From the category archives:


Planned Parenthood Really Screwed Me

by Marinka on October 4, 2015

I know that there were Congressional hearings going on last week and I stand with Planned Parenthood (assuming that all the seats are taken and it’s Standing Room Only) and all that, but I am also furious at them. And I know that as a pinko-liberal-feminist it’s not ok to be mad at Planned Parenthood, but I am. I AM. And I will no longer be silenced.

Now let me tell you everything from the beginning so that you can see why I am completely right about everything and why Planned Parenthood owes me a huge apology and perhaps a small gift.

I have always supported Planned Parenthood. In college, I did data entry for them. After college, I worked as an escort at one of their clinics, helping women who needed services get past the protesting nutcases. And I sent them money when I could. Because, oh I don’t know, I think women’s healthcare is important. Women having reproductive options is important. Not as important as the right to be armed to the teeth, obviously, but still up there. So, to sum up, I’ve been wonderful to Planned Parenthood.

And not let’s see what they’ve done for me.

When I had my first baby, over seventeen years ago, they did not tell me that I should “plan” on not sleeping for a year. If this isn’t something that Planned Parenthood should advise you about, I don’t know what is. And yes, it’s true, I didn’t seek out their wisdom, but I also didn’t go to the car makers to ask if I should put on my seatbelt. They came to me and let me know. But not Planned Parenthood. Had they warned my about this, I would have gotten pregnant and had a baby at approximately 80. So, that’s Strike One.

Strike Two came with the birth of my son, three years later. Did Planned Parenthood tell me that having kids three years apart in NYC mean that I would be applying to middle school and high school at the same time? Or that my daughter would be applying to college just one year after my son applied to high school and I was still in recovery from the process? No, they did not. Because apparently Planned Parenthood has “better things to do” than guide parents on how not to lose their fucking minds.

The Third Strike just descended on me recently and it’s a fine how-do-you-do. Because my beautiful and lovely 17 year old daughter, who now sleeps all the way through the night, is going away to college next year. And although I am so happy for everything that she has accomplished and the person that she is, I miss her already. And here’s the Fourth Strike against Planned Parenthood. If they’re such experts on women’s health, why couldn’t they have told me that I would be going through peri-menopause-induced weepiness at that exact moment, why?!

I hope that Congress gets to the bottom of this. Before there’s a Fifth strike.


A Scene in Front of a Fountain

by Marinka on June 28, 2015

A while back, Papa was telling me about an argument that he had with Mama.

“We had real scene in front of fountain,” he told me, in Russian, which I am indicating by writing in English but nonetheless leaving out all the articles, so you can feel the Russianness. Let me know how that’s working out for you.

“What’s a scene in front of a fountain?” I asked, also in Russian, but as written in English with articles, because I apparently can’t help myself.

And Papa explained that in many operatic and theatrical productions, there is a where a young couple has a Dramatic Moment ™ and it is often in front of a fountain.

Needless to say, I fell in love with the expression.

And I told the Guy I Went to Ireland With about it. It turns out that he was a good choice of a person to tell, because now whenever we walk past a fountain, he stops and we have a mini-scene. I see it as him paying tribute to my cultural heritage. He sees it as “straightening [your] shit out” or, as he has recently called it, “fecal realignment”.

Also, whenever one of us walks past a fountain, we take a photo and text it to the other. Well, at least I do. Now that I think of it, he’s been a little light on the Fountain Foto Footage.

Here, as Exhibit A, is a photo that I recently texted him, of a fountain in Brooklyn:

Screen Shot 2015-06-28 at 6.09.30 PM

Please note that there are no images of fountains that he sent me, so, if I were the type to keep score (which I am not), it would be Marinka: 1; The Guy I Went to Ireland With: 0.

Anyway, this part is prologue.

What I want to tell you now is that I’m going on vacation and you can’t stop me. I don’t know why you’d want to, anyway.

I knew it was time to go on vacation because of these dreams that I’ve been having. Now you probably know how I feel about people who tell their dreams to other people, but fortunately I’ve been blessed with the gift of hypocrisy so those standards don’t apply to me.

This is an example of the dreams I’ve been having:

I’m in the supermarket. I’m buying yoghurt, fruit, milk, orange juice, cereal. YOU KNOW THE THINGS I BUY IN THE STORE EVERY WEEK OF MY LIFE. Is Ryan Gosling in this dream, scantily clad and proposing to me? No, he is not. Am I involved in a car chase or anything else quasi-heroic? Again, no. I am just shopping. And I don’t even have any coupons.

Another dream:

I am at home and my son comes home. “How was school?” I ask him. “Fine,” he says. End of dream.

What the fuck is that?

Why do I have to waste precious dream time having such banal dreams?

Is this the part of menopause that no one tells you about because they’re too embarrassed?

I mean, even my real life isn’t that boring and I strive for dullness.

So I’m going on vacation with my Beautiful Daughter and The Guy I Went to Ireland With, who recently complained about his moniker ending with a preposition, which is a fine how-do-you-do, having waited a year for the name to set, if you ask me. Changing his blog-name now would be akin to renaming a foster child or something. Not that we have that kind of a relationship, of course.

But things are about to look up, I feel it in my bones. Unless that’s osteoporosis.

Because we are going to Rome.
And do you know what Rome has?


Like this one:

Screen Shot 2015-06-28 at 6.05.48 PM

It’s going to be some scene.

(And of course I can’t help but think of my trip to Rome last year. And how different things were in some ways.)



June 11, 2015

Tweet Last week I met my lovely daughter’s handsome boyfriend which is one of those things that I file under “about damn time” since they’ve been dating for over a year which is like a decade in teenage years and who knows how long in dog years, although I suspect it depends on the breed, […]

Read the full article →

Mane Event

November 26, 2014

Tweet “Hey mom,” my son told me the other day, “I’m going to be a tiger in the class play.” “Roar!” I said, before I remembered that he was 13 and not 4. And then he told me that he was going to wear his sister’s tiger costume and I congratulated myself on being the […]

Read the full article →


August 5, 2014

Tweet In case you read this blog for all your breaking news, there is an Ebola outbreak going on right now. It’s mostly in Africa, although two infected American missionaries have been brought to the United States. Also someone walked into a NYC emergency room, feeling all Ebolaish, but the hospital spokersperson is telling us […]

Read the full article →

Not Your Mother’s Vagina

July 31, 2014

Tweet I do not have a bucket list. Really, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have goals. Lofty, admirable goals. And one of those goals is to figure out which fucking Always pads to buy once and for all. Preferably before the onset of menopause. I’m racing against the clock here, people. […]

Read the full article →


July 2, 2014

Tweet I know I’ve been updating less than usual for a while and it’s taking its toll on me too. Obviously the fact that I decided not to write about my divorce is a factor (although please rest assured, it’s all very boring and amicable, no War of the Roses here. Not even War of […]

Read the full article →

Things I Think About When I Can’t Sleep

June 3, 2014

Tweet I love Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah but I have to be in just the right mood to listen to it. Sometimes I’m too fragile for it. And I don’t know what kind of secret chord David has although I’m definitely glad the Lord is pleased with it. Oh and you know what’s weird? Why is […]

Read the full article →