Fuck You, I'm a European Aristocrat - by Aimee Friedland What do you do when you have only $2,000 to live off of (including rent AND tuition) for the next 5 months? Long story short, I am poor. Poor as hell. I live in a charming little apartment in the center of St. Petersburg with new IKEA furniture and Wi-Fi internet, but soon, I may not even be able to afford food! Perhaps that is an exaggeration, but the fiscal situation worries me nonetheless. I need to find a job. But how? I’m here on a student visa (which prevents me from doing any “real” official work), and on top of that, no one will take a 17 year old American female seriously here. My plan is to basically discontinue language classes at the university (while still somehow mantaining a visa), in favor of occasional lessons with a private teacher (it’s actually cheaper this way), and potential small-jobs, such as that sultry voice-over I did for the Turkish hotel chain. Meanwhile, time is progressing, and I still do not know where I am going to enroll for university. Either way, it will be in St. Petersburg. When I tell people of my plans, they look at me with such disconcerning eyes as if to say, “Oh, you poor, stupid, stupid girl.” Then they hear me speak Russian and their impressions only become worse. In response, I say: 1) Fuck you. 2) I know it’s going to be hard, but I’m going to make it. 3) I’m not going back to America for my bachelor’s degree, and that’s final. 4) If you think my Russian sucks, so what? I’ve been learning (on my own) for ONE year, and having that in mind I think I’ve done pretty well. If you don’t believe me, read my Russian journal, (which I am ironically closing - but don’t worry, something new and better will come up soon). So that’s it. I’m doing it. I’m already here, and I’m staying here. I’m practically out of money, but I’ll find a way to live. Likewise, I will adapt to the Russian educational system and soon I will be fluent in the language. I am so fucking sure of it, you don’t even know. Really, I don’t give a shit about what other people think, but I frequently react aggressively to their comments because they make me doubt myself. I don’t need that. Don’t scorn me, don’t pity me, just help me as you see fit and I will be more than appreciative. P.S. I’m sick. (c) by Aimee Friedland