Conversation with my Russian Jewish Mama about the situation.
RJM: Nu. Vhere eez boyfriend? Eh?
Me: Mom, he’s not my boyfriend, I don’t know where he is. Busy probably.
RJM: Aha. You should hev dump heez ahhce… heez AHHCE? Diz is how you say? long time ahgo. Bye bye meester! Dosvedanya malchik! (she waves merrily.)
Me: Jesus Christ Mom.
RJM: Dohn say Jeezus. Vee ahr Jooz.
Last night my FirstAlert carbon monoxide alarm went off at 2 o’clock in the morning. It’s strange to admit to even having a FirstAlert carbon monoxide alarm, but I also have a Russian Jewish Mama (RJM) who watches a lot of 20/20. I mean A LOT. Like to the point of calling me every couple of hours to make sure I haven’t suddenly been afflicted with meningitis. She also lets me know on a fairly regular basis how many dust mites may currently be occupying my home. Did I know there could be up to von MEELYON dust mite in apahrtmint RIGHT NOW RIGHT AT DIZ MOMINT, Elina, vhen is lahst time you change vakyoom feeltir?
Anyway, FirstAlert goes off, a soul-piercingly horrific sound. It makes me almost cry. It blinks at me. I stare at it. I call RJM. It was either her or 911 and honestly I haven’t vacuumed in a week, so that really wasn’t an option.
Needless to say, much Russian fretting and praising of the 20/20 ensues. Should I call 911?? I don’t want to wake up all my neighbors though…unless they’re already dead. What if I am the sole survivor of Carbon MonoxideGate 2008? I am getting slightly nervous because I cannot hear my overweight elderly neighbor snoring at ear-piercing decibels like I usually can.
We decide the best idea is to open all the windows, which is not very awesome on a typical San Francisco night. I lay huddled and shivering in a sweatshirt, two pairs of socks, leggings and pants, the innards of a blanket burrito. I text a few people, and Albina immediately calls me back.
I think I found God, I told her. This is usually what happens when you have a near-death experience you know. Um okay sure, she says. We start talking about guys. Yeah really. Gossip girls at 2:30 in the morning, in the middle of a unnatural disaster, and boys are still the topic du jour. Sleepover party with your girlfriend on a school night, only thing missing were the Rice Krispy Treats. When will I not be 12?
