You Might Want to Sit Down for This

these are words i never care to hear again, especially from my father, who called me the other week to say, “you might want to sit down for this. i went to the cardiologist and he said my heart has a clogged artery. i need to have surgery this friday to open it.”

thankfully, i had sat down, though i’m not sure it made the news any easier to hear. it sounded bad, very bad. my father was basically on the verge of a heart attack, had been FOR YEARS with a tightness in his chest that had been misdiagnosed as gas, as anxiety. the arteries sounded mighty blocked, if the doctor’s tests were to be believed. an angioplasty was scheduled and, if it didn’t work, pops would have to be rushed into a bypass, an open-heart surgery that had risks that made my head spin and hands shake.

pops sounded worried, so i was worried. he started telling me some things about taking care of my mother, that he loved me. the tears were already rolling off my cheeks. i sat frozen, stunned, speechless. this was an impossible situation because my pops is a superhero and heart problems only plague mortals.

“dad, i love you and you’ll be fine,” i managed to stutter through a cracked voice.

friday came and we were all nervous as hell. my mom, sister, Mo and sister’s husband sat in the waiting area waiting impatiently while trying to distract each other from the fact that we were waiting impatiently. we played Scrabble and Rummicube while checking the clock wall, which indicated that the surgery was taking longer than expected, first by 10 minutes, then 20 minutes, then by an additional hour. still, no word from the surgeon.

my hands started shaking again while my head was reeling with an imagination that i couldn’t get a handle on. with mom already teetering near meltdown mode, i had to get it together. “G.I.T., girl,” i repeated to myself. Get It Together. stay calm and don’t panic unless there’s a reason to panic.

finally, the surgeon appeared. his white outfit made him look like a butcher. we quickly gathered around him, arms folded across our chests in a mirror image of each other, the dent in our brows creased, eyes searching his face for reassurance.

“the surgery went well,” he finally said. i let out a deep breath, my first in days. the surgery went well. mom was crying. doc was talking, telling us about the three out of five arteries around my pops’ heart that were clogged 99%. i wish that were a typo, but they were clogged 99%. my pops is only 62. we were mortified.

“i imagine your husband has enjoyed a rich russian diet of vodka, caviar and beef tar tar for many years,” doc tells my mom. and he’s absolutely right. i don’t recall seeing my pops order anything but steak at a restaurant. nor do i recall him eating any vegetable beyond a potato, usually a baked one with his steak that’s piled high with butter and chives. family suppers at home always feature cold cuts, cured russian sausages, smoked fish, herring in sour cream, a cheese plate and a variety of barbecued meats. vodka and red caviar also made an appearance.

exercise did not. beyond looking for the remote so he could change the channel (usually to Fox News, just to piss me off), i’ve rarely seen my pops exert himself. he had no hobbies that kept him active. he is not a nature guy or rugged outdoorsman. he is a sports nut with a big-screen TV and leather recliner, which he rarely parts with. why had i not recognized this as a problem before? why do i need this doctor to point out the fundamentally obvious?

mom is thinking the same thing, i can tell. it’s not like pops does much of the cooking at home. doc is saying that pops needs to make major lifestyle changes, his diet among them. we are all nodding. we are sorry it came to this. we will make it better, we promise. pops will also need to take blood-thinning medication for the rest of his life.

one more thing, doc says, before leaving us: the catheter attached to my pops’ heart during the surgery several times sucked out copious amounts of cholesterol and fat that surrounded his heart. this is a rare sight, doc says. we hang our heads in shame. we are all changed people now.

we visit pops in his hospital room, where he’ll be spending the night. he’s awake, cheery, drinking cranberry juice and waving us all in. we huddle around him, like we usually do. he’s says he’s hungry, but only for food that’s good for him. he can live without the steak dinners. and he wants to live. my mom’s not done with him yet, she says. she ordered two rocking chairs for the porch, where they will sit and grow old together. he’s onboard with that plan.

i lean down to kiss him and stroke his graying hair. it’s thinner now. i hold his hand. my superhero. he’s looking up at me, smiling, looking happy, looking different.

“do me a favor, eh?” he says.

“anything, pops.”

“don’t get old.”

Octobered

ever since i returned from my glorious two-week vacation, which i still need to finish chronicling, my days have consisted of work, work and more work, both at the day jobbie and during moonlighting hours. this has left little time for blogging, socializing and spa days, three of my most cherished pastimes. part of me thinks i should begin saying “no” to jobs to regain some of the downtime i so very much miss, but the bigger part of me is a greedy bitch who thinks i have no real reason NOT to hustle.

good news is that i’m making money, none of which i have time to enjoy and all of which is sent out the door as quickly as it comes in to pay down the debt i’ve been complaining about all year. i have set myself a goal that i must meet by the end of December, and as the internet as my witness, i will meet it, maybe exceed it, even if it means work-filled weekends and tired eyes. and then i will get a massage and sleep for three days straight.

when i haven’t been working, i’ve been enjoying oktoberfest-inspired activities like drinking beer and eating finger foods. Mo is very much a microbrew aficionado and for his birthday this year (October 19, mark your calendars), i took him to the kickoff celebration of LA Beer Week, held at our very own local watering hole, the Verdugo, where we entered a raffle to win two tickets to the closing celebration of Beer Week, held at Descanso Gardens. guess what? just guess. ok, i’ll tell you: we won the raffle! and so came a glorious week bookended by beer celebrations that had us sampling some of the best craft brews in the nation. it was pure liquid love. hiccup.

October also held a little travel, both professional and personal. it began with a company-sponsored trip to Washington, DC, for a two-day FINRA conference on advertising regulations — riveting! (no joke) — where i met my fellow compliance brethren and discovered that we really are the most despised department in all financial organizations.

then i went off to a suburb of Baltimore, MD, for a few days to visit my dad’s side of the family. for reasons unknown to me, this trip seemed to turn my father into my mother for a few days, which resulted in him calling me five times a day, every day, to ask if everything was OK. thankfully, it was OK — better than OK in fact. i had a marvelous time drinking, eating and exchanging stories with my cousins, and even got to meet my uncle for the first time in 30 years, an experience that was nothing short of life-affirming.

Maryland is beautiful in the fall, very New England-esque in the way the leaves change color to form clusters of trees that look like rainbows shooting out of the ground. it was a mesmerizing sight, one that had me uttering, “look how beautiful it is” every time i stepped outside, enough times for my cousins to say, “yes, we know how beautiful you think it is. we get it!” i, for one, do not get it enough. the plan is to return to Maryland more often and mostly in the fall. i simply must see more of that foliage.

The 'Rents

the ridiculously good-looking couple above, who also happen to be my parents, celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary recently, which you would never guess by looking at their spry little selves. but in the old world, getting married at 19, like my mom did, was just how things went.

they met at a mutual friend’s wedding, where sparks flew after they locked eyes and continued to ignite once they got to talking. my mom even confesses to a little kissing action at this wedding — “but that’s all that happened, because this was a different time and we were not as permissive as your generation, milla.”

when they returned to their respective ukrainian towns, a long-distance relationship punctuated by love letters followed, as did a few meet-the-family visits. a mere nine months later they were married — still virtual strangers by their own admission — but married nonetheless and dedicated to building a life together.

they say that this dedication alone carried them through the last 40 years, many of which were lousy. just give my dad two shots of vodka and he’ll be happy to tell you about the first 10 years of his marriage, which were spent living with his in-laws in a dingy communist housing project in Lvov.

then came the big move to america when i was 3, my sister 9. more struggles followed. at first, we used food stamps to eat and watched sesame street to learn english. my dad drove a cab while my mom went to night school. i have very few memories of this time but i remember that we watched The Jazz Singer on betamax A LOT.

i also remember the day, just months after buying their first home, that both my parents lost their jobs. i must have been 6 or 7. mom served us dinner that night, and i remember sitting across the table and watching my dad eat silently as tears slid off his face and into his borscht. he never once looked up. mom stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders the entire time.

forty years later, they’re still standing by each other. through all the birthdays and the first days of school, the graduations and vacations, the arguments and illnesses in the family, the deaths of their parents and births of their grandchildren. forty years of personal and professional triumphs and tragedies. good times and bad, sickness and health, richer and poorer, they stuck it out because they said they would and, along the way, managed to stay in love and serve as an inspiration to everyone lucky enough to know them — me especially.

happy 40th anniversary, mom and dad.

I’m All Growed Up!

holidays at my house: i hosted thanksgiving this year like a real grown-up person with a house that can host holidays. i wrestled away the honor from both my mom and sister, who seemed all too eager to pass it onto me. this was my first time doing such a thing and i surprised myself with how badly i wanted to host the holiday — a wholly stressful experience i wish NOT to repeat next year — but since this was the inaugural thanksgiving in the new house, i was hellbent on creating a happy family memory inside it.


the good crystal: thankfully, Mo had his mother’s china stored in boxes in the basement, saving us from having to eat off paper plates. but because we don’t really have a dining area — with most dining taking place on the deck — my pops bought us a foldable table, which we supplemented with bright yellow chairs from Ikea. with a few maneuvers and a striped purple tablecloth, we had a dining room in the center of the living room.


my pops! he performed his usual holiday activity of sitting on the couch and watching a football game while asking intermittently, “is food wready yet? hungry man ovur here.”


my moms! she was there, too, hounding me with her digital camera.


i put her to work: making the rosemary roasted potatoes.


my sister! she was busy making her buttery garlic shrimp and stir-fried asparagus. i stayed busy sorta supervising and savoring the chaos that usually ensues when my family gets together. you’d be surprised how much noise three jewish women in a kitchen can make. and this time we were in my kitchen making noise while preparing the feast, and that felt pretty cool.


my nephew! i can’t believe i used to change this kid’s diaper. Derek’s 7 now, smiley and cute as hell.


the cousins! they played beautifully and shared all their toys.


dinner’s ready: for thanksgivings with my family, there are a few things you can count on: 1) there will be vodka on the table (note the bottle of Level I in the background); 2) there will be no turkey on the table (we all hate it); 3) there will be russian cold cuts, cheese, and smoked sausage and fish plates on the table (because that’s how we roll in the old world).


the “turkey”: my folks brought over cooked meat from an armenian deli near their house. inside that hollowed-out super loaf of bread are about 12 pounds of pork chops, grilled chicken and beef kabobs. this meant we had an abundance of food (another thing you can count on), and i was instructed not to prepare the stuffed chicken, wild rice and butternut squash i had sitting in the fridge. that was cooked a few nights later when Mo and i had friends over to consume what was left of the meat pile.


i made the salad: tossed with delectable homemade dressing! ok, it was just oil and vinegar, but still.


yes, dad, the food is ready: “is vodtka on table?”


then we ate: and laughed and rejoiced and toasted to many things, including the house. my pops got particularly sentimental (after a few shots), saying how proud he was of his baby girl (me!) and how happy he felt to be eating thanksgiving in my house. i told him i was happy, too, and that i couldn’t have done it without his support. with that, a holiday memory was created and the house hosted it beautifully.


meanwhile: my nephew was still playing with the dogs, stopping to ask intermittently, “is dessert ready? i’d like some ice cream, please!”


it was ready: four-flavor cheesecake, apple pie a la mode and the best flan in the whole damn universe, bought from a highland park bakery. it was deliciously sinful, and because i didn’t want to offend the house i made sure to sample everything.


Mo said yes to cheesecake: and the flan, too.


we look nothing alike: my darling sister, Tatyana, had never been to the house before and decided that her housewarming gift would be washing all the dishes after dinner. because she tortured me regularly during our childhood, i made sure to add a few extra dishes to the stack. just kidding! i helped dry them.


Juice on the loose: the holiday meal ended the same way all other meals at the house end — with Juice surveying every inch of the floor in search of food crumbs. beyond that, the leftovers were split three ways, goodbyes were exchanged and i marveled for a moment at hosting my first thanksgiving before proceeding to collapse, exhausted, into bed.

Meet the Parents

even though we had been living together for the last six months, dating for a year and a half, Mo still hadn’t met my family. this was the result of equal parts accident and intent -- ok, mostly intent. i’ll confess the thought of the Big Family Meeting made me uneasy, so i didn’t push it on Mo, who never asked. my parents, however, were asking often, and when they started up with “what should we get Marlin for the holidays?” i knew i could no longer delay the big reveal. we settled on the saturday before christmas at my parents’ house where we would exchange gifts and have dinner. my sister would be there with her husband and two kids. i would be there with Mo and my furry kid Juice. easy as pie.

truthfully, i had avoided the Big Family Meeting because it was too damn important. given that i’m 30, unmarried and jewish, such a meeting was incapable of being unimportant. and it was incapable of being easy: Mo is not jewish, nor is he russian — he’s actually a black man whose light skin allows him to regularly pass as white, a disorienting concept for most. he’s also without full-time employment, spending his free time daytrading and writing articles for Archinect. for me -- and probably Juice especially -- having him home often is a welcome treat, but for my parents, he’s probably not the guy they would have picked for me out of a crowd, especially with all the “nice jewish boys” on JDate.com.

plus, my family had grown close to my Last Serious Boyfriend and were as heartbroken as i was when things didn’t work out. during the unraveling of that relationship, my ex even told me, “tell your dad i’m sorry,” a message i relayed to my father who choked up and declared, “it’ll be hard for me to trust the next important man in your life.”

thankfully for him and me, there were plenty of unimportant men to keep me distracted until Mo came along. and while i know he’s important, i’m not sure that he’s “serious” in that one-thing-leads-to-another way that tends to be the hope of jewish parents with unmarried daughters who are 30. i feared that Mo might not be serious enough for the family introduction. his move-in was circumstantial and presumed temporary. we never discussed “our future,” never explored the mystery of “where is this going.” i always figured that our relationship would continue until it began to suck, at which point it would end, just like the relationships i’ve had before.

*******

i woke up early the day of the meeting to begin chewing my cuticles and planning my exit strategy. was that pneumonia i felt coming on? doesn’t my numb left arm signify the onset of a heart attack? no, i probably just slept wrong. Mo gets up and i begin the prep pep talk while he fixes his morning coffee — “my sister’s husband is Patrick. he probably won’t talk to you much but don’t worry about it. my parents’ dog is Chip. he’s small so careful not to step on him.” Mo is barely awake, looking at me askew, but i keep the facts coming, regaling him with details, life stories, russian proprieties he must follow in order to make the right impression. (“you have to drink vodka with my dad.”)

Mo nods, or maybe it was an eye roll. he grabs my hands and squeezes.
“it’s too early?” i ask.
“it’s too much,” he says. “you’re worrying too much. today will be fine.”

i shake him off and keep going all the same, stuffing him like a holiday turkey. more information, warnings on their temperaments. i begin to think aloud: “maybe we should develop a secret language for today, like hand signals to let each other know what’s really happening. are you getting all of this?” phone rings. it’s my Ma confirming the time and asking whether Mo has any dietary preferences.

“i was just telling him all about you guys. you know, preparing him for today,” i say.
“what type of ‘preparing’? you think we’re all monsters or something?”
“no, mom! i’m just telling him everyone’s name and profession, that’s all,” i lied. an argument could easily erupt from here. “let’s have a nice day today, please.”
“ok, fine with me. come by in the afternoon around 5 p.m.,” she instructs.
“what should i bring?”
“your boyfriend and a good attitude.”
“i always have a good attitude, damnit!! Ma?? MA???”

but she had hung up. “damnit, she knows how much i hate it when she hangs up on me!!”
i feel the steam release from my ears, followed by a big exhale. i look at Mo, who’s quietly sitting on the couch, sipping his coffee.
“you know, my family,” i start, “they’re not going to be your ideal family to walk into. hell, they’re not my ideal family to walk into.”
“the craziest people anyone knows are always in their own family,” Mo says. “when i was growing up, the fabric of our couches matched the pattern of our wallpaper. they were both plaid.”

*****

as we approach the front door of my parents’ house, i could feel the flight instinct taking over my body, making all my limbs twitch. for a moment i consider dropping the holiday presents i have in my arms, the bottle of vodka and bouquet of flowers i made Mo buy for my parents, just tossing it all aside and running toward the horizon, but Juice manages to snake her leash around my legs in a way that renders me immobile. i glance down and catch her big brown eyes, wide with encouragement. she had grown to love Mo as much as i did. there’s no reason the rest of my family wouldn’t do the same.

i look over at Mo for added encouragement and sense strain on his handsome face. in my selfish paranoia i had disregarded his feelings. immediately, my thoughts turn to his thoughts and i conclude that our thoughts are identical and still center around me. he must fear, like i fear, that the Big Family Meeting would make me too human, too flawed, too prepossessed of traits i couldn’t overcome. any remaining mystery that shrouded me — the exotic, lovable goddess i had imagined myself being in Mo’s mind — would vanish upon the unearthing of my roots, like cinderella at midnight.

door opens. cries of “hello, happy holidays” bellow from everyone. gifts are unloaded, hugs and introductions all around. my father and Mo stand facing each other, eye to eye, my two big loves, both six feet tall, dark-haired, bearded. the resemblance is undeniable. handshake. hug!
“do you drink vodka?” my pops asks.
“yes. definitely,” Mo replies, scoring points.
“good! hey Meel, i like him already. go help your mother set the table.”

and then, i don’t know. i helped set the table. we sat down, ate, drank, laughed, told stories — same as always, only now with Mo at the table. he fit in nicely, warmed up to everyone. there was no weirdness to sort though, no visibly tense moments. my family never brought up his job situation, and as i sat at the table looking over at my sister’s chinese husband and two biracial kids, i realized how silly i was to worry that Mo’s race would be an issue in my family.

my father seemed to appreciate that, like him, Mo wasn’t fond of cats, and he even found funny Mo’s story on how, during high school, Mo and friends used to record soft porn off the television in my childhood home, taking advantage of my family’s illegal “black box” that received all the cable channels, including the naughty ones. i beamed when the joke went over well, declaring dumbly, and perhaps a bit too loudly, “see, we all have the same sense of humor!!”

even Juice had a grand time, rummaging as she was through the pile of dog toys set aside for my parents’ miniature pinscher, who sat nearby looking forlorn. my sister’s kids were sparkling angels, despite my young nephew’s attempts at joining Mo as he used the restroom; and my parents and i got along splendidly, keeping our respective monster claws under wraps. Mo and i received various gift cards as holiday gifts, and were sent home with warm wishes and tupperware full of leftovers. on the whole, the night was thoroughly anticlimactic, almost unmemorable.

as the night was closing, i managed to steal a few moments with my parents for the debrief, which amounted to “so far, so good. bring him back!” on the ride home, i got the debrief from Mo, which amounted to, “overwhelming, but not bad. i could do it again.”
“‘again,’ really? it wasn’t too hard on you?”
“no, it wasn’t so bad,” Mo says with a smile. “i told you today would be fine.”

Meet Your New Mommy

this past saturday night saw me babysitting my niece and nephew at my sister's house in the lovely south bay. usually this job is reserved for my parents, who adore and spoil those kids mercilessly, but as my folks had an engagement that evening, my sister, Tatyana (Tat for short), had to call in the reinforcements -- auntie milla, who swooped in from her urban environs to play mommy of the suburbs.

and mommy i did play. i even maneuvered my sis' mini-van -- after first strapping the rugrats safely inside -- through the suburban oasis that is palos verdes to get the kiddies their dinner. and as we walked through the parking lot and toward the panda express where we ate, i felt all my maternal instincts bubble up whenever a car drove by us too closely, causing me to mush the kids against me and hold their little hands even more tightly. then on the way back to the house, i rallied the two little troops to sing along with me to the christmas carols that sprang from the car radio.

even more surprising was what a disciplinarian i was, all "no sugar before bedtime" and "wash your hands before dinner" and hell, we even said grace before we ate as is customary in that household. i guess i assumed i would spoil them like my parents do. one of my mom's favorite sayings is: Grandparents and grandchildren get along so well because they have a common enemy.

the only enemy these kids had were each other. my niece, Paulina, is a preteen, prepuberty nightmare, a know-it-all commando who constantly challenged me for control. (my parents tell me i was just like her at that age.) my 5-year-old nephew, Derek, whom i've dubbed 'boob-boy' because of his penchant for feeling me up at every opportunity, is a sensitive and sweet little fighter, whose boundless energy frightens my sis' deaf dog, the 12-year-old collie Spock.

i'm sitting on the couch with the DirecTV remote, overwhelmed at my TV viewing options when Derek runs out of his room crying. apparently, Paulina was trying to help him with his preschool homework. "what happened, derek?" pseudo-mommy milla asks. "shee hutt my feewrings." it was too cute; i couldn't hide my smile. i gathered him into my arms and he promptly rested his head on my chest. Paulina came out a moment later with a rolling of the eyes.

and so it went, with my asking Paulina to be more sensitive to her little brother and her threatening to call her father and accusing me of loving Derek more. but i remained resolute and never once bristled, forcing the kids to apologize to each other and kiss and make up. ten minutes later, the scene repeats itself. ah, parenthood.

yes, parenthood. it was saturday night, primetime in hollywood, and i felt so content being with these little tykes and their little problems in the 'burbs. it made me -- dare i say it? -- kind of, sort of long for kids of my own. that's not something that needs to arrive today or tomorrow, just...eventually. i always assumed that it would happen eventually, but turning 30 next year tends to place a baby on the brain and an ear on the clock.

not that one night as a babysitter has reinvented my wheel and turned me mommy minded. the mere thought of living in the suburbs with a mini-van gives me a rash. there's still plenty left to do before tackling this whole parenting business. and when that time comes, i'll go faithfully and willingly into that final frontier. how that will all work itself out, i can't even fathom. it'd be great if it were all nuclear-style, with a husband and a house, but i'm not opposed to going at it alone if that's what necessity dictates. in this life, it's more important for me to be a mother than a wife. i am a nurturer by nature. and though i've never been one to blindly love all children, my blood is my blood and my love is my loyalty.

my tipsy sister and her husband arrived home at 1:30am to find me passed out on their couch. those fuckers were exhausting, but i worked it out -- by night's end, the kids were fed, bathed, burped, tucked in and kissed goodnight; the dishes were done, house was tidy, and the mini-van was safely parked in the three-car garage.

"how are the kids?" Tat asked while hanging up her coat.
"alive," i replied, "they didn't walk into any rakes."
"rakes? what?"
"i don't know why i had this irrational fear all night that they would turn a corner and walk into a rake, like something out of a cartoon," i said.
"you're crazy," Tat said while hugging me goodbye.
"i must be, because i want to do this again. call me when you need a babysitter next time instead of calling mom and dad."
"really?"
"yeah. really," i said before hopping into my car and heading home.

i walked into my place past 2am to find my furry baby sleepy and yawning, with that relentless tail of hers still wagging. Juice, whom i always referred to jokingly as "my birth control," suddenly looked different. i sat down with her before going to bed and petted her shiny, clean coat, kissed her wet, salty nose, and marveled at her sweetness and good doggy manners. i thought to myself, "i did a damn fine job here, and one day i'll do it again."

I Can't Think of a Good Headline

i had thought of doing another one of those "these are the things i'm thankful for this thanksgiving" entries, but thought better of it after realizing i had done that last year as well as the year before. not much has changed in my list of blessings, and i don't anticipate much will change in years to come. i have great people around me, a loving family, a stunning dog, etc., etc. i've also realized that i have a propensity for serial monogamy, as evidenced by the fact that i had a different boyfriend to be thankful for each year. i like to think that this is because i keep going back into the dating (cess)pool for an upgrade. which means by this time next year i should be dating god himself.

my thanksgiving itself was a bit odd this year. my parents and i headed to my sister's place, where we sat down for dinner with her husband and two kids. as the whole of my family has a strong distaste for turkey, we had duck and ham. the duck looked gorgeous, having come out of the oven perfectly browned. it was placed over the potatoes and then carved at the table, where it spewed blood all over its surroundings.

whoops -- back into the oven it went. the potatoes were tossed, stray blood stains spotted up and we sat around the table staring at each other for another half hour while it finished cooking. at the table, my nephew was annoying my niece with the antics of a 4-year-old; my niece was annoying me with her reprimands of my nephew in that 11-year-old shrieking voice of hers; and i, apparently, was annoying my father who was quick to tell me that my life "has been full of mistakes." whaaa?

finally, my niece turns to me and says, "do you want to go upstairs and play Dance Dance Revolution." hells yeah, i did! and wow, did that game wear me out. in fact, the whole night was rather taxing. and i didn't have that friday after thanksgiving off, which i thought only happened if you worked in a mall. but apparently my company stays open when the market stays open, and i guess stockbrokers don't want to spend time with their families when there's money to make.

i know, the lady doth protest too much. things aren't terrible, not at all. holidays rock! gift-buying is fun! and if you want to send me gifts, i'd like a set of professional cookwear cus my pots and pans suck. and if you're my mom, i'd love it if you gave me that immaculate green Volvo you drive -- or if you want to help me pay off my $20K in student loans, that would also be cool. but if not, that's ok, too, because i have my many other blessings to keep me warm, right?

Family Matters

i attended this family get-together last weekend. it was a reunion of sorts with all kinds of relatives whom i hadn't seen in years. there were maybe 35 of us sitting down to eat crummy russian food at this restaurant with crazy slow service. i slipped into a dress, high heels; i even washed my hair. and then i braced myself to face the relatives, which have been known to be quite the critical bunch. luckily, i passed this time, as they all agreed i looked nice and healthy. i encountered a compliment each time i greeted one of my aunties and great-aunties (there are mostly women in my extended family). that, of course, was nice to hear because most of the time i get "plumped up, eh? you should lose some weight" or "you'd look better if you pulled your hair back" (this time, i came with my hair already pulled back).

but nope, nothing but the good stuff this time around. ALTHOUGH, there was something qualitatively wrong in all the compliments. they were usually couched in the terms "you look so much better than the last time i saw you," which really made me wonder what kind of monster i looked like before. it must have been maybe 2-3 years ago that i saw them last, and that means maybe 10-15 pounds ago, but 10-15 pounds isn't 50 pounds. i was disturbed, especially when my 'high society' auntie asked me whether i had had plastic surgery. it was if, "damn, girl. you probably had to pay someone to lop the fat off your ass and brighten up your face, because you ain't no natural beauty."

and then there was the old standby: "When are you going to get married?" and this time around, it was confounded by the compliments, i.e.: "What's going on with you? You look so nice, why can't you find a man to marry you?" then the aunties would list off the various FOBs they knew (FOB= fresh of the boat, as in recent immigrant in search of a greencard). after a few glasses of wine, i felt brazen enough to respond to the "when you gonna get married" question with "never" (Nee-kug-da in Russian). to this, i would usually hear "but you HAVE to," though some oddball aunties did pull me aside and say "you know what? that's good, honey, you live for yourself. i wish i did."

*************

in other news, my current temp gig that i've been so in love with has been extended another two weeks, which means money (yay!) and getting up at 4:30am to get to work by 6am (boo!). it's been great, though. i feel super challenged by and engaged in my work; the early start actually makes the days zoom by, leaving me with plenty of daylight once i get done at 3pm; the pay's not bad; the people are nice; and i'm working for a brand and cause i believe in. so, in short, i'll never get a perm job there, because good stuff like that just doesn't happen to me. i'll take the crumbs, though.

otherwise, i've been a movie-going mama lately. seen so much in the theaters in the past few months: spidey 2, bourne supremacy, collateral, what the bleep do we know? and napoleon dynamite. only ones i'd truly recommend are 'napoleon dynamite' and 'bourne supremacy.' rest were subpar.

tonight should be very interesting, as i have my 10-year high-school reunion to attend.

hello to my two readers, my cousins Gitella and Roman Himmer. well, gitella is my cousin, though she's more like a sister, and roman is her husband, though he's more like a cousin. but yes, hello to the only two people who have responded that they're still reading this shit. and i just want to say that "gitella" is a great name, i've always thought so. i don't believe any one else on the planet has that name. if i remember the story correctly, i think my aunt bella was stuck between the names "gita" and "ella" for her baby girl and just decided to merge them into one super name. hence, we have the superhuman gitella, who really is super in many ways. i may complain about the demands of my putrid little existence, but my supercousin is a devoted mom, wife, student and employee all at the same time, and i've never heard a whiny peep come out of her adorable, freckled face. i often wonder how she remains so kind, gentle and grounded, instead of turning into a prozac-popping neurotic soccer mom like so many others in her position, but then again she is the lone redhead martian in the family and i think that's equipped her with superpowers.

that's about all, really. not much going on with me lately. still trying to nail down my work situation, which currently does not provide me with enough hours or money to pay my rent. i'm trying to hustle now to find an incredibly lucrative, low-effort position. preferably one that i can do from home with eyes half shut and mind elsewhere. no luck yet.

school is school, and if my first week is any indication, this year will be a hell of lot easier than the last. it certainly couldn't be much harder. i was put through the academic ringer last year, so i'm looking forward to taking it easy, being able to sleep in some mornings. for my interview-a-candidate-running-for-governor assignment, i'm trying to get LA billboard queen angelyne, whose campaign motto is something like "we've had brown and gray. now it's time for pink!" enough said.