I Love Soy Meat Balls-which-are-not-really-meat-balls-because-they-have-no-meat-but-saying-"soy-balls"-doesn't-somehow-sound-right.

There are some questions that leave a lot to imagination (like where a mermaid's vagina is), some that just don't have an answer (like what to do when seeing an endangered animal eating an endangered plant) and some that just can't be explained (like why is it that people blow and spit on birthday-cakes, yet everyone wants a piece). There are situations though, when you just can't remember a word/phrase or simply don't know it. If that is the case you either choose the full body language pack of retarded gestures hoping your sex appeal won't suffer major blows, or go like "hey-where's-that-long-handled-device-thingy-you-saw-me-holding-yesterday?"
"what, this?" (offers a spatula)
"no, I said the long one."
"aah, this." (offers a rave glow stick)
"no, the plastic one."
"ah, this." (offers a dildo)
"...WTF! No, the one I use to scratch my back with."
"aah, you mean the back-scratcher."
...(so that's what it's called)...

During this period of the year when you're supposed to be buying Christmas presents for your beloved ones and sending cards to members of your b-class social circles, I become somewhat lazy and stupefied by the horror of having to go to malls to battle crazy mothabitches for the last item on sales. So, getting out of the house means I'm either out of food supplies, or want to not contribute in the population growth and therefore do participate in a protected exchange of bodily fluids (SEX). Even though chances were that I would not encounter any english-speaking tourists (whose last hope to find whatever they want is me), while hovering around my house and finding a million ways to do nothing, my living space (old ass apartment) was recently invaded by a couple of friends of friends for a few days. Now, "friends of friends" means this ship is bound for shit in most languages when combined with "living with". But. I'm always nice to my fellow humans if there's even the slightest possibility someone else is going to do the washing/cleaning/cooking happy-servant (adult) chores.

The guys were ace and the semi-decrepit dwelling of mine did not really suffer any drastic uncontrolled demolitions for the better part of our coexistence. Yet, there were technical difficulties. Basically, no one spoke each other's language. One thing we did have in common though, was that english isn't even our second language. I don't speak italian (one of them was italian, the other a half-italian who doesn't live in Italy), they didn't speak greek, shit was lost all the time and then found by accident, many curse words are common in italian and greek and YET we somehow managed to communicate by not swearing at each other (that would have been the only way to be exactly sure of what the other person was saying). Latin, ancient greek, italian-english, lines from porno movies, hell even tolkien words were used to make sure we all knew what we were going to cook and where we were trying to drive to.

I guess the moral of the whole experience is that as long as people need to eat/shit and socialize the means of communication REALLY don't matter. And yes, food will be burned, people might think you're not hitting on them (when in fact you are, but are saying "musical" instead of "good-looking") and work will not by any means get done. Human relationships are not grammar tests though: you might fail horribly in both grammar and syntax and yet pass the test. ;)

I Love Soy Meat Balls-which-are-not-really-meat-balls-because-they-have-no-meat-but-saying-"soy-balls"-doesn't-somehow-sound-right. by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.