You really shouldn’t leave 5-year-olds on the roof of your car but my dad needed to get the shot. There I lay, one hand gripping the edge of his white suzuki, the other gripping a milk jug filled with water. My cousins began pushing the car back and forth, my uncle yelled “Action” and I began to make it rain.
I was 16 when I tried to commit suicide. I remember standing on the edge of the roof of my family’s home, looking past my toes when my mom stepped out for a cigarette. She made eye contact with me, realized what I was trying to do and yelled:
“If you were stranded on an island and could only bring three things what would they be?” I hated playing this game in summer camp. Do your parents count as two things? What kind of outlets does this island have? Do they speak a different language? Will there be boys there? The answers didn’t really matter because I always ended up choosing the same things; my parents, beanie baby collection and stuffed dog, Lucky. Read the rest of this entry »
Five black dresses hung in my dressing room; two were too small, one made me look like a hussie, one had a curious stain on it and the other one was perfect for emulating the body of a pregnant woman. I went with the dress that made me look like a hussie. Exactly one day and a handful of hours later, I was tugging at that dress in front of 30 people I didn’t know, three people I knew, and a casket. Read the rest of this entry »
My mother covers the camera on our family computer because according to her, “The government is watching us.” Why the U.S. government is watching two retirement-aged Russians, who have yet to learn how to properly pronounce the letter ‘V’, is beyond me. I try not to question my parents’ antics so I don’t run out of things to write about. Read the rest of this entry »
“I don’t know, ‘Dimitry’ is not a name you can scream out in the sack,” Leslie said looking up from the email I’d forwarded her. “Okay but how do I look in this dress?” I had 15 minutes to get ready for my first (and hopefully last) blind date. If I’d utilized my roommate’s date-reasoning, I probably would’ve avoided my last two nightmarish relationships. Read the rest of this entry »
My dad wore a Speedo to our neighborhood swimming pool when I was little. I had two choices; die of embarrassment or become a humorist — I chose both.
“The worst part of going through labor is you’re not allowed to smoke a celebratory cigarette in the emergency room,” according to my mother. My mom is a certifiable badass. Read the rest of this entry »
MARINAvsWriting 