In my world, there are 2 Iulias. The Iulia that is my sister-in-law, and the Yuliya who writes at She Suggests (@SheSuggests). I was over-the-moon excited when I “met” Blogger Yuliya because she was the second person I’ve ever known to have that name.
She also happens to have moved to the U.S. as a kid, just like my sister-in-law.
The comparison stops there, though, because sister-in-law Iulia moved here from Romania and still has a noticeable accent, whereas Blogger Yuliya is Russian and (sadly) does not have an accent.
Please welcome the pee-your-pants-funny Yuliya with an unforgettable tale – and photo! – about surviving in the 2nd grade without knowing the language.
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Liz was adorably confused when she asked me to guest post for her. Apparently she thought I had this cute Russian accent and I had to break her heart and tell her I sounded one third valley girl, one quarter southern drawl, fully ghetto fabulous when intoxicated or angry and seven fifths All-American(ized) girl.
And I think I probably never had a Russian accent either. Which is tragic because accents are so gosh darn cute. I simply stepped off the plane and without any training whatsoever began speaking perfect English. At least that’s what I thought I was speaking. Turns out my child ego simply invented a language to help me fit in with this strange new environment.
Sometimes it came in pretty handy…
scene: lunch room, 2nd grade
a burly, well-fed child enters and approaches funny smelling foreign girl eating a hot dog sandwich (boiled hot dog on bread, it’s tasty y’all!)
Beefy: “I’m going to eat your lunch”
Smelly: “Narfaloggon!” I think I’m saying “Wow! You’re hands are massive, you must milk a lot of cows!”
Beefy: “Give me your lunch, I said. Give me!”
Smelly: “Farshamakan?” I think I’m saying “I can pay you to be my bodyguard. I have many rubles. Alternatively I pay in beets.”
Beefy gives up and finds some other child to coerce out of lunch.
Sometimes though, my lack of English was decidedly unhelpful…
scene: classroom, my first week of American school, (2nd grade)
oblivious foreign girl prancing around room in her very first pair of Levis (not purchased on the black market)
Prancy: twirl, twirl, ball stop change
2nd grade teacher approaches, one part Mr.Rogers, one part Jerry Garcia (I like totally wish I had a picture for sure), eight fifths board certified authentic San Franciscan
Mr. Sunshine: smiles “Julia please come here. Please, I need to speak to you in semi private, please.” (aside to the audience) “As per the regulations of the San Francisco Unified School district I must use the word please eight times when addressing a student.”
Here’s what I hear “mwap mwa mwa mwa mwap mwa SAN FRANCISCO! Mwa mwa mwap mwa”
Prancy: smiles back “SAN FRANCISCO!”
Mr. Sunshine: beckons with finger
Prancy: follows Mr.Sunshine dutifully
Mr. Sunshine: “Okay Julia I need to tell you something. The zipper on your pants. Well, it’s not zipped up. In fact it’s not zipped at all, do you understand?”
Prancy: pounds fist to chest “JULIA!” (that’s my new American name) cocks head to the side and appears perplexed “UNDERSTAND?”
Mr. Sunshine: “Okay if I can’t tell you, maybe I can show you” Gestures wildly with hands attempting to simulate the zipping of a zipper. As per San Francisco Unified School District regulation his hands are nowhere near his pants region, lest someone get the wrong idea…
Prancy: “OKAY!” twirl, twirl, ball stop change, jazz hands!
Mr. Sunshine: “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. Will the emotional damage you suffer at the hands of cruel second graders laughing at your un-zippered pants be more or less traumatic than me zipping your pants for you? Should I get the school nurse? Does anyone speak your language? Where are you from again? You sound like that guy from Mork & Mindy.”
Here’s what I hear “mwap mwa mwa mwap mwa mwa you put the lime in the coconut shake it all up mwa mwa mwap mwa mwa”
Prancy: blinks excessively and backs away slowly, Pas de bourrée, Piroutte, JAZZ HANDS!
I eventually figured out what my teacher was trying to tell me. And where my English failed me, my fashion sense did not. This is what I wore for the rest of the year:
It took six more months for me to become fluent enough to understand the faux paus of wearing tights without pants to school. At which point, I died of embarrassment. I have since been re-incarnated as a mommy blogger, which is never embarrassing.
That was hilarious! And that picture is fantastic! I think you should consider bringing that look back. Fashion is a revolving door, you know.
Oh my word, could I love you more? You do need some fashion help – your poor baby girl. No worries, a parcel is forthcoming.
xoxo
Oh wow. Those tights are something else!
I’m sharing this with my friends who immigrated as children. I know they’ll enjoy it!
I knew to put down my coffee once I saw you had Yuliya guesting today, that girl can bring the funny.
And thank you, I’ve dancing in my seat and will have that damn song in my head all day “…you put the lime in the coconut…”
There is nothing, I repeat nothing wrong with tights. Or jazz hands.
You poor, dear sweet girl.
That is very funny Yuliya! I love the the prancing with the jazz hands…priceless.
You’re right. She’s pee-your-pants funny!
OMG, I love you! ROFL! You are so funny and I so completely relate that it’s WEIRD!
[...] This was so much harder than I thought it would be. It’s like the light and music on “who wants to be a millionaire” that render you unable to remember the most basic of things…what country is located between Canada and Mexico…I don’t know, I’m foreign leave me alone! Also I found it hysterical that at least four people asked about those tights! (Point of reference here) [...]
[...] post for two fabulous bloggers, I shared the story of my mom army with Cheryl of MommyPants and the woeful tale of immigrant assimilation with Liz of [...]