Not to be confused with a brisk!

Thank god the A was running express the weekend before Christmas because I definitely woke up late for my Long Island Hanukkah Extravaganza.  Tighty Whitey invited a bunch of us out to her parents’ place for a dinner/celebration of said holiday(s), and since Jews don’t exist in South Carolina, I jumped at the cultural experience.  I’m always a bit nervous meeting people's families (I have this phobia of awkward situations… I wonder if there’s a name for that), but I figured it couldn’t be too bad.  Right?

Tighty Whitey and his female friend (a real girl) from work met me at Penn Station.  After guiding the girl through her first LIRR ticket purchase (which is always hilarious), we boarded the train to Great Neck.

“My aunt is going to pick us up, and she’s quite the character.  I’d say she’s almost a combination of Fran Dreshiere and Karen from Will and Grace.”

!!!!

Ernie joined us at Woodside (sans his partner, Bert), and the four of us walked off the train to look for the infamous aunt.  She was waving wildly at us from a 98 Buick LaSabre.  Imagine the most Jewish of Long Island accents, and you have the Aunt.  She managed to make a story about having to park her car outside and not being able to open it because the door was frozen shut unbelievably engaging with her brilliant accent and her spirited storytelling. 

“And this wasn’t easy for an old broad like me [old being 40s or 50s and still with her figure, bah!].  What the heck is this woman doing?!” she said as she gave some SUV trying to parallel park a dirty look.

I turned to the back seat, mouth open in delight.  This was going to be an amazing day. 

As we walked up the driveway from the Buick, I heard a shriek of delight come from the house.  Tighty Whitey’s mom had thrown the front door open and literally welcomed us with open arms.  We all greeted and introduced.  Tighty Whitey’s real-girl friend was wearing those ballet-slipper-type shoes in the snow (don't ask me why), so they were completely soaked through.  Without hesitation, Mrs. Whitey threw them in the dryer.  “What's your size?  Well, have I got something for you!  Here, wear my Ugg boots.  I got them at Costco!  Aren’t they great!”  I have to admit, they looked a lot better than my knock-off Uggs.

Then I noticed the Aunt’s footwear.  Boots with 3” fur from calf to heel.  Leopard. Print. Fur.  

Work.

On the way back from picking up Tighty Whitey's grandmother (whose apartment featured a wall-portrait-size 80s Dynasty  glamour shot of the Aunt), Noah told her about each of his friends in the back seat because she had trouble hearing our answers to her questions.  But we did learn that she was born on the Upper East Side and lived in an apartment building with a bathroom in the hall.  As she put it, “I was no big shot!”  Love it. 

“I’m from South Carolina.  Columbia.  The University is there: home of the Fighting Gamecocks.”

“What?!”  Tighty Whitey’s grandmother looked shocked.

“The Gamecocks.  That’s U of South Carolina’s mascot.”

“Well, I don’t know what a gamecock is, and frankly, it sounds like something questionable.” 

Did I mention that I’m awesome at first impressions?

By the time we got back, a good number of family members had shown up.  We got introductions all around, and Tighty Whitey gave us a tour of the house, including his outrageously 90s bedroom.  The wallpaper was straight out of a SNICK show (and I was retroactively jealous). 

After a while, it was time for the food.  This was the part I was most nervous/excited about because a) I’m really not familiar with traditional Hanukkah food and b) I was starving.  If I couldn’t handle it, I was screwed! 

Me: “Okay, what’s this?”

Tighty: “Those are latkes.”

Uncle: “Get yourself some apple sauce with that!”

Tighty: “Ugh, don’t bother.  It’s so much better without.”

Uncle: “Are you joking!  The apple sauce is a must!”

Me: “What’s this?”

Tighty: “That’s a salad.”

Me: “Oh.  Right.  How about this?”

Tighty: “Brisket.”

Me: “Ah, I see.  Not to be confused with a brisk!”  Tighty’s real-girl friend and I laugh hysterically. 

Tighty: “What?”

Tighty’s friend: “You know, the circumcision ceremony.”

Tighty: “That’s a bris.”

Ernie later informed me that bris(s) can also refer to “the stuff that’s left over.”  I could have so much fun with that once I figure out if it has one s or two.

We were all called into the dining room to say the blessings, cut the hala, and light the menorah (you think a Jewish-themed t-shirt company named Menorah Tees would work?  It’s kind of already been done with blacks, though).  We were in the library (yes, their house had a library) with the cheetah-print chairs (yes, the library had cheetah-print chairs: handed down from a relative).  This table, to which I referred as the kiddie table (in my family, the kids usually sit at a different table than the adults… the age at which you leave the kiddie table varies by situation… mostly how much liquor is available in the hosts' house), had a smaller, multi-colored menorah.  “Look, guys!  They got Tighty Whitey a gay flag menorah!”

And I got to light it!

The post-dinner/pre-food-coma conversation was riveting.  I got a little nervous when politics came up.  Partly because the way it was brought up, it was more or less assumed that everyone was on the same pro-Obama side (which, thinking back, may have been pretty safe because they had a picture of Clinton on their mantle).  And partly because the only Change I was campaigning for involved square-toed shoes being out.

“So tell us about South Carolina!”

Huh?  South what?  Let me tell you: I haven’t lived there since I was 18, and before that, I took every opportunity to get out that I could.  Many things went over my head, and living with a family of New Yorkers (they moved just before I was born) gave me quite the skewed (i.e., non-provincial) perspective.  But I came up with something that didn’t elicit looks of WTF or precipitate an awkward silence.  Thank god SC voted 45% blue this time!

In the middle of the conversation, Tighty Whitey’s grandmother turned to me: “You have a very nice profile.  I’ve been watching you, and your profile is very nice!”

My profile?  Oh, right!  “Thank you.”  *blush*

We stayed until just about everyone left.  After cleaning up a bit and saying the nice-to-meet-yous, the Aunt drove us to the train station.  But my night wasn’t done.

Project Runway was having a party at her place because PBK, the artist formally known as my roommate, was moving to LA.  Mind you, PBK's text from the morning before was the first I’d heard of said move.  Apparently while she was down in Miami on vaca by herself not even two weeks before this, she met a guy who was willing to let her stay for free til she got established.  Sounds a little risky, but she went for it (no huge surprise for her, actually)!  I guess the fact that her job doesn’t want to pay her a living wage doesn’t help either. 

You’d think it’d be expensive to pack all your shit and move to LA, right?  Well, apparently PBK had called this moving company for a rate.  She told them she couldn’t afford it, so they transferred her to a VP of the company who told her that if she were willing to do an interview with New York 1, they’d move her for free.  So of course she did it.  Stuff like that always happens to her.

(To do list: drop off dry cleaning; get Lactaid milk; get boobs)

After an almost never-ending glass of sparkling wine (Project Runway is a very good hostess), I hop a train downtown to meet the Ivy League Crew, which has been pregaming in the financial district at Frat Boy's, at Küte.  They're all lit, as usual.  As I approach the bartender, I notice a 2-4-1 ticket lying in some random bar dampness.  I can’t tell if it's been used yet, so I grab it and ask for 2 frozen apple martinis.  Tada, I'm a (drunk) genius!  

I was loving the pop music, but Bottomless Pitt couldn’t deal with the crowd anymore.  We ditched the others and went to Chi Chi’s for their 2-4-1 special.  Amazingly, they had lowered their drinks to $6 (recession pricing?). 

Me: “Oh, wow.  This young white guy came in here all by himself.  That’s pretty fucking brave.”

Bottomless Pitt: “Hold this.”

Five minutes later, Pitt is making out with the token white guy.  Did I mention he changed his relationship status to “in a relationship” on Facebook the next day (which got close to 20 comments)?

Yeah.

(Note: I wasn't totally wrong.  Brisque is listed on Merriam-Webster Online as an "alternative to bris".)

And shout out to the international people who have read the blog.  Especially y'all in Port of Spain, Rabat, and Munich!  Leave a comment, even if it's in your native language.  Believe me: one of these Ivy League bitches speaks it.

Usually, I restrict my Long Island trips to the summer.  Click here to read about a Jones Beach excursion.   


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