"But Rachel," you say...

"What about your love life? Does the fact that you haven't been keeping us posted about your multitude of romantic humiliations mean that there haven't been any, or that--miracle of miracles--you've found a Vladimir Ivanovich to settle down with?
Sadly, no. Before I regale you with my account of the by turns disasterous and wonderful parental visit, here's a conversation I had (entirely in Russian) yesterday.
Scene: A pirozhnoye (bakery/cafe). I am sitting at a table with my dad and grandfather. One table over is a middle-aged woman--not quite a babushka, but getting close. She catches my eye and beckons me over.
RUSSIAN WOMAN: You're Jewish, yes?
ME: Uh, yes.
RUSSIAN WOMAN: And you live here?
ME: Kind of. I study here.
WOMAN: (incomprehensible Russian) And I thought you lived here. Are you here for long?
ME: Until December.
WOMAN: Still, it might be worth it...I was thinking I would acquaint you with my son. How old are you?
ME: Sorry, I'm not interested. I'm only here for two more months, then I go back to America...I don't think it would be worth it.
WOMAN: Oh, OK. I'm sorry if I offended you.
I sit back down at my table. Two seconds later, the woman approaches me again:
WOMAN: Are you sure we shouldn't exchange telephone numbers? Here, look at him. (WOMAN pulls out two photographs from her purse, both of a kind-of-attractive, if not my type, Russian guy. One is a head shot, the other is full-body. Thankfully he is clothed in both.)
ME: Um, I really don't think so.
WOMAN: Are you engaged back in America?
ME: NO! And I don't want to be. I mean, I'm not ready.
WOMAN: OK. I'm sorry if I offended you. (leaves)

I guess that could be thought of as flattering...either that or proof that I look like what I've always dreaded being thought of as: a nice Jewish girl. Ack.