As an expat in Moscow...
...it is common to move house frequently. I have been here for little over a year, and in that time period I have lived in no less than 4 different flats. I have also had, I'm happy to say, no less than 4 different sets of 'interesting' flatmates.

Apologies in advance for length...I have several tales to tell.

In chronological order...

1) I arrived in Moscow at roughly 4am on a freezing (-15) January morning. I was taken to my apartment, and when the driver unlocked the door we were greeted by a woman in her fifties with wild hair, wilder eyes and a 12 inch knife in her hand. I discovered that this lady, hereafter known as N, was to be my flatmate. After she informed me that if I'd been on my own and she hadn't recognised the driver I'd by that point have been celebrating my first morning in Russia on life support, she showed me my room. The next evening I asked her if she fancied going for a beer, to which she replied that she didn't drink alcohol. This turned out to be a lie as on the one occasion she left the falt without closing her door, I couldn't help but notice the MOUNTAINS of beer cans/bottles and vodka bottles that littered the place. Anyway, the next day I didn't see her. In fact, she didn't cross my path for two days. On the fourth day, I happened across her in the kitchen, when she proceeded to spend no less than an inescapable two hours telling me how much she hated Russia, how much she despised teaching, thought Seoul was so much better, and how she couldn't possibly go back to her native Canada as she was divorced and penniless and at one point was so destitute following her divorce that she was living on berries off of trees and whatever for a month. In the next few weeks several such conversations cropped up, and eventually I ended up avoiding her at all costs.

I made friends with a new girl, and we decided that it would be awesome if I moved in with her, so, I did. I made sure I did it in the middle of the night so that I didn't have to share any awkward goodbyes with crazy wench. A month later, I found out that two weeks after my departure, N had resigned. The company helped her get a flight home, and arranged to send the driver to pick her up to take her to the airport. On the day the guy turned up to drive her there, he discovered that the mad bitch had already left.

2) So, my friend. I moved in. All was fine for approximately 2 weeks, after which she decided that although our apartment was falling to pieces already, it was absolutely terrible and disgusting that if I didn't wash my dishes up immediately after eating, I was a lower lifeform than a pig. I found this ridiculous, although not as ridiculous as the fact that she washed up her things, on occasion, while she was actually cooking. WHo the fudge does that? Anyway, other things began to creep in. I had a problem and borrowed a very small amount of money off her. She didn't like the fact that I used part of said money to fund my beer appreciation, and thought it was 'disgusting' that I would buy expensive food (ie, imported cheese that DOESN'T taste of rubber as Russian cheese does)...however, that didn't stop her eating the whole fucking lot when she was drunk. She didn't appreciate the self esteem issues I do, on occasion, have, and also found fault in various other aspects of my personality which she tried to remedy by giving me endless social worker spiel and cod counselling. Things came to a head when one day she flipped at me and ranted and raved for about 15 minutes before leaving, slamming the door, leaving me there bewildered and with an urgent desire to find a new flat.

3) I did indeed do that, and found myself living in a luxury apartment with a Russian girl and a guy. The guy was awesome, no problems there. The girl however? Different story. She was a filthy pig, even filthier than me. When the kitchen bin is full? What do you do? Do you change it? Maybe. Do you at least start a new bag? Hopefully. Not her. Oh, no. What she would do, if the bin was full, was begin to craft an elaborate tower out of rubbish. I'd get home from weekends away and find some kind of cross between a modern art sculpture and a tetris board in the kitchen. She would also cook fish and leave the carcasses IN THE SINK.
he other classic moment was when we had a grand party. Many people attended, the festivities continued way into the night/morning, and eventually one of the neighbours called the militsia, aka the bribe-hungry Russian police. So, the customary manner in which to deal with a militsia appearance is to cut the music, speak in whispers, and basically ignore them until they go away. What did A. do? Stupid bitch LET THEM IN. Yes, she let them in, and then turned on the waterworks when they realised that she was the only native Russian in the whole flat and tried to shake her down for money to make them leave. Eventually my other housemate returned, shouted at them a bit, refused to bribe them and they fucked off. But still, REALLY. I had to leave...

4) And now I live with one of my best friends, who isn't completely deranged. However, a new girl joined us a few weeks ago. She's not weird per-se, she just has some idiosyncracies. For example, we have shared internet, and our modem can't accept more than one cable. We need one of two things. 1) a splitter device with which we can plug both cables into the one modem, or 2) a WIFI system, which our BB company would no doubt happily set up. Anyway, after moaning about the shared cables for a week or so, she went out and bought...a new modem. Great, except for the fact that my computer operates on the Russian version of Vista, has about 10,000,000 software conflicts and won't actually accept the software for the modem. Apparently this is, however, my PERSONAL fault, and I was chastised last week for not having done something to make the software work. Considering that the only thing I could actually do to make the software work would be to buy and install Windows XP, and a proper, functioning English version (not available in this country...) at that, I think I have a good reason not to. She grudgingly accepted that I am currently powerless, before promising to call our internet company. 6 days later, it hasn't happened.
She also has the weirdest sleep pattern in the world. She claims to have about a thousand food allergies (which is the reason why my other flatmate and I were told firmly not to even contemplate touching the food she's bought that is in the fridge, because it's 'special') and that these allergies make her feel sick and tired all the time. However, I have a sneaking feeling that she may feel a lot less tired if she stopped going to bed at 5am and then getting up at 8am. Just a thought.

That's all for Moscow. However, before I cut off and go to bed, I shall tell the best of the best, which I have saved, expertly, until last.

This is from when I still lived in England, in a shared house in Hackney, London. I shared the house with 7 other people:

- A Greek guy
- Greek guy's son
- A Romanian guy
- An Italian guy
- A Japanese guy
- A Lithuanian woman
- Lithuanian woman's husband

I basically lived in the UN. Anyway. I'll rapidly mention the Romanian dude, before the best part. This guy, I forget his name, let's call him D, seemed to be the most in-debt person I've ever met in my life. EVERY DAY there would be a collector at the door from some company or other, and on one occasion I was actually knocked out of the way by some over-zealous cow trying to get to him.

Anyway, the action (as it were) lies with the Lithuanians. I used to work in a bookshop, and had every 4th Sunday off. It was beautiful. I would snooze...until about 10am. At around this time, one every single poxing day off I had, the Lithuanian couple would, without fail, have a stonking great argument. There would be raised voices, which would escalate rapidly to become full blown shouting and screaming matches. I'd hear plates being thrown, and, once or twice, the window being smashed by a flying object of some kind. After several minutes of this, I'd hear a loud 'thwack-SMACK' followed by a second of silence followed by a scream, desperate crying and the sound of the woman running up the stairs and then locking herself in the bathroom (next to my room) and crying, with heaving, racking sobs and little shouts of anguish. I'd then hear the front door slam. About 15 minutes later the woman would leave the bathroom, and return to the room she shared with her husband. I'd hear her replacing stuff that had been thrown about, and the like. A little later I'd hear the front door open, and the husband would be back. I'd hear murmers, occasionally a little bit of quiet crying, and then more murmers. Then I'd have a brief moment of silence and respite, which gave me time to grab the earplugs and prepare for the next part. This basically involved the peaceful Sunday morning being shattered by the opening bars of Nightwish's version of 'Phantom of the Opera' (goth metal, in case you're unfamiliar with their work...) and then hearing that very song several times, on loop, accompanied by the not so subtle and not so muffled sound of two fifty-something Lithuanians having noisy, rough, endless, excruciating (for me) make-up sex. Depending on my sobriety on any given morning, that would usually be the point at which I'd be unable to take anymore, grab my nearest clothes and run away, fast.

Wow, I feel so much better now. Again I apologise for the length!
(judeski walked on water and ran through fire, Fri 27 Feb 2009, 23:19, 3 replies)

Yay
for Nightwish!
(kitescreech still here, Sat 28 Feb 2009, 20:39, closed)

I often
wash up as I cook - it's a great feeling to have a lovely meal and then know you can get absolutely fucked on Stoli and not be faced with a kitchen of shit the next day. Ultra win.
(thebdaman hmmm....., Sun 1 Mar 2009, 23:49, closed)

I agree...
...on occasion I even do it myself, but not every day. And I'm sure you wouldn't shout at somebody and tell them they're a pig because they don't happen to do the same thing.
(judeski walked on water and ran through fire, Mon 2 Mar 2009, 9:35, closed)