The Apocalypse is coming.

And yes, I have valid proof of this fact.
Why?
Because my father, Alexander, has begun to talk in gangsta.
Yes, you read the above line correctly.
My 50 year old Russian father has begun incorporating words like, "word up", "homeslice", and my personal favorite, "biznatch," into his daily vocabulary.
Yesterday I was greeted with, "Home skillet, how was schoolz? Coolz?"
Although you can imagine my horror at the above statement, and the fact that it was followed with a peace out sign, my bigger problem was what my dad was wearing.
Specifically, a black mesh tank and a backwards baseball hat.
Black. Mesh. Tank.
Backwards. Baseball. Hat.
A normal child would run screaming from the sight of her mid-life-crisis-because-there's-no-other-explanation-for-it-father.
But I smiled courageously and asked him in a very kind tone i generally reserve for the mentally misguided, or for crying 3 year olds, "What on earth, dad, are you wearing? And saying?"
"You likesz it? My homie gee bought it for me."
"Dad, there is less material in the tank than in a sports bra."
"Don't be hatin' cause you ain't me!"
Oh. My. God.
"Dad," I ventured slowly, "I never though I'd say this, but I'd rather you be having an affair with a 20 year old secratary than forcing me to experience this."
"Yo, whatchyoo talkin' about?" the wrinkled man asked, "I thinksz -"
His train of thought was interrupted when his cell phone rang.
"Yo," he answered, nodding his head at me.
"Oh, okay" he returned to his normal voice, "Yeah, I have those papers."
He leaned down to pick something up from his briefcase, and that's when i saw the ghastliest sight of them all.
Things you never, ever want your father to wear all at once:
3) A mesh shirt
2) A backwards baseball hat.
And topping the list, at number 1?
1) SHORTS PULLED DOWN TO REVEAL BOXERS.
wait, what's that?
SHORTS PULLED DOWN. TO REVEAL BOXERS.
This was the last straw.
"This is the last straw," I told my father.
"What happened in this hizzhouse?" he asked.
"YOU CANNOT WEAR A MESH SHIRT, TALK GANGSTA, WEAR A BACKWARDS BASEBALL HAT, AND CERTAINLY CANNOT FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD EVER PULL YOUR SHORTS DOWN TO REVEAL YOUR BOXERS."
"Chillax," my buddhist father spoke, "It's all cool, yo."
"IT IS NOT COOL. GO TO YOUR BEDROOM AND CHANGE INTO REAL CLOTHES OR I'LL TELL MOM ABOUT THE TIME YOU FED US NOTHING BUT COOKIES FOR THE WEEK SHE WAS ON VACATION, AND ESTHER GOT SICK AND HAD TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL, AND YOU MADE US SWEAR THAT WE COULD NEVER TELL MOM ABOUT THE TIME YOU FED US NOTHING BUT COOKIES FOR THE WEEK SHE WAS ON VACATION AND ESTHER GOT SICK AND HAD TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL."
"HEY," he returned to normal dad, " WE HAD A DEAL."
"That deal was off, my mentally deranged father," I rationally told him, "WHEN THE MESH SHIRT CAME ON."
"Aw, c'mon, Paula. Don't ruin all the fun," he whined.
"WHAT FUN? ALL I SEE IS A METHOD DEVISED TO TORTURE THE INNER CORE OF MY SOUL."
"Can i please keep the - "
"No."
"What about the -"
"No."
"Not even the -"
"ESPECIALLY NOT."
As he walked back into his bedroom, my 10 year old sister came out of her room wearing one of my bras, stuffed to the brim with tissue, and hot pink lipstick and a shirt three sizes too small. She opened the door to the street and started walking out.
"WHERE. ARE. YOU. GOING?"
"OUT! DON'T WAIT UP!"
I grabbed her by the collar.
"Go change back into your own clothes. And wipe off the clown makeup."
"But Paula! What about the -"
"No."
"Not even the -"
"No."
"But I look so cute in the - "
"NO."
Sometimes it's hard, being the only sane person in the family.