Bang! Say Da Da Da Da

I was going to call this post Back in the USSR or something like that but I couldn't decide between versions.  So Bang! Say Da Da Da Da it is or, My Report on my Russian [Lithuanian-Ed] Neighbor's 34th Birthday Party.

My neighbor, a lovely woman whose girls often play with my girls, tonight hosted her 34th birthday party. Mrs. Stroock took our own out to Fridays because we promised them a dinner out, keep it classy I always say, and left me to fend for myself.

Knowing that my lovely neighbor will pack the house with Russian friends and family I wouldn't miss this party for the world. Usually in situations like this I impress people because I know where the hell they are from, whereas most Americans are like, 'Really, you're from Ukraine? Like in Risk?' Also, everything you've heard about Russian women is true and I was not going to miss out on that. Herein follows  my chronicle of the evening.

-3:30: I prep for the party by watching Rocky IV which by coincidence AMC is airing.

-6:35: I arrive.

-6:39: I order my first drink, a Bloody Mary.

-6:45: One of the revelers is explaining how to make a Russian Bloody Mary to the bartender, ‘First you find an American and kill him. Then collect his blood…’

-6:46: I shout, ‘I knew it!’. I Walk over and introduce myself and accidentally ask him what part of Russia  he is from meaning the former Soviet Union. Alex says he is not from Russia but Belarus.

-7:02: The house is crowded with happy folk all seemingly out of Gorky Park Central Casting. My Teutonic visage disappears in a sea of high cheek boned faces set with Asiatic eyes. Almost all of the women are blonde, at least half stunningly so. These are dressed in loud clothing; a leopard skin print dress, silver sequined tights for which we are grateful, leather pants, for which we are also grateful. One woman wears a short blue skirt with black pantyhose that change to nude at the thigh and seem to show garter attachments reaching several inches down from beneath said blue skirt. We are intrigued. About half the men are skinny with aquiline facial features. Several are large bear like men who look like Boris Yeltsin’s children. These are dressed in the American casual manner. One man wearing a suit is a dead ringer for Putin. I decide that when the group birthday pic comes in, I will photo-shop a banner which reads, '40th Army: Afghanistan Limited Contingent...30th Reunion'.

-7:10: I order my second drink, a Bloody Mary.

-7:14:  I have my first meaningful conversation with a Russian couple, wife from St. Petersburg, husband from Ukraine.  We swap stories about our grandfathers being in ‘the war’. They tell me about Chernobyl. I break into my shtick about the semester I was teaching the Cold War and had three Russian girls in class. I tell them about the infamous Wendys Soviet Fashion show commercial. Very nice people.

-7:25: I order my third drink, a Bloody Mary.

-7:31: The popular girls arrive, three Blonde Russian women all taller than me. Long legged with sharp cheek bones and eyes tilted at a 110 degree angle. One is wearing tights and a rainbow colored, form fitting shirt with lots of bows and such. I am enchanted. One is nicely full figured in tight jeans and sweater. Another in a short, paisley patterned long sleeve dress with black, patterned stockings that just keep going up. She arrives in boots, but sadly this is a no-shoes-in-house residence. In all the effect is very Melania Trump. They are beautiful and strong and I wouldn’t want to take a punch from any of one of them.

-7:42: I order my fourth drink, a Bloody Mary.

[Dear reader, at this point you should be reading with bad, fake Russian accent. Management apologizes for the author -Ed].

-7:50: I have nice conversation with man who tells me he is from Azerbaijan. He is shocked that I have 1-heard of place and 2-know where it is. I ask is he Azerbaijani or Russian, he says neither he is Jew. I recall to him how years ago Slava, our gracious host, explained to me that back home in Ukraine he was simply considered a Jew, not Russian, not Ukrainian, but a Jew. My new friend nods in understanding.

-8:01: I have second conversation with nice Ukrainian man. He tells me about coming to America in 1990 and settling down in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, the culture shock he felt, and leaning English by listening to Mike and the Mad Dog on WFAN. For ten minutes I am not able to get the old jingle out of my head:

               

They’re talking sports coming at it as hard as they can

Its Mike and the Mad Dog on the FAN

Nothing can get by ‘em, turn ‘em on and try em.

Sports Radio 66, W-F-A-N….

AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-Good afternoon everybody How are you today?!

Sadly, he likes the Jets.

-8:17: I meet up with the hostesses’ younger sister. A nice woman with two kids whom I see periodically and it’s nice to catch up. We had point here, but forgot what it was.

-8:39: I have spent the last several minutes contemplating the women in the blue short skirt. Are those pantyhose, they look like Pantyhose, but they have clips in the back as real honest to god stockings would? Hostess sits next to me. We chat about an FB argument I got into a few days before. Then, because I’m on my fourth drink, I ask her to explain the attire of the previously mentioned women with the blue short skirt and pantyhose:

Me, points to drink, ‘Because I’ve had four of these...’

Hostess: ‘Uh oh,’ she mutters something In Russian.

Me: ‘What are those?’ I point to the woman.

Hostess: ‘Oh, those are pantyhose made to look that way.’

Me: ‘But they have the thingies in the back.’

Hostess: ‘Thingies?’

I explain.

Hostess insists they are pantyhose. I try not look too disappointed.

-8:49: I order my fifth drink,  a Bloody Mary.

-9:03: The hostess is out of ice.

-9:04: The hostess asks me to head home and get some ice.

-9:05: I walk out into the crisp February air singing the opening them from The Hunt for Red October.

-9:06: I walk into the wrong house.

-9:07: I finally find my house. Wife wants to know where I am going with all that ice.

-9:08: I walk back to party singing Soviet National Anthem.

-9:10: I return with bowl of ice. Hostess does not understand why I think Russian [Lithuanian!- Ed] woman running out of ice is so funny.

-9:12: I go down to the basement to see where all the men have gone and find intense poker game taking place. It looks almost exactly like this:

-9:14: I am invited to sit at the table. Upon the host dealing my hand I look at the cards and ask, ‘Got any threes?’

-9:15: I am politely but firmly told to leave the game.

-9;31: I spend several minutes saying goodbye to my new Soviet friends and stagger on home singing this: