Repost



When the summer wanes, my mind always drifts to my Grandfather (I called him Deda).
It is at this time in September when he passed away.
My Deda was a gentle man, at least he was as I remember him.
I am told that he was hard and tough, and had a temper unrivaled.I never knew the man that they described in that way.

My Deda was one of the most non-judgmental people I have ever known.
I had never heard him say an unkind thing about anyone. He used to carry me around on his shoulders making clucking noises, stick his finger in sugar and then in my mouth, when I was very little.
He was gentle and silly with me. I knew that he had suffered in his life. He spent time in a Hungarian work camp because his brother who was a big Communist fingered him as anti.
I know that he spent time in the Dachau Concentration Camp.

Story tells that he was in the Pijaca (open market) during WWII when a snipers bullet killed a German and at that time, the Nazis took 100 for every 1 German.
My Grandfather was one of the one hundred they rounded up and took to Dachau.
He survived.
He never, ever talked about his experience in the Camp to anyone.
I know.
I’ve asked. Everyone.
However, he did say that when he came home, he came home a different person. From a man of 95kilo to a man of 44kilo. He said that the Russians dropped him at the New Yugoslavian border at the end of the war, and he walked the hundreds of miles home. When he reached that same old gray house that I hold as my life touchstone, he wouldn’t enter it.
He (and Majka (Grandmother)) said that he went straight out to the field at the back of the house, Majka prepared a lye solution, he buried his clothes and shaved his body and used the lye solution to kill the lice and other things crawling over his body before he touched anyone in the household.
He said that bodies were floating in the Tisa River, coming downstream from wherever they were murdered and dumped. I was told that the Tisa River is still considered the river of the dead. I cannot argue with that.
My mother almost drowned in that river when she was a young girl, and I saw my first dead body on the grass by the banks of that river when I was 11 years old.
A young man had drowned when he was caught in the current. I stood fascinated by his young blank face and blue pallor…thinking to myself over and over again “he’s dead”. I couldn’t come to grips with the idea that someone so young could die.
When I was 21 and visiting, the whole town attended the funeral of a young man who had waded into the river and shot himself in the head from sadness or depression.
People said that the river holds the memory of many suicides, because the people who chose to kill themselves preferred to go and “be with their ancestors”.

But, I digress…When I was a young girl visiting one summer, a man came looking for my Grandfather. When he passed the window of the pantry, I thought it was Deda back from the field…it wasn’t. It was his brother.
A brother that I didn’t know existed. He visited for a few minutes, and said he would be back.
I hounded Deda to tell me why I never knew that this brother of his existed. Deda told me that they (he and his brother) hadn’t spoken in over two decades. “Why” I asked over and over….
I was relentless. Finally, he told me; he said that his brother was in love with a Hungarian woman before the war.
He (his brother) was also in Dachau because he was one of the 100 for 1, picked up on the same day in the same market as my Grandfather. However, over the two years that Deda and his brother were in Dachau, they were separated. When Deda returned to Petrovo Selo, he regularly went to the Post Office to check the lists of the dead to look for his brothers name, and one day, he saw it.After a few days, he went to the woman that his brother loved and told her. She hung herself. A few months after, his brother returned….and never forgave him.
Deda held that. As irrational as it sounds, he understood that.
When I think about what the people of their generation endured, my heart swells. Deda’s stories, and a million others.

When I hear memories and stories like these, I understand why Serbians have such a heavy spirit. Why during the bombing of Serbia, Serbs held hands over bridges and sang while NATO bombs fell. Why they stood up, even though they knew they didn’t have a chance. Why there is such a word as “Inat” (meaning “whatever the consequences”). Why people were partying in the streets while bombs fell. My Uja Lazar said, “if it’s going to be our last night on earth, let’s celebrate and not die like dogs cowering in the corners of our homes”.
I understand that.
And I miss sitting on Deda’s little bench in front of the house, with my head on his shoulder smelling the mixture of hay and rakija on his sweater, listening to him talk.

Rest in Peace.

Me and Tata


Yesterday, while I was driving along the lakeshore, I pulled up next to a car and the driver looked like my father.

I have been estranged from my father for 20 years.
Since in my minds eye, he will always look like he did the last time I saw him, I would probably not fully recognize him if I saw him now.

I got a pang of melancholy.

People would say (even I) that,
“it doesn’t matter”.
“He wasn’t really a father to you”
“he’s essentially a stranger”.

All of these things would be, and are true.
But when you think that you see someone, who loomed so large but absent for so many years.

Even though you are an adult.
Even though he wasn’t really a father to you.
Even though he’s essentially a stranger.

Just for a split second, you wish it were him…

So that you could make him pull over, and tell him how well you did despite him.

Fathers matter.
Even though some people say that they don’t.

They do.

Mama Answers

Reece asked:

Dear Mama,

Do you think a man and a woman can ever really be friends, or do you think sex(uality) will always tend to get in the way, even if just a little?

Ya, I tink so. Da vooman is alveys in control of dees tinks. Eef da vooman vant to be mor dan da friends, den eet ken heppen dis vey.

Erik asked:

If the dead were to rise from the grave (a la zombie style) should I embrace religion in an 11th hour conversion, stomp them Milla Jojvich style, or hide in a deep dark hole somewhere and hope for the best?

I tink yu get da religion rite avay. Yu should get da religion anyvay.

Anyvay, dis iz no gonna heppen. So don vorry.

Chris asked:

Mama, there seems to be two schools of thoughts about sharing recipes. Some
people will give them away to anybody who asks for them while others will
treat them like hidden treasures, perhaps giving small peeks from time to
time but otherwise keeping them locked away. What is your opinion on this
and to which one do you practice?

I geev da recipes. Vai nat?

Kim asked:

What do you do when you've had a dog since November, and despite all your best efforts, he's STILL not 100% potty-trained?

Da dag shood be outside anyvay. Vai you let him to do det in da house? Tis steenks. I vould get reed av da stinky dag.

Jacqueline asked:

My mother-in-law always wants us to go to her place for thanksgiving, but we don't want to.

Two words = Tofu Turkey.

We keep a vegetarian household, but it's really important to us to eat turkey at Thanksgiving.

How do we break it to her?

Vat to break to hair? You invite hair to yu houz and yu mek da tourkey and yu mek da vege-tables. She don like eet? She don hev to eat. Eef yu invite da peepl to yu houz yu shood mek vat dey like. She like da vege-tables rite? She's da vegetareean...she don need da tourkey.

Chris asked:

I don't get the whole Tofu Turkey thing. If people are vegetarians that's fine but give up on calling it Tofu Turkey, Tofu burgers or Tofu dogs. Just by appending a tasty meat name to the end of Tofu, doesn't change the fact that it is nothing more than coagulated soy milk . I vote that unless there is actually turkey in the food you can't call it turkey.

Oh, this is the Ask Mama thread. Hmm my question would then be, Right Mama?

Rite, rite.

David Roaten asked:

Dear Mama,
Have you ever been to a fortune teller? If so what happened? Should parents be allowed to disown their children?

Yes. I bin. Dey don no vat dey takkink. Dey jas van yu maney.

No. Da parants Kannat deesovn da chilren....meybe yu van to, bat dey steel yours.

Ice Queen asked:

Ice Prince is misbehaving at kindergarten. How can I make him obey me and the teachers?

Geev heem a kappla shamars an da battam. He gonna lissen efte dat.

Mark mai vord. Tis alveys vork for me.

Sonja asked:

Why do men like to walk around the house with barely anything on (usually with underwear only) and women don't....

Becaz dey don hev nattink to hide an da tap.

Lilly asked:

Mama:

How can Crabby get her cat to stop puking every single day?

I don no. Mek heem go outside.

Lilly asked:

Mama, should Joe and I get married at Niagara On The Lake or in some cheesy, kitchy 'chapel' (I use the word loosely) in tacky downtown Niagara Falls?

Nee-a-gaara on da lek. Tis is da nice place.

Rada, she get da maarried der.

As I've said in the past. If you don't like the answers, welcome to my world.

Tour My Hometown


Mark of Check Mark and Exclamation Mark invites us to Tour his hometown, with a little history and some pictures, and asks us to invite him to ours.

Here's a little tiny tour of the part of Toronto that I grew up in.
Parkdale.

When I was a kid, Parkdale was a neighbourhood full of Eastern European and Caribbean immigrants. Over the years it has declined, and run down...but I'm noticing that it's rising from the ashes and becoming trendy.
Just like my Uncle said that it would!

Let's start with a little story I told about the Greyhound Bus Depot at Roncesvalles and Queen, and then move on to another one about Harmony Records at Queen and Sorauren.

The Parkdale Theatre (later known as The Comesee) was where I saw my first movie.


I crossed this bridge to the lake every summer day until I was in my teens to spend time at Sunnyside Park or go swimming in the pool.

Everyone in my family who either lives here or has visited has a picture next to the Maple Leaf in High Park and The Horseshoe Falls at Nee-a-gaara.

Most of my teen years were spent nursing a cup of coffee or a plate of french fries and gravy under Peter and Spiros's watchful eye at the:

(They are still there, believe it or not)

Here ends our quick little tour of a small part of my hometown.
Yes, as I was reminded recently...I've got a soft spot for Parkdale.

There you go Mark.

The Beginning of the End


For those of us who live and grew up in Toronto, the C.N.E. (Canadian National Exhibition) or "The Ex" marks the end of the summer.
The last day of the "Ex" is also the last day of freedom for students who have to go back to school the very day after the "Ex" closes it's Princess Gates.



The Mister and I went down yesterday for the first time in a really long time, and shared our memories of the fair.
Both of us being west enders, the "Ex" was a summer staple.
I grew up in Parkdale, so the last three weeks of summer were consumed by the "Ex" for me.

My very first job, (unpaid of course) was to stand in the driveway of our Tyndall Ave home with a rolled up newspaper and wave cars in for parking on the lawn during the time that the Ex was on.


My very first paid job was in the Ex, on the Midway....in a restaurant, where I bussed the counter back in the day when your boss could yell at you, and tell you that you are useless and didn't know what you're doing.
And he was right, since I was 12 or 13 and had never had a job before.
I got fired for bussing a plate of french fries right out from under a customers fork.
Well, I imagine it was for a culmination of things....the french fry thing being the last straw, so to speak...

I got fired from that job, but went back to the job trailer and got another job within the hour.
This was one of the wonderful things about the C.N.E.
Another wonderful thing about working at the Ex was that I got to meet other kids my age from all over the city.
This was certainly something big, since at that time my world was pretty small.

The C.N.E. seems very different now...it doesn't smell as bad, for one thing...but one thing does remain for me...


The memories.

P.S. I have 5 G-mail invitations available...if you're interested in one e-mail me.

Confessions of a Purse Snatcher


Benjamin at Iracible Musings wrote this entry on first memories.

In the comments, I mentioned that my first memory was of a picture taking session in a park.
The above picture is from that day.

My cousin (it turns out that she's a fan of Benjamins) weighed in with her first memory of me accidentally hitting her in the head with a gigantic crystal ashtray.
I mentioned that she had an obsession with purses when she was little.

Turns out that it runs in the family.

Olympic Musings


The Mister and I are watching the Tae Kwon Do competition, and I'm going to be frank with you...from what I'm seeing (and I'm no Tae Kwon Do expert...believe me...) the object of the game seems to be:

To bounce around, bow your head a lot, and be the first one to kick your opponent in the ass.

That being said,
I'm wondering why Serbians aren't champions in this sport?
I spent most of my life avoiding getting kicked in the ass when I wasn't looking...just for fun and teasing.

Someone needs to bring this to someone's attention, because Serbia-Montenegro is missing out on some medal attainabilities.

Disclaimer:
Ok...if you are a Tae Kwon Do expert, don't e-mail me to explain the importance of the ancient sport. I don't care about most sports, Tae Kwon Do is not exempt.

Cry Baby, Cry


J-Walk Blog led me to Metafilter's post on Tear Jerker Movies...which led me to a list of my own.

To Sir With Love
The scene at the end when Sydney Portiers students present him with a gift and he fights back emotion.

Joy Luck Club (2 scenes..the whole movie actually)
One of the mothers talks to her daughter about accepting that her marriage might be over, and how she had fought all her life to be strong, but having a "weak spirit" had passed this on to her child...well, you get the picture.

One of the other mothers explaining to her angry daughter that she chose the "worst quality crab leg" because she had "the best quality heart"...(you have to see it)

Love Actually
When the wife realizes that her husband might be having an affair, and she excuses herself and paces her bedroom while listening to Joni Mitchell and hysterically crying...then pulls herself together....smooths the marital bed, and collects herself to put her face on for her family at Christmas...

Imitation of Life
When the daughter comes back to her mothers deathbed, and her mother forgives her.

Shindlers List (but practically the whole movie...this is the only movie that The Mister openly shed tears at...)
When Shindler realizes that he could have saved more people.

Mrs. Doubtfire
At the end when Robin Williams gives that little speech on all the different kinds of families.

Good Will Hunting
When Matt Damon breaks down when Robin Williams tells him "Son, it isn't your fault".

Antwone Fisher (The whole freaking movie actually)
When he meets his long lost family is a non stopper.

Radio
Hokey...but I bawled almost all the way through, and was absolutely torture teased by The Mister through the whole movie.

Sam I am
The whole movie

Admittedly, I am a big crybaby, blubbering, kleenex grabbing, sucky lover of tearjerkers.
This is a neverending source of teasing pleasure for The Mister, which is why he usually gets to choose movies when we go choosing, and I watch these movies alone.

What are your tearjerker favourites?
I'm dying to know...especially from the men who visit.

From Siberia to Serbia

While celebrating different cultures on a daily basis, I overheard this conversation between two children discussing my nationality:

Child #1: "Hey, Mrs. M. is from Siberia!"

Child #2: (With a look of disgust) "No she's not!"

Child #1: "Where is she from then?" (mocking tone)

Child #2: "She's from suburbia!" (superior tone of voice)

That my friends, was my laugh of the day.
Believe you me when I tell you that the children are the best part of my job.

Adrenaline Rush



Yesterday, I stopped at the bank and parked on a busy downtown street, without purchasing time from one of those fancy shmancy meters that are so far apart, that it's a gigantic pain in the ass to purchase said ticket.

I figured I would go in and see what the line looked like and if it was long, I would go back and purchase some time from the meter.
I walked to the door and saw only two people in line.

Bonus!
This bank always has a line up!
So, I naively go in and take my place in line....little do I know that there are only two Tellers working. 
After about 10 minutes in line, I figure that one customer must  be negotiating a mortgage, while the other must be doing the year end audit for a small country.
I was in the bank for over 30 minutes, far longer than I had anticipated.

Well, I headed out of the bank and down the street....and...what?

"Dude, where's my car?"

There was a large cube van parked where I left my car.

I got that "holy shit" feeling.
The one that says, "I've got a ton of shit to do this afternoon and my briefcase and everything is in my car!"

I got my cell phone out and started to dial the towing company telephone number from the sign right in front of me, while walking toward the cube van...only to realize that the cube van was hiding my car.

The sense of relief was overwhelming.

Have you ever had your car towed?

I have, and it was an experience I will never forget.

See, when my car was towed...I was already late to get somewhere.
I was pissed.
When I got to the trailer/towing company "office", I walked in shouting about being towed, which immediately resulted in two Great Danes jumping up onto the cell-like bars that went from the counter to the ceiling, and barking.
Which resulted in silencing the absolute shit out of me.

The people behind the bars could only been seen through a cloud of cigarette smoke and the trailer reeked of stale smoke.
It was disgusting.
Listen, I'm a smoker.
If I say it was disgusting, it was disgusting.

The woman that approached the counter only removed the smoke from her pie hole while she repeated over and over, "cash, VISA or Mastercard" while I tried to argue with her about the ridiculous amount of money she told me I had to pay to get my car out of the pound.
Frankly, all of them should wear masks while they collect money.

While I was paying, two men came in shouting just like I did when I came in, which alerted the two horses disguised as Great Danes to commence the barking routine, which silenced the two men and scared the shit out of me for a second time.

I got my car, and fought the $20 ticket that was an insult to my injury.
I had the opportunity to go to night court.

Ever been to night court?

I paid $8 for parking.
Spent 2 hours at Old City Hall.
Result?
My ticket was thrown out.

My visit to night court was worth the price of admission.
$8.00
It was entertaining.
The Judge was hilarious...
He was sarcastic, and mean

...but not to me.

heh heh.

 

A Conversation With a Child



About an hour ago I had the following conversation with a child who was brought into my office, hysterically crying.

I waited until he completely calmed down and then asked him to explain why he was in my office.

The conversation went like this:

Him:
"Ok...so...like...my sister was pretend marrying my friend Fabricio? And...um...I was going to be...like...the...the, um...Best Man? And then, I was..um...walking her up the isle...and then, umm...she said she didn't want me to be the Best Man anymore?"

Me:
"So what did you do? Did you hurt her in some way?"

Him: "No"

Me: "So why are you in my office?"

Him: "I stopped the wedding."

Me: "How did you do that?"

Him:
"I wouldn't give the ring back."

The Cracks in Crackdale



Everytime there is a long weekend, I come back to work to find more vandalized public property.

It grieves me to think that the young people who live in this neighbourhood are so desensitized that they would actually get pleasure from destroying a beautiful old school that has been here for over 150 years.

The fact that the repairs (if they ever get done) cost the taxpayers of this city almost triple what it would cost to be fixed by a private contractor because of the inflated rates that the school board charges to get their own maintenance contractors to do it.

What amazes me about this phenomenon is that there is all this pissing and moaning about the city not giving a shit about this neighbourhood, but it's the residents themselves who trash it.

Let's face it folks, if you live here and don't give a shit about it, why should anyone else?

Listen Up White People


I am forever amazed by the graciousness of the black people I know who tolerate the ignorant little faux pas made unknowingly by well meaning white people.

Last night we were visiting with my sister in law and her husband when a neighbour happened by.
He was friendly and humourous and very welcoming.

He invited us all over to the front of another neighbours house for drinks and chat. There were a number of neighbours there already and the drinks and chat were flowing.

Now, generally when I am with my inlaws, I am usually in the minority as a white person. To say that I have never experienced a bias or ignorance being the minority at an event would be a lie...but I do not experience it regularly, therefore it is easier for me to swallow than it would be if I had to deal with it daily.

Last night I heard quite a few little inappropriate "jokes" made, and quite a few gracious accepting of those jokes with a touch of satire mostly from my brother in law.

I have such a feeling of shame and apology when they have to accept these stupid little ignorant comments meant as "jokes". I know that with many white people, the attitude is "What? Now I have to watch everything I say? I have to be politically correct?".

No.

You just have to put yourself in the position.
Stop bringing it back to race.
If you're Italian, do you want references made to the Mafia and pasta regularly during conversations?
If you're Irish, do you want constant references made to the Irish being big drunks?

Think people.

One joke, ok.
One every five minutes, not ok.

______________________________________________-

In other news,

I finally rented "Love Actually" on Crabbys recommendation.

The opening of the film exposed one of my secret loves.

The arrivals level at the airport.

I was instantly in love with the film.

I love the arrivals level of the airport.
People don't understand why I'm so willing to pick them up from the airport if they are coming in.
I am a suck, and love to watch people re-uniting.
As the movie stated, "when I lose faith in the human spirit, I visit the arrivals level at the airport. It's there that love is all around us".

The arrivals level is the place for this.

Go to arrivals when you're sad and feeling hopeless.

Rent "Love Actually" for a little boost for your spirit.

That's all.

Smoking and Talking


My Uncle doesn't smoke anymore, but some of our best conversations and some of his best stories were told with a cigarette and coffee.

The other day I was visiting and we were talking and reminiscing about what it was like when he first came to Canada. I reminded him of a few that I remembered, and he didn't...and he told me a new one.

It went like this:

"Bora an me, ve go feeshink, an ve drivink bek hom...an ve get laast.
Bora, he mek a u-toorn an da politz dey stap aas.

Da politz-man he say,
"Yu don see da sign say 'NO U-TURN'?
and Bora say to da politz, he say:

"No, you turn...bat me o.k.!"

Da politz-man he leff an leff..an ve look at each odde an tink...
mah...he crasy.


Bat den ve see da sign...an den ve leff too."

I love these stories.
There are so many of them that I forget until he tells them again, and they never get old for me.
I suppose that it's the way that he tells them, or that I love him so much that it doesn't matter how many times I hear them.

I don't know which, and I guess it doesn't matter.
So long as he's here to tell them.

Single Chicks Myths About Marriage


It's Just a Piece of Paper
Yes.
It's a piece of paper that carries a lot of weight; in society, at the bank, and in court.
I once heard an idiot over dinner say that the fact that he didn't marry the mother of his two children and stayed with her, proves that their relationship is stronger than a marriage.

Not really.

What it proves is that he can bullshit the woman he lives with into not bothering him about legitimizing his children and making a commitment to her and his children and making them a legal family.
It keeps his options open...and since he was exposed as living a double life right here in this house, when one of our other friends recognized him as the man his cousin was "engaged" to for the past three years...nuff said.
His common law wife said that it didn't matter to her that they weren't married, a devout Catholic.

I guess that's why she wore a wedding band anyway, huh?

Common Law is just like being married.
No.
It's not.
You can walk away from "common law" without a big "marriage law" hastle.
Oh sure, you can go to court, but your rights are not the same.
Just ask anyone who's done it.

Marriage will change him.

If you believe this, I'm the Queen of Romania.

If he was a controlling, cheating, gambling alcoholic, chances are that he'll still be that after the reception.


If I have a baby, he'll marry me...

Yeah.
Maybe he will, but if he didn't love you enough to marry you without the belly, it's a miserable life you're setting up for yourself and your child.
If he doesn't marry you, you're a statistic.
Way to set up a stable life for another human being you're bringing into the world.
A child is not a K-Tel product you can send back if you don't like it when it comes out of the box.
Ask any foster parent who has taken in children who ended up unwanted.

Why do I bring this up you ask?

It's because I'm tired of listening to young single women who malign marriage until someone proposes to them, then they start planning the wedding of the century.

It's the whole "I'll piss on it until I'm getting married", that irritates me.

Oh.
And while we're on the topic...
As mama told me:
"Iz aboud da life, nat aboud da day".

That's all.

PS.
Asshole hightailed it out of the party before the woman he proved he "loved more by not marrying" before she glommed onto anything fishy going on, and we haven't seen him since...since the cousins lived down the street from us...

Put The Carny Back in Carnival

Today, on my way home...I stopped by one of those roadside Carnivals.

You know the ones....
They set up rides and games temporarily somewhere for a week or two and then move on.

I noticed something very odd.
None of the Carnys (or is it Carnies?) had tatoos.

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?!

In this day and age where everyone from your whore to your hairdresser has a tatoo....what?....Carnies don't have them anymore?

Heed the signs people....

Carnies sported tatoos when it was an outlaw kind of thing to do.
Years ago, only certain kinds of people had tatoos.
Sailors, whores, bikers, biker chicks, circus folk.....and Carnies...

Carnies all over the place at this roadside attraction...not one tatoo.

All the Carnies in clean clothes, no smokin'...everyone had all their teeth...what the hell is this world coming to?

The times, they are-a-changin'.

Ok..so I told her that I was asking her questions that my readers had for her.
Her response was:
"Tis iss kind-a stoopid, no?"
"No, Ma..."
"Ok. I gonna play dis gayme mit yu an yu friend"

M.E. Asked:

What the hell does straw have to do with a camel's back?
"I don no dis sayink. Vat? Is tis from da Englan? Look in da encyklopdedya. Der yu ken fiyn everytink"

If a rocketship were able to fly at the speed of light, would it's headlights work?
"Vat? Nou I'm da Astronat? Odkud ja znam? (From where would I know this?)"

And lastly....

Forget the stripes. Why is it, the Zebra is considered such a peaceful animal, when it happens to be one of the chubbiest creatures in Africa?
"Hou do I no? Vat? Nou I keep-a da zoo?"

-----------------------------------------------
Sonja asked:
How do you get your husband to put the towels back on the towel rack nice and not jammed in between the wall and the towel rack?

"Gedda nu husban. Van av dos modern man who do samtink aroun da hous."

-----------------------------------------------
Ice Queen asked:

Do these pants make me look fat?
"I don no. Don esk. Eh, mebee yu kud loos a few poun...only yu no des tinks. Pents mekka me look fet. If yu tink yu look-a fet in da pents, ver da skirts mor"

-----------------------------------------------
Crabby asked:

Should I have my entire summer wardrobe altered, or should I buy an entirely new summer wardrobe, two sizes smaller?
"by-a da new klos. Bat nat too mach...hoo no, mebee yu gonna loos sam more da veights. Keep-a da old klos too...yu neve no if yu gonna need dem".

-----------------------------------------------
jackson asked:

I'm asking everyone I meet: what goes with brown shoes? Can I wear these blue pants with brown shoes?
"No. Jas da broun pents, an da beige pents. Yu don vanna look bed...espeshally if you no maaarried yet."

-----------------------------------------------
Chris asked:

What is the best way to get food stains out of your laundry? No matter how careful I am while eating I end up wearing half of it. Especially ketchup!!
"Bleech. Use da bleech. Or da soda bikabone (baking soda) mekka da paste mit da vater an pudda on da spat. Lev it for a leetle vile and den vash eet. Don eat-a da ketchap..tis is da garbitch food. Mekka-a nis sauce mit da tomato. Iss heltier...Yu gadda tek ker of da helt."

-----------------------------------------------
Benjamin asked:

Was Radmila a good kid? Do you have a good example?

"Eh...vadamagonnasai? She's mine. Even eef she gatta sheet allove her.
Ven she no leesen, she gedda da shamars (slaps). All keeds need da shamars samtime. I remembe da tyme she lie aboud da skool. She gedda big shamars den. Even she no she earn dem like dis. hahahahah.
She's a goot gurl nou...dis iss all dat matte nou..no?

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Erik asked:

Where do babies come from?

"Ahhh kamman. Ok. Ven Rada vas leetle I tell her dat vee buy her on da piaca (open market) an ven she no goot, ve tell her ve gonna sell her bek to da gypsies. OK? Yu heppy now? Yu mas be a beeg boy...don esk me da smaart kvestshons."


Disclaimer:
All questions were answered word for word. If you don't like the answers, welcome to my world.

Eastern European Shenanegans

While I was over at Jacksons I found a hilarious link to a story about a guy who was mugged by:

"your typical teenaged buzz-cut-and-track-suit types (Poland has yet to discover the mullet)"

Then read the whole experience with the police and their typically Eastern European style of cussing.
...Laugh? Did I ever!

Read all about it here

Bravo Maciej Ceglowski.

Calaloo & Crab


I thought I'd go a little lighter in my content today.
Here is a recipe for delicious Calaloo and Crab Soup.
You need:
Dasheen Leaves or Calaloo...I prefer dasheen. It's a beautiful large leaf with a velvet like texture. You can find them in West Indian stores or Asian stores.

All chopped: celery, garlic, okra, shallots.

Crab & shrimp

Vegeta (hehe, my addition)

1 scotch bonnet pepper...just to float and remove (DON'T CUT IT OPEN)

Scald the crab and clean and chop them, as pictured here:


Wash and roll and chop the dasheen leaves:


Chop all the vegetables and put them in the pot:

and pour a pint of boiling water over all the ingredients and cook them until done.

If you like seafood, it's yum.

Crackhead smashing your passenger side window in for a pair of sunglasses and 4 bucks in change:

FREE

Searching for a non-gauging price for a new window on a long weekend:

4 HOURS

Without a car on your busiest day of the week:

3 HOURS

Price for a new installed passenger side window:

$200.00

Vacuuming up shattered glass:

$2.00

Learning to hide every fucking little thing in your vehicle when you work in the 'hood:

PRICELESS