February 10, 2005

• Wake up at 5:45am, normal morning routine: shower, shave, dress, crappy hotel breakfast buffet from which I pilfer a crappy hotel lunch.



• Try to catch some shuteye on the 1-1/2 hour ride to work, but can't. Count the number of hot chicks working in the office, doesn't work. Count the number of times the driver tailgates a semi, sure as hell doesn't work. Give up on sleep and instead pass the ride reminiscing about childhood and the time my best friend and I knocked neighborhood bully Timmy Creehan** off his bike and stole his Popsicle from him and ate it right there in front of him.



• Workday and the usual "this is urgent until the next thing we decide is a bonfire comes along" all day, broken up by exactly one co-worker remembering it's my birthday and wishing me a happy one. Oh yeah, my day also punctuated by an argument with Vika over some stupid bullshit misunderstanding. Happy f..king birthday to me.



• Birthday email from Daddy and Ken, birthday wishes on the Expat.ru bulletin board from my Moscow drinking buddies. One of them sends me a nude pic of some lady's very nice boobies. Things are looking up.



• Sleep most of the 1-1/2 hour ride home, except the 23 times I'm awakened by my car-mate's loud and rather disturbing snoring. Gotta have a talk with that guy...



• Get back to the room, immediately start packing 2 days early because I'm goddamn depressed and need a reminder I'm going home soon. Manage to not cry like a sniveling little bitch. Barely.



• My Very Special Birthday Dinner: Pre-cooked frozen cocktail shrimp thawed in the sink, one bag of tater chips, and 4 bottles of Beck's Lager. All alone. Can't be bothered to sing "Happy Birthday To Me!" cuz drinking alone on this day is already scraping the bottom of the barrel.



• Vika calls, wishes me a happy birthday again. Mom too. Nobody argues about anything. Hear Masha in the background saying "Papa Papa Papa!" Feel a little better.



• Realize as I'm falling asleep that my 40th will fall on a Friday. Vow to get this shit right in 2 more years, even if it harelips the friggin world.

And That's The Way It Was!
S.Cronkite

**Tim Creehan actually grew up to become quite an accomplished chef and, by many accounts (including some of my parents' friends, who know him fairly well), a rather nice guy.