everything, fake Gianfranco Ferre everything else, and NOTHING fits properly. It's like they all assume they'll gain 30 kilos by the time the next fake line of Armani hits the rack, so they buy everything three sizes too large, and walk around looking like scarecrows in sheets with bad stitching.

-My only complaint with the women is the preponderance of mismatched animal-print tops and bottoms with patten leather boots. Many women here know how to dress well, but there are still more than a few that insist on pushing the circa-1989 Fredericks of Hollywood motif.

-As for what they do when they're together (men and women, that is), they go on walking dates. Almost exclusively. I have a hard time discerning if this is done because the men are cheap, or the women like to show off their obscenely tight, tiny outfits on the catwalk --er, I mean Svobody Avenue-- in the hopes a better man may save her from her lame date-walker.

When they aren't walking around aimlessly, they are sitting at bars drinking water or tea (because apparently getting drunk on a first date is a no-no), lightly stroking each other's hair or shoulder. They never talk... whether walking or otherwise, there is never any talking. Doesn't sound so bad, actually... though I was nevertheless perplexed. But as a girl I met put it: "The reason they aren't talking is because she is too busy thinking about whether or not he is the right guy for her, and he is too busy thinking 'how can I fuck her?'"

Funny, seems things aren't much different here after all.

-There is also an overwhelming assumption that people travel here for "sex tourism." This isn't really true about Lviv at all. Perhaps moreso in Odessa (where marriage agencies are apparently prevalent) and Kiev (where marriage agencies are disguised as whore houses).

I met one 36 year old guy from Virgina who was here for the sole purpose of boning prostitutes. He made me understandably sick for the following reasons:

-his rants on "American bitches"
-his need for "Ukrainian pussy"
-his exuberant willingness to pay for it
-his disappointment that the only ones he can find are over 18 and cost $60US
-his general bad attitude towards everything
-sexual predators, while funny to talk about, are pretty sickening up close

Sorry, that stuff's not funny at all, and for once, I can't even think of a way to make his disgusting outlook on Ukraine (or life in general) even the slightest bit appealing. I hated this cunt with the fire of 10,000 suns. And if he were to be burned by such a fire, his death would still not be painful enough. I hope he gets AIDS. Too much? Ok, at least mouth-AIDS.

-So, I came to Ukraine with nothing but t-shirts. It's around 45-50F degrees here every day, so I've needed to buy some warmer clothing. Problem? You bet your sweet ass, it's a problem. Guess who's got a new (probably fake) Gianfranco Ferre jacket? Yep, this guy!!! It's not as offensive as it could be, as it doesn't have the big "GF" emblazoned across the chest (though you should see how many D's and how many G's are on the jackets of guys around here). But it still stands for the label-whoring that takes place in smaller cities, where people really have no idea what to put on their bodies. And as such, they walk around in labels they think are "cool", neverminding the fact that A) it looks stupid, B) it fits like shit, C) they're a walking fucking billboard, and D) no one outside of Staten Island or the Jersey shore would EVER be caught dead wearing that kind of shit, and I don't care if you bought it in a store called "Soho Style."

Maybe I've just dated too many people in fashion, and maybe New York has just turned me into a cunt when it comes to just about anything. But if any of you out there have dreams of becoming a "style consultant," you could dominate this market. I promise.

-As for pictures of Lviv, they will be up soon. As will a comprehensive review of my experience here so far. I'm planning a return trip to Krakow, and one to Kiev in the next couple weeks, along with about a week in Minsk (which requires I go through Kiev for a visa). Minsk should be cool because I recently learned that's where my father's side of the family originated (well, Belarus, more generally). I would have known this many years ago, had I not been the egocentric little cunt I was as an adolescent. I know you're all shocked.