Russia

Oh, we love the Russians. I have a Russian complex. I think I am Russian. See, when my family members left Poland, it was technically Russia, because Russia was going through one of their frequent "Let's recreate Rome and take over everything," phases. So therefore, I am Russian. Makes sense, doesn't it??? I think so. Of course, my father, the bearer of "Polish" blood in my house, reminds me frequently that I'm crazy and not Russian. Whatever. Russian sounds way more fun. I told my mom yesterday that I was planning on taking Russian next year because I need fourteen credits of foreign language before I can declare my major and she just kind of looked at me like, "Really? You wouldn't want French or something???"

The Olympics have been good for the Russians, too. They've won both figure skating competitions, although it's really, REALLY hard to beat a Russian in figure skating. Because when they do their little back-story thing, the Russians are like, "I had to eat my shoes just to live." And the Americans kind of look at their own super-expensive shoes and are like, "Well...um...I was kind of overweight when I was little. That hurt." And the Russian's like, "Oh, boo-hoo. I'll bet your parents helped you through that difficult phase, right??? Well, I had to SELL my parents just to buy skates!" And then the Americans start crying because any sob story sounds better when it's in subtitles.

I totally fell in love with the Russian skater who won the '98 games...Ilya Kulick. (I'm sure that's not the right spelling.) I was ten. And then he married that Katerina Witt girl and they lived happily ever after. Whatever. I got over him. *sniff*