Sunday, May 24, 2009

Fun With Foreigners, But Not the Band

So yesterday at a late-night barbeque I had the pleasure of meeting a fifty year old drunk ass Polish man, who has nearly half of his teeth and a thick, heavily slurred accent. He was the only one of his kind, struggling through a slop of skinny drunken hipsters.

After we watched the landlady throw a giant wicker basket on the firepit (which I'm pretty sure was an old wheelbarrow full of flaming two-by-fours) and nearly set the tree on fire, Gyna and I started making friends with people we didn't know. Being me, I got to talk to a close-talking drunk twice my age. He loves me. Duh.

"I beeld house. For you. Yes?"

"You want to build me a house?" I turn to Gyna, who is next to me, talking to a guy that's our age, with a full set of teeth. "He wants to build me a house."

"Oh god," she shakes her head.

"I know."

The Polish Man interjects. "Yes, and we have sree chilren. All boys."

"Oh, really? Okay then."

"You are spayshel. Veree. You are streeling, yes? Streeling?"


"Yes! No, no. You are um, carree? You carree beeg theengs?"


"YES! YES! I know. Eez no bullshit. Some say bullshit I say no bullshit. But my Eeenglish, is...meeeeeeh, you so-so, you okay, you Polish, you bullshit. No bullshit. I am Polish. I am talking to spayshel girl, who my son like."

"I am definitely special. Exactly."

"Yes. And you have dance?" He tries to dance with me.

"No, dude, I'm not gonna dance with you."

"You have dance, and we dance. And we do this? You have pen?"

"No, sorry, I don't have a pen."

"You have pen, and you you write tellofone."

"Dude, I'm not giving you my phone number."

"You frend? We frend. Son frend."

"Your son?"


"How old is your son? Do I know him?"

"I have son and he is, um, he like...shport. He um," the guy starts thrusting his his hips and pumping his fists, and my eyes bulge, "he do zis, on um...snow. He has hat, he has...shport, he fear. NO fear!"

"He skiis?"

"He do that, yes. Skeeze? Skeeze. Yes. His is very big skeeze." He reaches over and squeezes my arm. "You make mossle."

"Um, okay." I flex.

"You are skeeze?" He starts the thrusting thing again.

"No, I don't ski. I would like to ski, but I have this problem, you see, it's called, severe uncoordination and subsequent falling all the time. Aaaaaand I like saying things that you won't understand."

Uncomfortable silence. I sip my beer. Gyna is chatting away. I look around for a way out, but then the Polish Man starts yammering again.

"You are baseball?"

"I am baseball? Yes. Yes, I am baseball. Are you baseball?"

"Me? I I am beerd, and I clean, and I no have beerd. I have...knife. I creem on face."

Oh, jesus. "You cream on face?"

"You see--" he grabs my hand and makes me feel his cheek "--is clean. Veree. I do that."

"Oh, you shave. Are you a barber?"

"Ohhh, no, yes. I like dark beer. You? You like?"

"Do I like dark beer? Sure. It's fine."

"My Eenglish is not good. Is focking bullshit."


"Ackzaktillee? What is zis ackzaktillee? You say?"

"It means, um, you are right. You are correct."

"Oh, I am veree ackzaktillee. All ze time! Veree ackzaktillee!"

What fun the foreigners are.



Red said...

Thanks for having experiences like this and sharing with us. I've occasionally had experiences sorta like this. But oft times I don't tell them as well.

Gwen said...

Those type of people always talk to me too. I only enjoy it upon r4reflection. I guess I'm kind of mean.

Gwen said...

*reflection. Not r4reflection. That looks like fucking textspeak. I hate textspeak.

Anonymous said...

hey, old drunk foreign guys with no teeth? that's MY demographic. i think if we went to the same parties, there'd be fossil-rumbles over who gets to torment us...

hey, he had both legs, right?

renalfailure said...

The first time I read this I thought the Polish guy wanted to have three sons with you, not that he already had three sons.

And you were worried about how you'd look in these warmer months.

American in Sydney said...

I love your accent posts, they get me all hysterical. You should come visit me here so you can write an Aussie accent story--oh, oh, I know, you come here and I'll hold you down and make you taste Vegemite-- oh, what fun it would be...ah hahahaha (that was the wicked laugh if you couldn't tell).

A Free Man said...

I've interpreted the whole 'baseball' line of conversation as him asking you about the follicular state of your, well, uh, down there. But then my Polish isn't that good.

Sid said...

Man that is awesome. And here I was thinking that my life is frigging bizarre but you ... you're special.

Blues said...

Story of my life.

Case in point: the other day one of the Germans I work with told me he was planning on "going out for a screw" that night. He meant "stroll".

On another occassion a Spanish woman was trying to tell me she was having difficulty speaking because she kept getting a bubble stuck in her throat. She ended up saying, "I can't talk right now because I have a cock in my throat."

I love foreigners.

I'm one myself.

In Spanish I often confuse correr (run) with correrse (cum). It sucks.

Anonymous said...

So maybe the son is a super hot Olympic skier who has asked his father to find him a strong American woman. It could happen.

Anonymous said...

I have a feeling you need to get in touch with this guy's son. I think you're missing a love connection. I will sing at your wedding. But not in Polish.

OneZenMom said...

I'm totally laughing WITH you right now, swear-to-buddha. And kinda hoping you'll find out that Polish skeer son is totally hawt and vants to luff you. Mostly because I think this would be a hilarious how-I-met-my-significant-other story.

Le Meems said...

that guy has worse ADD than I do.

p.s. What the hell has happened to Pistols?

Le Meems said...

Also, when he asked you to make muscle. Did you do a popeye flex?

The Ambiguous Blob said...

I had a full-on conversation with a 60 year old drunken deaf man this weekend who was in LOVE with me.
I understand and can communicate in verrrry simple sign language, but had to just... walk away from it at one point.
Language barriers and a 30 year age difference make for failed love affairs.

Gypsy said...

Well, it was hilarious blog fodder at least.

Erin said...

"Are you baseball?"

I'm going to try to slip that question into one conversation per day this week.

Ellie said...

So you don't think the Polish guy would add something special to the band?

I also thought he wanted to have three sons with you.

Mongolian Girl said...

But, um, Rassles? Did you dance with him and let him build you a house or what?
I mean, I need to know these things.
God this was funny.

formerly fun said...

This is hilarious and I think freeman might be right about him trying to find out if you, uhm, groom the field. EEEww. The better part of my twenties was spent fending off these guys.

Mia Watts said...

Oh fuck. I seriously need to invest in Depends when I read shit like this. Or at least not drinking something that makes my screen turn into a LiteBrite when I laugh. That accent is down you have it down.

Sarah said...

Hilarious. I love drunken Polish guys.

Not Afraid to Use It said...

The sad thing is that my foreigner of a husband? Has been English than most Americans we meet. And it kind of pisses them off.

Emerald said...

Oh wow, this sounds like reception at my office. Living in an uber multicultural city can be rad and all, but sometimes the communication gets....well, fun.

rien magazine said...

good to see Bucktown hasn't changed all that much. I mean I mean... god to zee Buckton not change lotta.

Le Meems said...


I totally forgot about that drunk deaf man. HILARRYUS.


He even got "mad" at me when I ready to get back to the beer tent and was trying to take you with me.


The Ambiguous Blob said...

That drunk deaf man did get a little posessive. And who can blame him? I was so dern cute.

Also- Rassles... Let's talk about this. You & Meems & Mr. Miller are my favorite blogs. I'm missing one because there used to be 4 faves. So if you see my identifying information on your hit counter like 7 or 8 times per hour, it's because I'm hoping that you'll fill the void. Just a heads-up.

Dean said...

I am a foreigner. Just. I've had similar exchanges with old peeps in the grocery store and alabama police... I once had a lady in McDonalds ask me if I spoke English. I'm from England. She looked puzzled and asked me to just point at the pictures to order my big mac. Which I did. Drive thru's are a nightmare. I never know what I'm gonna get

Rassles said...

Red: Perhaps you should carry around a tape recorder. I have one in my brain.

Gwen: It's funny for the first fifteen minutes or so, and then an hour goes by and you still have a Polish shadow. So lame.

Daisy: Yup, this one had legs. Which is a shame, because I can totally outrun a one-legged man. Sometimes.

RF: You know, I really don't know what he meant. That was kind of part of his mystique.

Flora: You evil, evil promoter of V-evil.

Freeman: Or perhaps he was trying to find out which way I swing.

Sid: I've always thought I was special, and I've just been sitting around, waiting for someone to confirm my suspicions. You are right. I am special.

Blues: I used to hate cumming a mile in high school.

Franklin: I'm glad you're able to find the positive side of things. Did I mention that his son is eighteen?

Ginny: See above. However, OMG will you please sing at my wedding?

Zenmom: If only I were a cougar.

Meems: Pistols is a busy little bitch. And no, I just kind of flexed. I really, really, really didn't want to encourage him. Plus, I was sober. Ish.

Ambiblob: Did you sign "We wish you a merry Christmas" and then just do the alphabet over and over again? That's the extend of my sign language.

Gypsy: It was hilarious Saturday fodder, too.

Erin: No, seriously. ARE you?

Ellie: With the crazy Christian turn Lou Gramm has taken, I think I'd rather talk to the Polish guy. Which is totally nuts.

Mongo: No. He smelled bad. I'm not letting him anywhere near my house. Or my sweet, sweet dance moves.

FF: So this means I'm destined to be a brilliant socal mom who waxes vag with a cute geeky husband? I have no problem with that.

Mia: It's a gift, really. Accent recall.

Sarah: I love them for a limited amount of time.

NATUI: That surprises me not. This guy, however? Serious issues.

Emerald: I can only be entertained by miscommunication for so long, because after the third or fourth "are you baseball" you just want to take a bat to his head.

K and E: Oh, fuck Bucktown. You're close though: Ukrainian Village. Friendly with Chicago, are we?

Meems: Drunks get protective of their prey. Getting between that shit is flat out dangerous.

Ambiblob: Well, I hope you find what you're looking for. Was this void widened by the absence of Mr. At Dawn? Fuck that guy. He won't even come back and visit.

Dean: HAHAHAHA. Oh, I'm sorry. I couldn't understand you because of your accent. Are you baseball?

The Ambiguous Blob said...

Stoopid At Dawn. If he wasn't such a bright, shining light of cleverity, I wouldn't care so much. I feel like I'm being robbed of a good time without his blog. I do not take kindly to robbers!

But, but... your blog is doing well to help with the robbed feeling. Thanks.

rien magazine said...

rassles; been here all my life but for a couple of years on the east coast. I was at Columbia Chicago in the early 70's before it was accredited and I could actually AFFORD to live in Bucktown...

Rassles said...

Ambiblob: You know what, in regards to Pistols? Fuck that guy. There's a hole in my head where his blogs would linger.

K and E: Look at you, rockin' the same city. Nice. I've got a good number of friends that went to Columbia, but alas, they were past your time.

M. said...

possibly the best conversation ever.

skiiers are hot though, no?