In Which I Break the Mold

To Those Who Enjoy Long Walks on the Beach;

So, I know I said that my next post would be about Pancake Week, but you know what? Life is cruel and unpredictable and can be known to deal a solid left hook to the jaw every once and a while. Get used to it. Instead, I found myself inspired to describe in extensive, poorly-written detail the basic Russian stereotypes and whether or not they hold any truth (because let's face it- there are some stereotypes that are so accurate they could out-shoot Hawkeye in the World Pea Shooting Championships.) If you were born under a star-spangled rock and have never before in your life heard a Russian generalization, then please sit back, grab some Freedom Fries, and prepare to embark on a journey of knowledge.

1. Bears walk freely wherever they please.

WRONG.


Unless you're ingesting some form of bath salts, you will not see any bears on the streets. There is a mighty handsome bear pelt in a store near my home that I'm considering buying and laying on my apartment floor so that Alan Rickman and Gerard Butler can lie shirtless on it and sing me love songs, but that's about it. If you want to see a bear, stick to Google Images. Or, you know, roll yourself in some meat juice and wander around the woods.


2. Russian women are absolutely gorgeous until they turn about 45, when they go through a sort of species-change and become the babushka (бабушка.)

CORRECT


Really, I don't know what it is about the Russian female population, but it's like they're all way-less-cute pokemon who mean-mug you and judge your choice of jeans instead of repeating their names in adorable voices. I have yet to see one breathe fire, but who knows- maybe if you throw a ball at them it'll open up and suck them in. Seriously, they start out like this...

...And end up like this.

Congratulations! Your hot Russian girl has evolved into...babushka!

I don't know what it is that does it, but somewhere around their 45th birthday, they undergo a strange transformation that adds 30 pounds, replaces their short skirts with mumu's, and bends their spine so that they constantly walk at a 90-degree angle.

4. All Russians are dirty Commies

WRONG!

Don’t let Mitt Romney fool you—we are no longer in the 1960’s. Despite what many an old conservative white man might tell you, THE COLD WAR IS OVER. And, although they’re still working out quite a few of those good ole’ capitalism kinks (the term “service with a smile” remains relatively unfamiliar to them,) they do not have a communist government. Sure, there’s corruption, and sure, it may seem as if the ageless Putin has been president for the last eighty years, but—and I cannot stress this enough—not every Russian is a secret police member whose initiative is to shoot down bald eagles and the meaning of freedom with nukes and vodka-fueled fits of rage. There is NO NEED to feel as if we must infiltrate the Motherland and go Amurrca on e’rrbody’s ass.  In fact, I even got a free fruit plate out of being American one time. And how do we react to them? By making them the villains in our movies and depicting every Russian man as a walking hammer-and-sickle-sporting vodka vessel with a thick beard and an equally thick accent. Also, the word “comrade” is rarely used in Russia. In fact, the only people who use it are the Americans studying abroad. Also, this isn’t a stereotype, but the word for “comrade” in Russian is товарищ, or tovarisch. How we translated that to “comrade,” I will never know. 

Every Russian Drinks Like a Fish After a Marathon

INCORRECT...kind of.





Okay, so Russians do like their vodka. My friends and I quickly learned that, when it comes to taking shots at parties, “no” means “yes” and “yes” means “just pour the whole flipping bottle down my throat, comrade.” And there was one time when I came home to my drunken host mother sleeping on top of the kitchen table (don’t worry, I was able to reach under her and get my pack of cookies with no major disturbances.) But, other than that, Russians are actually a relatively sober people. Most students even refuse to drink on school days, which makes for an awkward situation when the Americans are cleaning the place out of its beer supply while the Russians sip at their pear juice.FALSE

Russians Don't Smile

CORRECT!




Okay, so it's not like Russians don't smile--if you're their friend, or if you're at a party or bar with them, they'll smile like they're a regular Buddy the Elf. But out in public, you better think twice before flashing your pearly whites to that boy sitting across from you on the metro. In your friendly, naive American mind, of course, you're probably just saying, "Hey, bucko, I don't know you, but I'd like to wish you a swell day with lots of sunshine and ice cream!" In Russian social-speak, however, you might as well have just said, "Hey, I don't know you, but why don't you follow me home to my chamber where we can make sweet, passionate love all night?" Seriously, in the Motherland, a smile at a strange man is akin to laying out a path of rose petals leading straight to your chamber of secrets. If you smile at a woman, it's not quite that serious; if she's younger than 35, she'll just scoff and walk away. If she's older than that, she'll kill you with her laser beam eyes and leave your remains for the stray dogs.

Well, I think I've covered most of the main ones. My apologies if any of them sounded a tad bit angry, but I kind of consider myself the vigilante of Russian stereotypes. Still waiting on the medal from Putin. Anyway, I hope to do one more blog post before I head back to Amurrca for good- thanks for reading!

In Which I Find Myself Back in the U.S.S.R.

To Those Who Need Purpose in Their Lives;

Just when you thought my boring, calorie-filled, completely unimportant Russian shenanigans were over, I have decided to bring a completely new meaning to your otherwise empty lives with the reinstatement of this blog (and yes, I did have to break out the right click-scroll down-synonyms to find another word for "meaningless." Please don't judge me.) Anyway, I figured that right now you're probably feeling like this:

What I looked like when I discovered that my favorite blini place serves free packets of Nutella with every blin you order

So, without any further ado, let's get down to business. (I figured you're gonna need a pump-up song before you embark on this extremely boring journey of reading every excruciating detail that I find worthy of telling you.)

First item of business: the host family. Like you, I was a bit apprehensive that I would never be able to find someone quite as flamboyant and cabbage-obsessed as the great Mama Masha, but, as someone famous in history may have said at one point, it was time to jump out of my comfort bubble and into the sea of host families that Russia has to offer. As I don't have any pictures of my new family (and as copying the pictures they do have costs 6 rubles per page,) I'll try my best to find family-friendly internet photographs that accurately depict them. Also, since it would take, like, forever to actually find something that even remotely resembled them online, I'm just going to type their basic descriptions into the Google search engine and see what comes up. Therefore, there may be some slightly inaccurate representations.

Алёна (Alyona)- the Mama Bear.

Overall, except for the fact that she's about 20 pounds lighter and owns at least four times as many thongs, Alyona is pretty similar to Mama Masha. We share an affinity for vodka, sleeping until noon, and eating by ourselves in the dead of night, which has made us what the cool kids call "BFFL's." She also calls me "умница" (umnitsa, or smart one,) whenever I manage to correctly heat up my cheese-covered noodles and ground beef in the microwave, which I quite appreciate.

Here is a picture of Алёна.

Пётр (Pyotr)- Papa Bear

Pyotr is a solemn man with serene eyes and a thoughtful disposition. He also spends a lot of money on bad haircuts and chocolate (just one of the many conversation topics we use to connect.) He doesn't talk much, except for occasionally describing the plots of historical films on television, which he can't seem to get enough of. I can pretty honestly say that me and Pyotr is like peas and carrots.

This came up when I typed in his description so...yeah. That's Peter.

Валера (Valera)- Big Brother Bear

Like his father, Valera is also quite solemn. In fact, the only time I see him is when I come home from my Russian shenanigans and can't quite figure out how to make the key turn, so he has to come and let me in. We exchange a brusque "privyet" and run to our rooms. On a more concerning note, he hasn't been to school in the entire six weeks I've been here. According to his mother, he's sick. Either he's mastered the art of the fake fever or his mom's just really gullible. Here is Valera.

It was either him or the kid with the tattoo sleeve.

Ваня (Vanya)- Baby Bear

At seven years-old, Vanya rounds out the human portion of the family with his almost-mullet and obsession with television. For the most part, he's a pretty nifty kid, except for the fact that it's almost impossible to understand him when he talks. However, he has taught me the words for "gloves," "snail," and "fungus," all of which I use on an almost day-to-day basis. He also watches a lot of inappropriate television, but maybe he has an old soul. Here's Vanya.

Except blond.

Ян (Yahn)- Devil in the Form of a Dog

Like all things in life, Yahn can be cute if he lies completely still next to the couch and doesn't make noise. However, most of the time he's biting holes in my socks. He also peed on my bed a few weeks ago. I left a note on the kitchen table telling my host parents to "look at my blankets." I wanted to say, "your stupid dog relieved himself on my bed and I need you to change the sheets before I go to sleep tonight," but I had to leave and that seemed too complicated to try and puzzle out. I actually do have a picture of Yahn, though.

Don't look him directly in the eyes- you'll spend the rest of your life paralyzed from the neck down.

Cockatoo 1 and Cockatoo 2

The family cockatoos.

Cockatoos

Няня (NyaNya)- the Nanny.

The every-Tuesday-Thursday caretaker, Няня is basically the matchmaker from Mulan in disguise. I try to avoid the house when she's in session, but when we're in the same room, it's pretty much a one-on-one dodgeball fight with her bringing the hurt and me silently shoving food in my mouth, my only defense my already below-average self-confidence and my less-than-three-years Russian experience. So far, she has managed to tell me this:

-I don't talk enough (Well, yeah, lady; generally one person has to stop talking every once and a while for a conversation to take place.)

-I don't eat enough (This is only because I try to eat outside of the house so as to avoid spending time in her presence.)

-My bedspread has a stain on it (Okay, so this is true. I spilled blueberry jam on it.)

-I don't clean my room (True again. But I like my bed to feel like a giant nest.)

-I should have a husband (I'll get right on that after I finish re-watching season 3 of Justice League. And you wonder why my only form of love life is between me and my Dove Chocolate Promise candies.)

-My face is too fat to find a husband (Well you know what, Nanny? Your fingers are fat.)

She looks just like this.

See that? That's her waving good-bye to your dignity.

Well, for those of you who are still reading (what up, Mom and Dad?) I leave you here. Please excuse the horrible grammar. The semester has not been kind to me.

PS- Did you know that Urkel looks like this now????

There is hope for me yet. Also, this came up when I typed in "Russian boy with mullet"

Accurate. Well, so long. Join me next time when I talk about the glorious phenomenon that is Pancake Week.