S novim godom, s novim schastyem...

I used to love New Years. Growing up in the Motherland, New Years was (and probably continues to be) the biggest holiday of the year. It’s hard to explain to Americans why New Years is such a major and important holiday for my comrades. The easiest way to get across the meaning of New Years is to compare it to Christmas. We have a pine tree and pine tree décor, our own version of Santa (Ded Moroz), and gift exchange at midnight.

Why did New Years come to be such a major holiday for folks living in the former Soviet Union? In essence, New Years is a “socialization” of Christmas post the Bolshevik Revolution. The “Russian” New Year isn’t religious in nature. It is about good times, good food, and good drinks. Mostly the latter.

Some Orthodox Russians still celebrate Christmas, albeit on a different day. Celebration is brief and simple in nature and does not receive much media exploitation. Christmas to an Orthodox (Christian) Russian is like Hanukkah to an Orthodox Jew; a relatively minor holiday.

For the past twenty one years, I celebrated every single New Year’s with my parents. I always wanted to get away, and when the teenage years hit, I always did (after midnight, of’ course, like the rest of my Russian friends). But this New Year’s, while I have so many places to get away to, I have no one to get away from. My parents are 3,000 miles away. And it feels terrible.

So I’m sad. And I’m nostalgic for my kiddie years during which New Years was such an overbearing joy. My most fond memory of New Year’s was when my dad got a hold of Coca Cola and mandarins (I’m assuming on the black market). I lingered on every gulp of Coke and on every bite of the mandarin (The glass bottle of Coke lasted me for four hours, and I ate my mandarin over the span of one hour). New Year’s also meant cheese, kalbasa, and two pieces of chocolate.

I sort of laugh at it now; how could a glass bottle of Coke, a mandarin, and a few bites of chocolate bring such joy? Because such things were a deficit.

New Year’s in America never hit that same level of ecstasy. I have enough Coke to clean my toilet bowl….and I’m miserable. Why? Because while everything else is readily available; happiness in the good ol‘ USA, is considered a delicacy.

The most beautiful scene in film history...

The scene is from the movie "Karnavalnaya Noch" (Carnival Night). It's a Russian New Year's classic...

The title of the song "Pesenka Pro Pyat Minut" is translated as "A Song About Five Minutes".

Confusion

For the past year, I’ve been trying to set plans, goals, and expectations.

In High School, setting goals was so elementary (no pun intended). The seemingly objective questions of where I see myself in 5-10 years was never really a question of “where” I actually see myself. It had nothing to do with physical presence. It wasn’t a matter of Guatemala or Czechoslovakia? California or Middle-of-Nowhere, Maryland? “Where” was meant to be interpreted as where do I see myself slaving away as a corporate bitch? I was even given tests to find which type of bitchdom is best suited for my specific type of personality. Was I best suited to be an ivory tower bitch? A corporate ladder climbing bitch? A “would-you-like-fries-with-that” Bitch?

Back in my younger days, I wanted to be a neurobiochemophysicistbitch. And then, along my merry path to thicker glasses and heavier textbooks, I spiraled into a hardcore state of depression. At sixteen, I dropped out of school. Now, I don’t see myself doing shit.

My most remembered memory from times long past, is a quote from a High School teacher “If you weren’t such a goddamn lazy bum, you could of gone to Harvard”. It was partially because of him that I didn’t.

Fast-forward to life after high school, I ended up working in an accounting office. There, through millions of other people’s tax forms, I discovered that ivory tower bitchdom pays significantly less then corporate-ladder-climbing bitchdom…. So I set my dreams on getting me some dough.

Dough was something my family was familiar with. “Fresh Off the Boat”, my parents, both ridiculously brilliant physicists, slaved away at an orthodox Jewish bakery from 4AM to 8PM and took community college classes from 8PM to 10PM. As a family of four, we lived in a one bedroom apartment. It was pretty fucking brutal. My brother and I were constantly chasing each other with tennis rackets and fighting over personal space.

My depression hit just when my dad moved to the East Coast (he landed a “real” gig). And even though our income skyrocketed to the likes we have never experienced, the mentality of “we-are-still-dirt-poor” never vanished. My mom continued to work incredibly long hours in the same shit hole that my dad abandoned. Hungry for personal space, and tired of hearing my mom bitch about my dad’s “undoing of our family unit”, I packed my bags and headed East.

I don’t know if that was a wise decision. I don’t know if any of the decisions I’ve made were “wise”. By the time I moved, I had already set my “5 to 10 year plan”. I wanted a “Big C” title. CFO, CEO, C-something-or-other-O. I planned on raking in the green, owning top of the line business suits, and wearing pearls and Channel to elaborate dinner parties.

So what happened? Why am I giving up on this whole career business?

My upbringings preached that “financial stability” was the golden route to happiness. And only recently did I realize, I prefer the dirt path.

To be continued…

Smile!

I’m feeling Tom Sawyer-ish. I’m painting the fence and tons of individuals are voluntarily picking up the brush and giving me delicious freebies.

This whole photography thing is a total blast! Every goddamn individual within a five mile radius wants their picture taken. Welcome to Hollywood.

Word’s been spreading. Friends put up the pictures I took of them onto all sorts of social media networks and suddenly friends of friends are asking for my digits and offering pretty fantastic exchanges.

As for the latest, meet my personal trainer. He plays the piano. And the guitar. He’s a stunts man and a Steely Dan fan and that makes him totally awesome. When he isn’t busy modeling, he’s kicking my [big, but soon-to-be-smaller] behind.



Soon, I’ll be need someone to help me paint my crib. Or tile my kitchen. Cheeeeezeee anyone?

Also, I encourage everyone to get hitched cause wedding photography is where the dough is.