Natasha! Pictures. (Of Cathdrals, etc.)

IF YOU CLICK ON THEM THEY GET BIGGER.



This is St Basil's.


This is either a Russian Orthodox Cathedral or a Mosque. It's in Moscow so it's less likely to be Islamic. It's not covered in stars so it's probably not a Soviet State building.


This is the most Christmas-y one I could find.


Ian does not know the name of this, it's some kind of cathedral.


Uspenskiy Cathedral


Ian and his friend outside of Uspenskiy Cathedral. I think this was in Moscow.

St. Ives Apricot Scrub Renew and Firm (the anti-aging kind)

Dear Mrs. Apricot:

Everyone's going to have something to say about us. They're going to call it some May-December romance, act suspicious, wonder if I even have the right to consent to this. Even though it's my young, tender fingers yearning for you, with your immature perfume, your orange flecked attire and the unmaskably stale packaging you cling to, shabby-pharmaceutical-chic and not in the least eco-friendly. Sometimes I can even find you in a fat plastic tub, masquerading as cold-cream.

You're too old for me. I should have just stayed with your cousin, the "Invigorating" one which really wants to be wearing leather shorts, or her sister "Gentle," the little bottom that can still whip your face clean. I know that. And it was only supposed to be a dalliance. You were just there and I was in need of some facial scrubbin-n'-rubbin', if you know what I mean. It's the wrinkles that do it for me, your wrinkles. I needed to smear you all over the apples of my cheeks.

And it turns out, for all your packaging, your obsessive need to look younger (which is just honestly not working, you're not fooling anyone, or we wouldn't be having these problems), your very reputation among the others in the Apricot Scrub family tree, you know how to work over my face until I'm tingling and my face is like a new face, shining and ready to face the day after our little pick-me-up. I don't have any wrinkles but you still make me feel like a whole new woman with every caress of your chalky old-lady embrace.

So whatever they say, know that you are important to me. My days without you feel scaly, like they've never started at all. I need you in my life, no matter what they say, Mrs. Apricot. I love you. Always be with me, won't you?

Your young, sexy catch, forever yours,
Noren

Hanes Beefy-T

Dear Beefy-T,

Right now I just want to sink my teeth into you. You are just that delicious. Look at how you’ve held up to all those washings, no pilling on your hardy surface, so deceptive of your sensitive, comforting body. Nothing better.

I’m writing to you when I’m all curled up in you—but these are things that I need to say to you. I want them to last forever, not turn into sweet nothings. Meaty nothings. Today you’re dark green and you say “Hollins Day of Service”, and you are from that time when I was a first year and it was orientation and I quite stupidly thought we had to get our asses out of bed at seven AM and go get on a bus and eat crappy lunches. Funny, how bad that day was, and how special. That was the day we met. I wouldn’t get up at seven AM again without you as the reward.

You’re so warm. I’m all wrapped up in you and you take care of me, all big and predatory to the outside world. You're extra heavy but still soft, so rich and soothing. It’s good to wear you. You are what happens, I guess, when fabric eats a lot of cow with the fat still on. And I like what that does. You’re so protective, Hanes Beefy Tee, and carnivorous. It’s almost primal, your handling of me. When I wear you to bed, I go with just you, nothing else, just you and your yummy, satisfying textile, which is all the meat I need tonight.

No Hindus here,
Noren

Holmes Lil' Blizzard Fan

Dear Little Blizzard,

You understand, of course, how your diminutive name could not stand in my books. That "lil' " business had to go. While you may be short in stature, your windy ways have blown away all my defenses. I'm yours, for the entirety of your one-year warranty and beyond in the drift of time.

I remember where we met. Bed Bath and Beyond, in Charlottesville. It was summertime. I was there to get a fan for my brother, his dorm room was baking. He needed a fan, like all college kids. There were all those blustery ones stacked and clipped and huddled together in a mass on a display table. The usual type. The type that had put upon me, that I was putting up with. I didn't know there could be anything else. I was on one side. You were on the other. We... we were lucky.

Something tickled my ear. I touched it before I turned, did you notice it. Past the tall column rotationals--the kind that I always knew where just out to compensate for something--and the hotel-sized white ones with the ribbons tied to the front to pester you, was you. On the other side, yes, but aimed just right at my ear lobe, subtle but spot on. You knew me then.

Don't ever forget me when I put you in storage every winter,
Noren

Herbal Essences

[For Carmen]

Dear Herbal Essences,

OH OH OH OH OH YES.

Does that sound familiar? All those times you were there for me in just that right way, running through my hair, teaching me things about my scalp I didn't know existed, the way I could almost flex it in your luxuriant caresses. I can have that whenever I want with you. It's marvelous. You're so unassuming about it all, too. Back in the day when you were covered in flowers, there was an innocence about you, but I could see through it. Now with this new approach, this new hipster thing, all these block colors and these pretend-witticisms, it's sassy, but it's so young-looking. Well, let it stay. I only saw your silky moves, you didn't seem old to me, but it brightens me up just a little more. It's like a joke, just between us to, and to everyone else it's just your thing, your affectation, that covers up your true mastery of the top-most of me.

Soap me up and wash me down,
Noren

Minesweeper

Dear Minesweeper,

You've been with me so long, like a shadow. I should have given you some more faithful recognition by now, but I know you're gonna be here anyway. And not just for me. That's what's so good about you. You stick by everyone. Whenever I don't really know what to do, when my mind has just gone blank, I know I can glaze over and be with you.

It's not like you provide any sage advice, and to be honest--after this long, we can be honest, right?--you're not even very entertaining. I never really sought you out, and I know I don't call back. That's because you're just always hanging on to the side of all my computers, with your emoticon-oriented face and your little flaggy fingers. It's great that you're stable and undemanding of me and my time, because like Internet Explorer, I can't seem to actually pry you off my stuff--I don't think you're ever going to let me uninstall you. I know you don't like being compared to IE, and I don't blame you, because that dude's a douche, but it is true.

Everyone else flakes out on me, or gossips too much, or creates drama because they don't agree with my choice of sexual partners. Or because they're just jealous of me. And I'm here to confide in you, Minesweeper. The rest of my social circle is pissing me off. It's like I've been playing you on Expert and this is the eighth game and all I keep getting is a bunch of little blue ones. No one can be trusted, and everyone might go off. Even my drinking buddies. So I'm just like FLAG FLAG FLAG, FLAG FLAG FLAG. And then oooh, maybe once every new computer-ownership cycle I'll meet a six, someone who knows their shit and is honest about their warnings. But then it's back to the FLAG FLAG FLAG and the AWFUL BLUE ONES and the FLAG FLAG FLAG. And sometimes I think, I know this game is only supposed to have 10 mines in it but I SWEAR IT HAS FIFTY SEVEN. Because the minefield I live in is evil. And I'm glad I have you.

BOOM,
Noren

Seven-Eleven Slurpees

Dear Seven-Eleven Slurpee,

What gives? I thought we were going to make a go of it. I really did. I thought you did, too. You know how everyone has had to tighten their belts these days, and you know I really don't need to be eating more sugar. But I had said "Shut it" to my dentist and even worse things to the nutritionists who were riding my back. Because we were serious.

I was always going to have room for your Pepsi-goodness. Even though this entire summer, you've hardly been anything but touch and go. I never know how I'm going to find you. At your best, you're smooth and cool and perfect, and spending my time with you just refreshes me for the rest of the day. I still remember those times, but I can't remember when we last had one. This runny shit doesn't do it for me. Even though I went through your complaint channels, as if I were just another buyer, no one special to you, this whole week you've been off. I get all ready, go on over to find you, and you're not even thinking about getting yourself together. You're not even a slush! I feel like there must be someone else, and they're taking you away from me. Do they always pick the right color straw for you, the pink ones, which compliment your beautiful white-flecked brown ideal so well? Because I always did! It was important to me! You were always important to me! But right now, maybe I shouldn't have bothered. I'm starting to think there's no more hope for us. So see if I don't just get a weird yellow one that doesn't even have a spoon in the bottom. See what happens then.

You're never there for me anymore. You are always dripping wet and unresponsive. And not in a good way. It's not like I show up naked for you!

You could at least turn on your "Not Currently Available" light if you're going to be this cheap towards me.

Baby, come back,
Noren