The author wished to be unknown

 

Learning the Cyrillic

Learning the Cyrillic
Will drive you quite insane,
The struggle to make sense of it
Wi 11 pi ague your Roman brain.

You ask me why, the y is u,
And P parades as r,
And C, you see, is really s -
If you've foil owed me thi s far.

B is v (or not to be?)
Would Shakespeare scratch his head?
And H is n - oH no! oH no!
But wait, there's more to dread.

2 walls, a roof, but different feet -
Three letters look alike,
So don't confuse your d, 1, p's -
Make sure you've got it right.

One wall with roof is g that's hard
And soft g's don't exist,
But "zh" is used as substitute,
Do you get the zh-ist of this?

Now just to build your confidence.
5 letters stay the same -
So if your name is "Kate" or "Tom"
(I think!?) it doesn't change.

The backward I^Ts are i and y
But y, it wears a hat
And the letter b has grown a tail
Now who would think of that?

Say "ch" when you see little h
That's standing on its head,
And number 3, when in a word
Will masquerade as z.
(Canadian pronounciation, please)

From outer space, this character
It's f! - now fancy that!
And X is "baCH" -just clear your throat,
Like fur balls in a cat.

Now I haven't mentioned all the vowels,
And b that has no sound
But changes all you've learned thus far -
Are you feeling overwhelmed?

Yes, learning the Cyrillic
Will put you to the test!
At least, try learning some of it,
And say you've done your best.

 

You know you have been Russia too long when:

You answer the phone by saying "allo, allo, allo" before giving the caller a
chance to respond.

When crossing the street, you sprint.

In winter, you choose your route by determining which icicles are least likely
to impale you in the head.

You are impressed the new model Lada.

You hear the radio say it is zero degrees outside and you think it is a nice
day for a change.

You argue with a taxi driver about a fare of 30 rubles ($1) to go 2 kilometers
in a blizzard.

You win a shoving match with an old Babushka for a place in line and you
are proud of it.

You are pleasantly surprised when there is real wine in the bottle of
Georgian Kinzmarauli you bought in a kiosk.

You notice that Flathead's cell phone is smaller than yours and you're
jealous.

Your day seems brighter after seeing that goon's Mercedes broadsided by a
pensioner's "Moskvich".

You are thrown off guard when the doorman at the nightclub is happy to
see you.

Your not sure what to do you when the "GAI" (traffic cop) only asks you to
pay the official fine.

You give a 10% tip only if the waiter has been really exceptional.

You plan your vocations around those time of the year when the hot water is
turned off.

You start using "da" instead of "yes".

You begin to socialize with your driver and/or your cleaning lady.

You know seven people whose favorite novel is "Master and Margarita".

You take a trip to Budapest and think you've been to heaven.

It doesn't seem strange to pay the GAI $2.25 for crossing the double line
while making an illegal U-turn, and $35 for a microwaved dish of frozen
vegetables at a crappy restaurant.

Your coffee cups habitually smell of vodka.

You know more than 60 Olgas.

You are rude to people at the airport for no reason.

You have to check your passport for an arrival-in-Russia date.

'Remont', 'pivo' and 'nalivai' become integral parts of your vocabulary.

You are curious as to when they might start exporting Baltika beer to your
home country.

Cigarette smoke becomes 'tolerable'.
You think metal doors are a necessity.

You speak to other expats in your native language, but forget a few of the
simplest words and throw in some Russian ones.

A gallon of gasoline,or milk seems like a foreign concept. (Americans only)
You actually enjoy shopping at the rynok.

While on vacation in North America you try paying a traffic fine on the spot
and get arrested for attempted bribery.

You see a car behind you with flashing lights and think it's some politician.
The elevator aroma seems reassuring somehow.

Your sister writes to you about the best prime rib she's ever had and you
can't remember what it looks or tastes like.

The sellers at the rynok start calling you by your patronymic only.
A weekend anywhere in the Baltics qualifies as a trip to the West.
You start buying Russian toilet paper.
You never smile in public when you're alone.

When that strange pungent mix of odorous of stale sawdust, sweat and
grime in the metro makes you feel safe and at home...

You are in awe that after 3 days home your shoes are still clean.

You no longer get wildly offended when you are asked to pay at the
coatcheck.

(For women) When you dress up in your best outfits for work and to ride the
metro.

When mayonnaise becomes your dressing of choice.
You do all your shopping at kiosks.

You voluntarily take a stroll in the park, Baltica beer in hand, on a sub-zero
day.

You specify "no gas" when asking for mineral water.

Your friends have to keep reminding you that the word is "restroom", not
"toilet".

You are dumbstruck when high school or college students wait on you with a
smile, reciting a 90 second spiel on the "specials of the day" and display
complete knowledge of the contents of each menu item...

You tip very little, even for great service.

You are surprised to see that the cooks in a Chinese restaurant are actually
Chinese.

If you are still reading this, you definitely have been here too long.