So my moms decided to get me after watching a video of available children they could adopt from one of many nuclear, shit hole, orphanages in Vladivostok, Russia.

Apparently, adopting a baby out of Russia is a hell and a half because my parents had to be in contact with a lot of, apparently, shady people in order to make this happen, shelling out tons of money just to keep things moving. My mom swears that they slept over in a house owned by a member of the KGB.

Anyway. My parents finally arrive at this lovely orphanage for disabled children, the abusive details of which I will spare from this post, and adopt me. After spending a day or so in the town getting ready, during which one of my moms became near deathly ill by drinking the water from her shower, we hop on what must of been a long, terrible, plane ride to Moscow. Upon arriving, my parents go to the US Embassy in order to make sure all their legal ducks were in row, since my parents just can’t waltz into Russia and take a baby out. I’m sure there were a ton of hoops my parents had to jump through, one of which was requiring a cable (not a physical wire, im sure, I’m still not sure what this is exactly) to be sent to the US Embassy in Moscow, only it’s not there. At first, my parents were like “well. this obviously sucks but we’ve been this patient up til now, we can wait a little longer”. So, of course, because Russia is the awful, something else goes wrong.

While waiting, a voice on the intercom announces that Russia was going to issue a moratorium on adoptions outside of Russia effective 24 hours. My parents are less calm now.

They freak out for a while and try to get in contact with the lazy sack of shit lawyer (or what ever) to get him to send that shit over in an immediate fashion. He, of course, does not answer. More phone calls are made, nothing still gets done. More panicking ensues as my mothers are faced with the ever harrowing possibility that they spent well over a couple thousand dollars to fly across the globe to adopt a child and eat potentially radioactive clams for nothing.

Then one of my moms remembers this bizarre, serendipitous coincidence: my other mom used to play in a rock band with Bill Clinton’s brother. And, more importantly, her mother frequently did Bill’s mother’s hair. So, my mom tells my other mom to call her mom in what i have to assume was a last ditch effort to get something to work. My grandma (or Baba) who wasn’t a lazy sack of shit, answers and my mom tells her the whole situation and asks her to get in contact with the mother of Bill Clinton, who was the president at the time.

I can only imagine how all these conversations went down, with my mom asking Baba to ask the mother of the president for a favor, to the one she actually has with the president’s mother asking for said favor, and to the one where the mother calls her son in the oval office to tell him to do the favor. But all I know is that we got that cable within a few hours and here I am.