Saturday, March 5, 2011

Can I be Armenian...pretty please?

I am opening up with an open apology. It has been a good week and a half since my last toilet related post, [Tangent: That post also got a special "courtesy flush" from a blog entitled Pooping With The Door Open. How apropos is that? Despite sounding like the imaginings of a 14-year-old, this blog is actually ridiculously funny and intelligent...check it out! But you don't have to take my word for it...*cue the Reading Rainbow theme music.*] but I have good excuse for my absence. Aside from my interweb capability being down for several days, I was in California watching my brother get hitched [Tangent: To me nothing sounds more southern and rootsy than the term "gettin' hitched."] 

After spending but a week in the city of Glendale, CA, population 55% Armenian, I came to the conclusion that I was definitely born into the wrong ethnicity. Sure...I love being half Polish and half Southern mutt, but being Armenian is just so damn fun.

I mean I love kielbasa and collard greens, but Armenian food is ridiculous delicious. Piles of meat on a giant tray is something I will NEVER scoff at. Its kind of like a hybrid of Greek and Middle Eastern food, and after eating it at the rehearsal dinner- my friend Kristen and I furiously googled to see if Armenian food was available in the greater Nashville area. No dice. I may just need to open one so all my Tennessee friends can experience the mouth magic. [Tangent: Sorry...that sounded perverted...not my intention.]
truer words were never spoken.

Also, at the risk of making a hasty generalization about an entire ethnic group, Armenian people are so NICE! Barring the slim chance that I will ever meet Kim Kardashian, I feel I will never encounter an unfavorable Armenian person. My new sister's entire family was so hospitable and knew how to have a good time. They toast roughly 15 times during a given meal, which leaves those eating nice and toast-y. Cognac. Vodka. Thank you. They are also big fans of hugging and double cheek kisses.  Who wouldn't love that, especially after lots of wine?

Long story short, the wedding weekend was fantastic, mostly because things didn't go exactly according to plan, which is usually when the best things occur. Chiefly among these being that it was 34 degrees in Burbank and it snowed on my brother's wedding day. Really, I was told it didn't rain in California, much less snow. I left unseasonably warm weather in Tennessee for fridgedness surrounded by palm trees? In the words of Kimmie circa 1991, "Was it backwards day?" Seeing Californians trying to sled on a thin layer of slush really did actually put me in the party mood. I just had shake off those chill bumps with a lot of Armenian dancing. [Tangent: Armenian dancing is lots of arm movements and a little move my brother likes to call "unscrewing a lightbulb."]



Also while on the subject of dance, somehow there were some crossed wires and the mother/son dance was done to Rocky Top, which was not the Michael Buble jam my brother had authorized. Luckily my mom's been going to cardiac therapy and she square danced her little ass off and everyone enjoyed it much more than a crooning Canadian...plus it made us look SUPER backwoods, which was an added bonus.

But, true to form, my family was the life of the party...as always. Congrats Mikey and Kristine!

I love you.

2 comments:

  1. Oh my gosh I hope you get a copy of the wedding video by the time I'm back home because I would LOVE to see the footage of the mother/son dance!!!

    ReplyDelete

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