I’m allowed to make fun of Russians…
… because, yes, that’s right … I’m part Russian. Well, more specifcally, my mother’s side of the family hails from Azerbaijan, a part of Iran that borders Russia in a way which I’m sure has been switched back and forth for centuries. So it’s sorta like Irussian… or something. Also, I think my mom loves explaining this as the main reason why she’s still blond, showing how we’re not all dirty brown sand people from the desert.
Recently I’ve been trying to learn a little Russian. Since the boyfriend has been polishing his understanding of the language for work purposes and such, we figured we both needed a mutual language we could use publicly for secret talk and mischief. I’ve been a little lazy on my part, I won’t lie. There’s only so much I can take of walking Oliver and ranting out terrible renditions of Russian cheesy greetings on the streets of Santa Monica with the homeless staring at me like I’m the crazy one. But hey, it only gives me even more right to tease the culture.
I give you a series of photographs , aptly titled “Only in Russia”.
