This Country Wants Me Dead... and other things to keep in mind

So. It is 3:39 local time, and I am just getting back from Elizabeth's boyfriend's place. I stand corrected about my previous post... I suppose I could say I have a few Russian friends here. But they are all men... mostly nerdy. The WOMEN here are stuck-up.

In reference to the title of this post: Russia does, indeed want me dead. How do I know? Shall I count the ways?

Vodka for $5 a bottle
Red Devil (a yummier alternative to 4Loko, which I SHOULD NOT be drinking at midnight-3am) $1/can
The constant toasting Russians do, and the mild pressure to keep drinking, even if you have class at 10am the next morning.
Lightbulbs that come apart when being changed, as if their only joy in life comes from electrocuting you.
The fact that pedestrian lights go from green to red with only a split second of yellow in between.
How cars here think it is a race with pedestrians to see who gets to the corner first. If it is the car, and you happen to still be in the road... tough fucking luck.
How the university locks the passageway between sectors at like 10pm.

I must tell y'all about what I call the "magical mystical horror-movie-esque underground passageway of death and wonder," or the "magical mystical passageway" for short and less fear. When they close the sectors at night, and you do not feel like braving the cold and possibility of being kidnapped by walking all the way around, you walk thorough the secret passageway. It goes through one of the courtyards (the one to the rear/most used entrance). This is filled with cars, possibly hiding rape0orcs from plain sight. I was not aware of how terrifying this passageway was until I took it this evening, still drunk, but largely alert thanks to "alcoenergy." I started down the stairs in sector Б, and rooted through my purse to find my phone. You know, in case of rape orcs. While standing on the stairs, one of the revolving doors constantly revolved, as if moved by the invisible hand of every crappy B-movie propmaster. Offstage, a light singing could be heard. As it was in Russian, I'm not sure what it was exactly, but I imagine the rough translation was "You won't die in your sleep... Oh, no... You'll die facing them... With terror in your eyes... You'll die standing... Facing Them" or something similar.

I bravely soldiered on, descending two flights of stairs, and pushing past two metal doors with Russian writing (what I can only imagine was the lyrics to the song I heard sung earlier...)

The first courtyard was minimally scary. However, you have to pass under a decrepit... well, underground area to get to the next one. And it is sketchy as all get-out. Broken vents hang from little plastic threads, covered in ice. Various alcoves prove to be the perfect hiding spots to rape-orcs. My high-heeled boots make a conspicuous *crunch crunch crunch*, giving away my position to any who wish to do me harm. More strange Russian writing, along with crude drawings of a Cthulu/octopus love child are scrawled on the walls.

I spend much of my time here wondering how much time Douglas Adams spent in Moscow.

Next you get to the next courtyard. This is slightly scarier, either because you are all scared already from underground death-lab, or because there are dumspsters overflowing with cardboard boxes (AHHHHH! NO RECYCLING?!?!?! Ha, yeah right...) where possible murderers/rapists/kidnappers might be hiding. Also, one of the cars in this area inevitably has an alarm, with a glowing red light that shines at you like the eyes of Satan himself, waiting to devour your very soul.

Just as you reach the door, the very image of safety and warmth, it opens... You give out a terrified yelp, like a startled Chihuahua who may or may not have seen a moth land on a windowsill. A very nice-looking couple emerged, looking at you like you are, indeed, touched. You try to cover your face with you hair, in fear that they might recognize you in daylight as the idiot American afraid of doors. You are unsuccessful.

But hey. You survived!