Craziness...and non-craziness

Last night was fun, if only because it was the most social I've been in a few days. I ended up hanging out with the person from my dorm, another guy who graduated from my high school when I was a sophomore, and four Russians, who supplied copious amounts of tequila and margarita mix. I talked in a drunken mix of English and Russian. I can't recall all the inane conversations I had, but one went something like this:
(and remember, this is all in Russian)

Russian guy: What is your name?
Me: My name is Rachel, what's yours?
Russian: Petya. What are you doing?
Me: I'm getting drunk.
Russian: You're getting drunk. That's bad. In Russia we have a music group, Ruki Vverkh--
Me: I know them!
Russian: Anyway, they have a song that goes: Alcohol is a poison. Don't drink. Better to practice sports, be industrious, work in the garden.
Me: Nice. I'll do that. So what are you doing?
Russian: I'm standing.
Me: Cool.

So I guess that serves as more proof that Russian will follow me all the days of my life, whether I like it or not. I don't have a problem with that, although it would be nice if Russian guys were better looking. Maybe I can be the beautiful young mistress of an evil Russian crime lord. I'll reveal myself as an American spy, betray my boss and run off with a dashing English secret agent. Someday...