I've spent a lot of time in Bulgaria, nearly 2 years. During this time I've done a lot of nice things, spent a lot of time spent helping and being a good little volunteer. However, I've also done a lot of judging. I think I've just got Bulgaria all figured out. I know where all the problems lie and I complain to friends over skype or in person about how much easier our jobs would be if certain things were addressed and changed. I get frustrated on a daily basis by the things I can't change and by putting any issues involving education, teachers, students, parents, etc. into a box that I can name and talk about makes it easier to handle. I judge and bask in the glory that is my Perfect Version of Bulgaria. If only they'd let me run the country...

And then I went to a 5th grade student's birthday party.

Now, my 5th graders are impossible. They are all significantly below grade level. Most of them would be classified as illiterate by American standards and that is unfortunately not an exaggeration. To say they are difficult to teach is an understatement and I dread Tuesdays when we have two hours in a row with these ADHD/music-playing/constant-wiggling/shut-up-shouting/always-argueing/KAKVO?!?! little hellions. I often wonder how they were allowed to become these versions of themselves. How can a class of only a dozen students spend hours at school every day for years and not know how to read or write in their native language? Why does the school bother to teach them a second one? Why aren't parents more involoved? Why isn't there after-school help to get them back on track? Why isn't anyone doing anything?!?!

I thought I knew why. No one cares. Apathy.

And then I went to a 5th grader student's birthday party.

5th grade isn't the only class I struggle with, I have a lot of students who are very similar and many more who can add "violent", "thief", and "destructive" to their academic resumes. I can see the futures of every 8th grade student from now until they're walking down the icy streets with bent backs and canes struggling to get a small bag of bread and cheese back to their concrete home. And I think "why?" Couldn't they just try a little harder? Put in a little more effort? Take advantage of a relatively easy education and make something of themselves? Take something seriously?!?!

Again I thought I knew exactly why. Years of being spoiled and never told no. Not knowing a life different from this one. Not caring. Apathy.

And then I went to a 5th grader student's birthday party. This is what happened:

I took the 2:45pm bus from the center of my village to the Mahala on the other side of some low, rolling hills. Tucked away and with a truly breathtaking view of a famous mountain range is Veselitsa, the Mahala (or ghetto) on the outside of town. The houses are old and crumbling and cars are abandoned everywhere, along the roads and in front of equally useless buildings. The few nice cottages are for English tourists who come in the Spring and Summer months to get away in what I imagine they think is a quaint, nicer version of The Bulgarian Village. Businesses are few and most store windows are blackened, not having been used for what looks like decades. The streets are windy leading up to the center and it's cold, cloudy.

As I step off the bus, every other passenger staring, wondering what I'm doing there, I'm waved down by two of my students with, "Gospozha! Miss!" I wave to them and immediately wish Pepi a happy birthday. He sees I have a gift but doesn't mention it. I realize later that I probably should have handed it to him right away. Welcome to Veselitsa, they say.

We walk up the cobblestone street and stop in front of a very old wooden door and he beckons me inside. We're greeted by a puppy who's chained up to the fence and practicing being ferocious which he no doubt will be someday soon. As we walk through a door at the side of the house, I have to duck in order not to hit my head and immediately feel a wave of heat. There's a small, iron furnace in the tiny room, two beds, and a baba. A baba is a grandma and I'd met Pepi's briefly a few months before when I came to the Mahala to visit my students and play cards in the Fall.

We ate dinner. Kyufteta (meat patties) and bread with a fizzy drink and some coffee. I noticed how polite Pepi was, how different from the crazy, loud, class clown Pepi from school. He encouraged me to eat. He translated his baba's Bulgarian as it was difficult for me to understand. He told me about an old picture on the wall, it was of his baba and her husband on their wedding day in 1963. It's then I realized this wrinkled and bent old woman with a cane and fewer teeth than fingers was only a decade or so older than my own mother.

After dinner, Pepi handed me a stuffed Winnie the Pooh and said it was for me. I thanked him and noticed him looking at the green, flowered bag with my gift out of the corner of his eye. I realized my mistake and quickly told him to open his gift. I'd bought him a robot that had to be put together out of Legos. As he opened the box and took out each small bag full of tiny Lego pieces he began to look more and more confused. It didn't look like the robot on the box. When he realized he was going to have to build it himself he looked at me like I was a silly American who'd been tricked into buying something that wasn't even put together yet. He set it aside, clearly never to be played with again. Later, when his uncle was trying to put it together and getting very frustrated, refusing to follow the directions no matter how many times I encouraged him to, Pepi said he hated it. He said it to make his uncle feel better and there was such a contradiction in his sweet voice that all I could do was laugh and promise to buy better gifts for children in the future. Ones that come already put together and ready to play with. I should have just bought him a soccer ball. His uncle and baba combined efforts and gave him 10 leva. He was very excited to spend it on snacks at school. The good ones.

I asked about another black and white photo on the wall. It was his baba, a dozen or so years after the honeymoon photo, with her 3 children. Pepi's uncle, aunt, and father. Pepi told me his dad doesn't come here. I asked what he meant and Pepi repeated himself. He doesn't come here. He lives in another town. I don't see him. Then Pepi shrugged and ate some more bread. I know nothing about Pepi's mother but I do know she doesn't come here either. Whether that's because she's passed away or because she also lives in another town, either way, probably isn't something I'm prepared to know.

I asked Pepi who started the fire in the furnace. He did. Who made the coffee, washed the dishes, cooked the food? He did. What time do you wake up, Pepi? 5:30. What do you do at home for fun? Listen to the radio. Sing. Dance. Play soccer. So, it's just you and your baba? Yes, but my uncle comes from Sofia in the winter to help. We need help when it's cold. My baba can't walk very far, she has a cane.

No wonder he plays in my classroom. It's his only escape. It is his play time. His time with friends. No watchful baba eyes and no coffee to make.

We spent the rest of the day playing soccer and sledding. All on ice. The snow from a few weeks prior had condenced and frozen, covering everything with uneven, slippery ice. Soccer was not easy to say the least and we all fell hard, laughing and picking ourselves back up only to fall again a few seconds later. The sledding was easier and using a plastic bag was pure genious. Just sit on it and go, so fast the wind hurts your cheeks. We flew down the hill and crashed into large piles of snow, dusting ourselves off for the treacherous climb back to the top. Gospozha, don't scream, Pepi told me. I have to, I say.

Pepi walked me back to the center and waited with me for the bus. He listened to my ipod and danced with his baba's cane which he brought for protection from the wild dogs that constantly prowl. He asked for my phone number so he could call me and ask how I'm doing on the weekend (I got a call from him later that night). He asked if I'd like to come again and maybe stay the night. I could sleep in his bed, next to his baba's bad, and he would sleep on the floor. He asked me for the millionth time if I'd had a great day. Not nice, he says, great. It was a great day, wasn't it?

It was a great day.

-Age

What's happened to me lately:

Winter break was a lovely time full of no school and snow and relaxation and sleeping in late and not showering if I didn't feel like it and more food than a single person should consume and elephants. Only one of those things is a lie.

I had to call in sick for the first time this year cuz I had a migraine (also a first for this year - I get less and less of those which has been so very nice) and two of my students came by my house during their break to make sure I was OK. I didn't exactly appreciate it at the time as I was forced to leave my bed in order to respond to their incessant pounding but I thought it was sweet much later.

I got invited to a 5th graders b-day party. It's tomorrow in the Mahala (a smaller, poorer area outside of our town). I'm actually pretty excited about it. The last time I went to a 5th grader's party, when I was in 5th grade, I had a really good time so I'm anticipating A LOT of fun.

I got married. No, wait, that was a dream. It was to Tim Gunn. I don't wanna talk about it. Stop asking.

I started teaching an art class after school. My counterpart and I bought all the supplies with the money the girls from my Volunteer Committee raised during the summer. We're also going to paint a big mural for the classroom with a Peace theme. I'm excited.

I've applied to 5 grad schools. Seattle, Milwaukee, Pittsburg (I know, ew), and 2 in New York. So much paperwork. Sheesh.

I'm planning this real big thing for my birthday which involves ignoring it completely. I'll just be 25 for awhile, I think. And then, when I can no longer get away with that, I'll just be 29 forever. I'm not afraid of looking older (lie), just being older. There are certain things expected of someone as they draw nearer their thirties and I just don't wanna.

I danced. And not just alone in my apartment but at a place for dancing and with, like, people. They danced with me, they didn't just watch me dance. It wasn't like that. It was an equal dancing opportunity kinda situation. Though there were professional dancers there too - we watched them. It wasn't creepy, they kept their clothes on. It wasn't like that. I gave them a thumbs up when they were on a break which I think they appreciated. I wore a dress and drank 2 beers for the cost of 7. It was nice.

As I've mentioned, I live on the second story of a two-story house and I now have permanent neighbors on the first floor. They are two older dudes. One speaks English OK. Their nice. My director asked me to leave class in order to come talk to her in her office. I was a little freaked out and thought I was gonna be in trouble (not sure why but, hey, it's the principal's office) but it turns out she just wanted to make sure I was comfortable living with those two guys on the first floor. I said I was and she said OK and then I left without detention.

I'm in the middle of watching all 10 seasons of Friends. More than any American-based TV show I've watched in Bulgaria, and there have been many, this one makes me miss home. I wanna live in an apartment in New York with all my best friends and drink lots of coffee and laugh and date men with serious yet comical issues and just have a great time worthy of being watched every Thursday night at 8:00pm. I'd also just like to live near real good friends again. I miss that. I know integration is an important part of this and I have made friends but my friends are my mother's age and have lives far different than mine. But, that'll be my life again soon so I might as well get the most I can out of Bulgaria over these next few months, huh? Yeah, OK.That's all. I'd write more often but, I don't want to. OK, bye!

-Age

Last year around this time I wrote a post about my first snowfall and it's pretty darn charming if I do say so myself. Here it is for those of you who like charming things and simply cannot get enough of my particular charm:

Black Eye? Welcome to Your First Winter Wonderland, Miss Hadaway.

This year, my first real snow of the season was considerably less dramatic though still a mix of enchantment and dread as snow is still friggin' cold and yet mysteriously beautiful. All of yesterday, when I was in class teaching, I watched through the window as the snow fell sideways, covering only one side of the trees and shrubbery with white fluff, the rest melting as soon as it hit the asphalt. I know it won't be long before it sticks, piling up everywhere and creating those tricky ice-patches that I mastered last year but only after about a dozen episodes of sliding around, waving my arms in giant circles to keep from falling. The trick is concentric, forward circles and bent knees, people. Bent knees - I seriously can't emphasize that enough.

My "trouble class" that I bonded with last year over sledding and snowballs is still the same bunch of диваци (savages) they were last year though worse because, well, they're in eighth grade now - the year when 13-year-old a-holes become 14-year-old a-holes in the full throws of puberty; adolescent angst; and rebellious, we-hate-all-authority attitudes that make them just so lovely. So flippin' sweet I could just throw them out the window by their hair and smile at the following *thud*. I'm kidding, of course. They are charming as ever - I just love it when they write different words for penis on the board in Bulgarian with an accompanying graphic. They are getting really good at dry-erase marker art - it's almost lifelike.

This year I have firewood for my stove-like thing that is electric on one side for cooking and old-fashioned, wood-burning stove on the other for keeping warm in inclement weather. I chop kindling with a horror-movie axe and start the fire myself and all that cool, Peace Corps stuff and I even sometimes pretend I'm not in Europe - no, I'm somewhere truly exotic and foreign like...Kansas. It's fun. Though, with fire, there is no temperature gauge. No way to say, "Phew, it's getting a little toasty in here, I think I'll turn down the heat." Nope, it's just always the temperature of, well, fire. And since it's far more comfortable to have a fire and open the window than it is to forgo one and bundle, I just go ahead and walk around in my underwear during the summer and winter months - one of the few advantages to living alone.

It's also that time of year when everyone asks me if I have a man for the winter. In the summer, men are optional and going out to coffee with a different one every night is considered frivolous, appropriate fun. But, in winter, a steady man to keep you warm is a necessity. I imagine, in Bulgaria, the majority of engagements and serious relationships start in January and February. However, I simply tell them I have a boyfriend in a far away land and that he's probably coming to visit soon so no one should worry - I also have a lot of blankets and super warm pajama's so, I'll survive. A winter-мъж is low on my list of priorities (not that I have one of those) though I think revisiting the world of, "Oh, my grandson is about your age and he's very handsome..." is inevitable - at least until мартеници are back on our wrists and the storks are rebuilding those nests.

Well, Christmas is upon us and I could really use the two revitalizing weeks of vacation that are coming to us hard-working volunteers. I plan on going to the super fancy ski resort near my village for New Year's fun so, hopefully, I'll have stories and pictures to come. Until then...

Me and my favorite group of sisters - Kamelia, Gergana, and Anelia. (And, no, I have no idea what Anelia's looking at. And, yes, the Pikachu on Kamelia's shirt is awesome though, when I pointed it out to her, she didn't seem as excited.)

-Age

Sweet vs. Creepy - Round 1:

Sweet:

When an adorable 6th grader says hi every morning with an eyebrow-raise or a wink.

Creepy:

When your fifth grade student talks about your ass with another student in a language he thinks you can't understand.

Sweet:

When your lady next-door neighbor gives you some homemade pasta sauce and veggies.

Creepy:

When your dude next-door neighbor looks you up and down then gives you a thumbs up before hiking up his pants that are already too high.

Sweet:

When the girls from your volleyball team tag you in a photo on fb with lots of hearts and smiles in the caption.

Creepy:

When the boys from your eighth grade class tag you in a photo on fb you were not aware was being taken and comment with, "Oh, le le!"

Sweet:

When a nice guy offers you a ride to the next village so you don't have to wait for the bus when it's cold outside.

Creepy:

When a car full of not-so-nice guys slows down while you're waiting for the bus to stare at your weird winter outfit that may or may not consist of several articles made out of various colored yarns.

Sweet:

When a student gives you a high five after they do well on a test and thanks you for the help.

Creepy:

When a boy-student gives a girl-student a slap on the ass and tells them thanks for walking by.

Sweet:

When you run into another volunteer.

Creepy:

When you run into the baba from a couple towns over who yelled at you the last time you saw her for not giving her 20 leva cuz clearly you are Russian and wealthy though stingy, which is why you're pretty sure she put a curse on you.

Sweet:

Colleagues wishing you a "Happy (insert American holiday here)!"

Creepy:

Colleagues telling you to watch out for the bus driver. "Just say no to coffee. Always."

Sweet:

When nice people on a train or bus give up their seat so you can rest.

Creepy:

When someone on a train or bus moves seats in order to stare at you more conveniently as neck strain is a real issue.

That's all for now but trust me when I say I am nowhere near done with this particular topic. Also, this is a list just as easily created for Americans - PC volunteers even. Creepy is everywhere.

-Age

Alright. Here's what I've been up to:

Some volunteer friends and I had thanksgiving dinner this past Saturday. We went to a village outside of the city to an old baba's (grandmother's) house with a backyard full of turkeys for sell. A boy-volunteer familiar with poultry, killed the turkey with an ancient-looking axe and left the baba's house covered in its blood though, somehow, with a smile on his face. I took a video of it which is on my fb page if you're interested in seeing the process (it's not pretty but definitely entertaining). We cooked so much food and managed to finish it all - it was amazing, delicious, and a really great time. We often joke about the "post-fun depression" we get after times like this when we have to go back to work.

I had a dream about potato chips.

I swear I saw one of my cats get hit by a car and then he showed up for dinner a few hours later. 9 lives are no joke, people. (that cat seems to always be on the brink of death - it's his most charming feature. "Oh, kitty, are you dying? That's so cute. Could you please go die outside? Thanks, hun.")

The restaurant in my village now delivers pizza. I have to spend at least 8.00 leva so I'll only be doing it when I have gosti (company) but still - DELIVERY! and PIZZA!

I've been spending time with two of my Roma students after school and I think I want to adopt them both and take them home with me to America. They are boys in the 5th grade, cousins, and they couldn't be cuter or sweeter or funnier. I will leave this experience with so much personal growth and change as well as ideas for the future but one of the BIGGEST ones will be my new-found desire to adopt a Roma child from Bulgaria. I'm going to do it. Which, if you really think about it, is pretty exciting. Marriage or no marriage, I'm gonna be a mom one day. That's pretty awesome. (My mom may have just freaked out at my "marriage or no marriage" sentence - sorry I 'm so weird, Mamo!)

We have three more weeks of school until Christmas break - two weeks of having fun all over Bulgaria - I'm very excited.

We have 7 more months in Bulgaria. Time is FLYING!

I took the GRE and did pretty well (the math wasn't as terrible as I expected and I rocked the English - rocked it) which was absolutely necessary since my GPA from undergrad is mediocre at best. I'm hoping my scores, combined with PC prestige, will get me into my dream school in New York. If not, my second choice is in Seattle where I already know a ton of people and will be just as happy. The future is looking pretty exciting. I was debating a Creative Writing masters program in Georgia but I chickened out - I love writing too much to find out I'm not very good at it - I think I'll keep it as a hobby. Applications are due this month and I've really got a lot of work ahead of me so keep me in your prayers - I'd like to be used by God and be a part of great things.

I tried to learn the dance from a Beyonce video at night alone in my apartment and made myself dizzy and had to lie down.

I dog-sat for a friend for a few days and wanted to kill him or myself. I'm not a pet person. Animals are for outside and for eating, not for inside or for touching. If I'm going to have someone jump up and down with excitement every time I come home, I'd rather it be a man. And even then I could do without the jumping part. It'd also be nice if he were charming, funny, and holding a bowl of ice cream. Coffee flavored. I would man-sit for a friend every day if that were the case. Maybe every other day - ice cream is fattening.

I will, for the rest of my life, love and adore washing machines and dryers. To an un-natural level. I will probably name mine when I get back to the states and bring them up in conversations at bars as if they're real people. "Oh, Carlisle did the funniest thing the other day - I set him to "extra rinse" and he leaked all over the floor! Daisy and I thought it was so funny. They really are the coolest - there's nothing I wouldn't do to keep them functioning for the next 3 to 5 years. Nothing."That's all.

Thanksgiving dinner with *almost* all my favorite volunteers (Lexi, I'm thinking of you)

(There's a dead turkey in that trash bag, blood all over that dude's jeans, a baba in the foreground, and a giant cabbage in my hand. Sometimes Bulgaria is too awesome.)

-Age

Things I'm so obviously thankful for that writing this list is a total cliche:

-Family

-Friends

-Health

-My job

Things I should have been thankful for while living in America:

-Mexican food

-church

-my crappy car (my life undictated by bus/train schedules)

-flip flop weather ALL THE TIME

-flip flops

-washer and dryer

-central heating

-ability to speak the native language fluently

-customer service

-polite people

-empathy

-democracy

-The Thursday Night Line-Up

-frozen yoghurt

-classroom management

-anonymity

-boys who buy girls drinks at bars

-Target

-Any fruit or vegetable I want all year-round

-hugs

-free texts

-reliable electricity and water

-Starbucks

-work ethic

-pro-active attitudes

-teamwork

-Girl Scout cookies

-Oak Glen (Cali Autumn in general)

-free public restrooms

-lines (the "no cutting" rule)

-being busy

-Barnes and Noble

Things I am now thankful for:

-my new friends (volunteers, Bulgarians, etc.)

-a path in life

-the future

-my students

-new-found confidence

-wins and losses

-a new perspective

-countries seen

-countries yet to be seen

-fresh veggies

-homemade deliciousness

-free food

And the most important:

-Learning a valuable lesson and never taking any of these things for granted again.

Happy Thanksgiving!

-Age

My childhood was an interesting one. It was normal in many ways including (lower) middle class status, 2 siblings, public school, neighborhood kids to play with, etc. But there were some exceptions that made my formative years separate from other kids in the area. Mainly, my dad and his ties to the Lone Star State.

I've always considered Texas to be a part of the South. However, having met people from the actual South, who disagree wholeheartedly, I seem to be mistaken. Texas, apparently, is its own entity, wholly unto itself and a state unlike any other. This is the place my dad grew up. He lived on a ranch of sorts, did a lot of hard labor as a kid, and understood well the meaning of work ethic and discipline. Then he moved to So-Cal with his mom.

Southern California is like Texas in only one way: it's different than any other place in the US. Cali in general kinda does its own thing and makes a heck of a lot of money doing it. My dad started a concrete construction business there when he was young and made a pretty good living for himself. There were ups and downs but, overall, he supported his family and enjoyed his line of work. But he never lost that country attitude.

He calls wrestling, wrastlin'.

He owned a tractor (one of those big, yellow ones) and taught me how to drive it when I was in Middle School.

He says things like "whatta say, kid?" (To this day I have no idea how to respond to that)

At any given time he owns anywhere from 2 to 9 "huntin' dogs" and takes them out a couple weekends a month to hunt for "coons" or bears or the occasional fox, mountain lion, bobcat. In fact, being a big fan of these huntin' trips as a youngin', I've had a rather large mountain lion run full speed towards me while attempting to escape my dad's pack of Walker Tree Hounds. Let's just say I'll never forget that day.

My father used chores to teach lessons. He once had me water four trees in our backyard. You may think that this sounds like a completely reasonable request and probably imagine me in a nice, cozy backyard with a hose and a few Jacarandas in full bloom. No. We had a couple acres of property so that our "backyard" was more like a giant field used to store flatbed trucks, construction equipment, the already mentioned John Deere, a pack of wild dogs, as well as a Motocross track for my brother’s dirt bikes. The trees were all the way in the back. Four of them, all about 20 feet from one another. While our hose was unusually long, it wasn’t quite long enough and only got within about 30 feet of the trees. So, I had to fill up a wheelbarrow with water. I should mention that this was a large, iron wheelbarrow with holes in the bottom from screws that had once been drilled into it. Anyway. I fill it up (takes about 15 minutes), wheel it over to a tree, trying very hard not to hit any rocks lest I should spill its contents and have to start over (oh yeah, this happened), and dump it into the base of the tree. Four times. This chore took me about an hour and a half. Three times a week.

The lesson? Hell if I know. When I was finally released of this torturous chore my dad took over the watering. First thing he did? Bought another hose to add to the end of the first one. Took him about 30 minutes total. Yup.

My dad rented a trencher so I could spend a weekend digging long trenches all across our backyard for a sprinkler system he would never install. We spent the next few years tripping a lot.

I can replace the tire on my car. I know when the oil needs to be changed and how to do it. When a radiator hose breaks or the fan belt snaps, I can diagnose the problem without lifting the hood.

Do I know how to put up drywall? Absolutely. Can I remove the stucco from your ceiling? Yup. Lay bricks? Sure. Shoot a shotgun and actually hit the thing I'm aiming for? You betcha.

So, all in all, it was pretty sweet having that kinda dad. I know how to do things, I have some ridiculous stories that still piss me off a little, and was able to escape a future full of cheerleading and fashion (if my mother had had her way and gotten to me before dad did). I wouldn't have it any other way.

The whole point of this was to talk about a dirt pile. I know that sounds odd cuz I went off on a huge tangent, possibly one I've already written about, but I wanted to mention that, despite our different childhoods, it does seem there is one pretty constant theme: a dirt pile.

I had one. You know you had one. And so did the kids next door. Mine was pretty big, I'm not gonna lie. Dirt is an ingredient in concrete after all, so we had a real sizeable one out back next to the four infamous trees...

We'd dig tunnels. Make mud pies. Attempt to create dirt castles. It was a real good time. Hours of fun. A child’s fascination with a large collection of nice, clean dirt just goes to show how far our imaginations can stretch. I still miss that old pile ‘a dirt.

So, this wasn't quite as cogent as I would have liked, however, you get the point. We all had interesting upbringings full of the stories that made us who we are today. But, amidst the big moves, the divorces, the lessons learned, the chores performed, the report cards hidden, the sibling rivalries, the awkward years, was one constant:

Dirt.

This isn't actually me but it might as well be - slap that stringy hair into a side ponytail, replace the horse on her sweatshirt with the name of my little-league softball team, and it'd be a spittin' image. Also, that's one good-lookin' pile of dirt. Respect.

-Age

A comment I just received on a post I wrote over a year ago entitled 2 Guys, 1 Vespa:

You AMERICANS are so STUPID and narrow minded.You will never ever understand European lifestyle and you will never ever have the sense of style about everything,as Europeans have.It is useless to even try to understand it (don't even bother.They are completely different planets,Europe and USA). Sorry :))))))

I thought it was nice of him to apologize and I really appreciated the happy faces (or one happy face from a really fat guy with a lot of chins). He clearly felt bad about calling every American stupid in all caps. At least we're "narrow minded" in normal letters - that is a real relief.

And he's right, I will never ever have the sense of style about everything. Damn.

-Age

Conversation I may or may not have just had with a friend over skype:

(I go to sit down, miss, and fall flat on my ass)

(She laughs)

(I get mad at the chair)

Me: Damn chair!

Her: Yeah, chairs can be tricky sometimes. Tricky little bastards, those chairs.

Does it want me to sit on it or not?



Does it have four legs or only three?

Does it have armrests or no armrests?

Is there proper back support?

Do I cross my legs are wrap them around my head?

Sitting is super tricky when chairs are gettin' all outta line like that. You should punish that chair immediately for confusing you and making you fall. I suggest a time-out in the corner and you sit in another chair for the rest of the day. That'll show 'im.

Me: Shut up, please.

Her: Absolutely. But, real quick, let me just tell you what I do with my couch when it starts getting a little attitude...

Me: *sigh*

-Age

There comes a time in all of our lives when we ask ourselves why in the hell we have chosen the path we're on. And then we start to think, "Did I choose this path or did this just sort of happen to me? Am I truly responsible for my own destiny or do the mysterious hands of fate dictate my every move and decision? Does God have a master plan in which I'm involved and is it absolutely necessary that I need to be right here, in this place, at this moment?"

Then something shiny catches our attention and we forget what we were thinking about.

I've decided that I absolutely love and adore my students (most of them) and that I will cry my eyes out when I have to leave. But they drive me crazy! Up the wall, pulling my hair out, wanna cry, scream, curl up into a ball kinda crazy. Why am I here again? What compelled me to move halfway around the world to teach English to small children? Do I even like small children? If, right in the middle of teaching a lesson, one of my students yells, "Мис Хадауей, каква страница?!?!" one more time, am I going to throw them or myself out of our third story window?

I have another question: why do my students think I'm stupid? Seriously. When I put a pack of balloons in the back cupboard and tell them not to touch and then 10 seconds later I see them huddled in the corner with their backs to me, do they honestly think I don't know that they just went and grabbed a balloon each anyway? Do they think I'll just go, "Hmmm, there must be something interesting in that corner today, I'll just continue with my business..."? I mean, come on! (Though, to be fair, it may have been stupid of me to put balloons in the cupboard in the first place) When they command, "Misses, say (insert inappropriate Bulgarian word here)!" do they really think I'm going to say it - just mindlessly repeat them so they can giggle even louder? Was I like that when I was 12?

I often wonder at my own insanity. Because it must be insanity. My students aren't crazy for taking advantage of the lack of structure and discipline prevalent in Bulgarian schools - any child, anywhere would do the same. My colleagues aren't crazy for choosing teaching as their profession - this is a pretty typical "academic" environment for them. No, I must be the crazy one. I've chosen to do this, I now call it "life" and I laugh when my students write different English words for male genitalia on the board during math class and, when I pass by in the halls, say, "Мис, Виж! Хахахаха!!!" It's official, I'm crazy. And I'm convinced it's a necessary step in this whole Peace Corps adventure. Pure and accepted insanity.

I have to go coach girls' volleyball now. I have to lock us into the gym so the middle-school-age boys don't come in and steal all of our balls and try to slap all the girls on the ass. Yup.

-Age

So, I like to laugh. A LOT. You're probably thinking, "what a ridiculous thing to say, everyone loves to laugh." And it's true, everyone does. It releases endorphines and relieves stress and blah blah blah. But, for me, laughter, especially here, where I struggle on a weekly basis between going home and just calling it quits or declaring Bulgaria my Mt. Everest that I WILL conquer, it's nice to have uncontrollable fits of laughter every now and again.

I love it when you get the giggles at those really inappropriate moments and you just know you should not be laughing cuz it's unprofessional/rude/disruptive/etc. Those moments are priceless because the discomfort of knowing you're being ridiculous in no way trumps the good feeling it leaves you.

I have those moments a lot during my adult English class here. Every Wednesday night since I've moved to Momin Prohod I've been teaching the same group of women English. They are fantastic, I love them, and if I didn't have their dedication and sweet smiles this whole adventure would be even harder.

I was thinking today about how I only really laugh when I'm with other Americans. We just crack each other up using nothing but word play, sarcasm, stories, phrasing, everything that has to do with language and everything that I just don't have with the Bulgarians I call friends here. BUT. There is one woman in my adult English course (she's my age and understands English better then she lets on), her and I just crack up all the time. And we're usually laughing at someone. Which is terrible. The teacher should not be laughing at the mistakes of her students. Ever. But, throughout the whole class I'm already on the edge of laughter because of their accents, errors, questions, and overall miscommunications so when this girl laughs, I'm done. That's it. There's nothing I can do. I try to fight the laughter and giggles but I can't and I usually have to bury my face behind a piece of paper or turn around and pretend to write something on the board until it's over. I can't even look at this girl or it will turn into the full-blown, tears-falling kinda laughter that usually doesn't end for several awkward minutes. Luckily, most of these women are fully capable of making fun of themselves and end up laughing with us but I still feel really bad every time it happens.

But I can't help it. And it always feels so good to let that out. Sometimes people say, "you just needed a good cry." I think the same goes for laughter.

When my friends and I went to Greece for Spring Break, we went to a travel agency to buy our ferry tickets for Santorini. The man was older, Greek, and his English was just enough for us to understand the basics of what he was telling us. However, he phrased himself so oddly, repeated himself in so many ways, so many times and with these crazy, over-exaggerated hand gestures that, to me, he was nothing but comical. I couldn't even look at him. And after about 20 minutes of trying to explain something that should have taken 30 seconds, he fixed me with his gaze and hand-gestured the crap out of his newest explanation and I. Just. Lost. It.

Tears started to roll down my cheeks, my face contorted, my friends looked at me like I'd gone insane. I thrust the money for my ticket into my friends hand, ran out the door, and laughed hysterically in the stairwell for about 10 minutes before I could come back inside. I felt terrible. It was pretty obvious I was laughing at the guy. He had our tickets ready by then and was really nice about my odd behavior but, man, that felt good. I love those moments no matter how embarrassing.

When that class first started, I could make funny comments throughout the whole thing knowing no one understood them and they were just for me - I still do that with my kids when I really need to make fun of them in order to keep my head from exploding. But now, these ladies can understand me and I have to be a little careful with what I say. Though, it's kinds nice to have someone laughing with me - it's always better than laughing alone, in a stairwell.

-Age

It's been awhile since I've talked about my PCPP - which are letters that mean something, however, I no longer know what. My project. Anyway, it's basically finished besides a few minor details that seem to be taking forever to iron out but, hey, we got this far.

Here are some pictures to let you see how it all turned out:

the classroom all stripped and ready to be made new!

shopping for supplies (this is where I walked around like an over-stimulated two-year-old)(My counterpart, Reni, and our school's handyman, Sasho)

purchasing lamps (it took us like 30 minutes to choose - there were just so many!)

We painted about a million of these silver. It took all day but they looked great, so shiny.

She was actually working, I just picked up that paint can cuz I wanted to be holding something.

Delivery truck with our new desks!

AND....TA DA!!!

New white board, teacher's desk, floor, desks, chairs...

cupboards with donated books...

windows (check out that view, huh?)...

door (I painted some words in Bulgarian to match the pretty wall stickers my mom sent me - thanks, mom!)...

Our desk has, wait for it, DRAWERS! So handy.

and new lamps (all six work, that's really somethin')

I'd say it was a great success. We're just waiting for blinds so our kids won't go blind in class, strategically placing their desks so the sun doesn't shine on them directly. We're also hoping for a computer which would make our snazzy classroom complete! Yay us!

-Age

A few months ago the B25s (I'm a B26) finished their Peace Corps service after two grueling/piece-of-cake (depending on the person/site/work) years. Quite a few of those volunteers stayed in Bulgaria and their varying reasons include: extending service from 3-11 months, getting married to a Bulgarian, starring on a new Bulgarian reality show called "Lost in Bulgaria" which happens to be the case for four of these amazing "R"PCVs (the "R" is for "Returned" which they haven't technically done yet but I still think they deserve the highly coveted status).

The TV show is in Bulgarian but there is some English every now and again and the scenes or so dynamic, interesting, and funny (no, really, funny) I'm not even sure it's necessary for you to understand exactly what's being said. You'll get the general idea - promise. AND you'll get to know Bulgarian culture so much better. Which is why you tune-in to Culture Thursday, now isn't it?

Here's the link to the first episode (there are two episodes currently online and the rest of the eleven will air on Wednesdays here in BG so they should be up on the website by Thursday - conveniently).

LOST IN BULGARIA - ИЗГУБЕНИ В БЪЛГАРИЯ

-Age

I was reading a friend's blog, her name's Kate, and she wrote about the upcoming "World Peace Day" and all the plans she had with her students to celebrate this unique holiday. I was inspired and decided to do the same.

I googled "famous quotes about peace" and was given a long list of wonderful quotations from Buddha to Martin Luther King Jr. I put the quotes into google translate so my students wouldn't go, "Oh, jeez. More English. Great," and did my best to correct google's inevitable mistakes (to be fair to google, I missed some too). I then printed them, cut each one out individually, rolled it like a snail shell and put all the curly little pieces in a basket. I then made a poster with "World Peace Day - September 21" in Bulgarian and brought the whole production to school the next day.

I hung my poster on the wall near the entryway, held the basket full of fun quotes in my hand, and waited. As the students came in they saw me with a big smile on my face, they saw the poster, saw the basket and immediately wanted a "ксметча"(something they have in Bulgaria similar to a fortune inside a cookie at a chinese restaurant). I also had these rub-on tattoos with peace signs on them for the kids to take and put on on their face just like me (which I'm sure the other teachers just loved). They read the quotes, got really excited about who their quote was from, and then exchanged.

"Miss Hadaway, who's John F. Kennedy?"

"He was an American President."

"OH! LOOK! I have an American president! All you have is the Dalai Lama."

Честит Международен Ден На Мира!

-Age

This past weekend I went on a nature hike in the local mountains. Mountains that I can actually see if I stick my head out my window a couple of feet. However, not realizing these were the exact mountains my hiking group was heading towards, because I'm a bit spatially-challenged, I went about 3 hours out of my way to make a big, giant circle with two trains, one bus, and a taxi ride in order to get to the base of these mountains with my friends (who actually had to go this route cuz they can't see these mountains from their windows). Oops.

Regardless, it was an amazing trip. We went to the Rila Mountains and, specifically, the Seven Rila Lakes (whose title in Bulgarian I can never seem to get quite right). There are literally seven lakes all pretty close to one another as you make your way up this mountain trail and all are only for looking at. There is no touching (I touched one), swimming, rock-skipping (I did that too), fishing, or pointing at for prolonged periods of time (I exaggerated that last one, though, for all I know, this could absolutely be true [I didn't read all the "do this" but "don't do that" signs on the way up, it could've been in there]). You can take pictures of them, however, and you can stare and point at those as much as you like, depending on the staring and pointing rules in your own house.

So, it went a little something like this:

We (me, Katelyn, Kerri, Priscilla, Ben, and Ashlei - yes, this is how she spells her name) met in Sofia at noon and took a train to a pretty little town called Dupnitsa (where a super Cali-sexy volunteer used to live but now he's gone) and from there took a bus to Panichiste. This mountain village happens to be where all of us volunteers spent our first few days in Bulgaria so it was nice to be back and re-live those crazy moments (I wasn't full of naive excitement nor did I have permanently blood-shot eyes from lack of sleep this time around). From Panichiste we took a taxi (with the friendliest taxi driver the world has ever seen) to the base of the mountain where we'd planned to take a ski-lift to our first хижа (or mountain cabin) cuz we were saving all of our hiking energy for the next day. Turns out, the lift wasn't running that day and we had to trudge (tredge?) up the mountain unexpectedly. Kerri and I were so slow going up we played the "let's pretend we're turtles, what kind of turtle are you?" game. We never did decide what sound a turtle makes.

We then slept in our first cabin, hostel-style with all of us in one big room, after a hearty dinner of soup and beer.

In the morning, we started on our hike. It was pretty difficult. Very steep and I spent the majority of the time out of breath. Not that I minded all that much, I figured hiking was going to entail some physical inconveniences but would be well worth it cuz it's rumored to be "so darn pretty" in the places where nature lives (you know: mountains, rivers, forests, Kansas). We played in streams, climbed on boulders, took "the path less traveled by" which was less traveled by for a reason as it turns out, and took a lot of silly pictures - all before lunch.

After lunch (which we ate on a rock near one of the lakes, where I was yelled at by my fellow hikers for disrupting the Untouched Wilderness when I fed a swarm of teeny-tiny little fish some of my "hiking cereal" [it was totally just regular cereal but I called it that cuz it was in a backpack - I also brought "hiking oreos"]), we started to get serious. The paths were steeper and much more treacherous and I was a bit fatigued from all my so-called "goofing around" on the first part (there could have totally been hidden ancient Bulgarian treasure in the crevices of that one rock I "wasn't supposed to climb on" cuz it's on "protected ground" to keep it safe from "human exposure". Socialists.)

We passed each lake, counting them as we all looked forward to #7 - the last lake, which we all assumed would be the best, bluest, and shiniest lake of them all. We saw wild horses (a mama and two ponies!), waterfalls, Bulgarians in super short shorts, and breathtaking views. When we made it to the top, where the seventh lake was (it was normal), there were these rock piles all over. Apparently, when people make it to the top, they take a rock and add it to the top of one of the piles, a tangible manifestation of success (whoa - that sounded fancy). So, naturally, I did the same. It felt good. Then we sat and stared at the view below us and felt pretty proud of what we'd accomplished.

We then had to hike another hour to get to our second хижа. We could see the cabin at the bottom of this long valley, a small house-shaped dot at the end of these rolling, golden hills. If we all hadn't been so tired I think we would have run toward it, Sound of Music-style and maybe held hands, spun around, and sang a song about the hills being alive. But instead we walked...

..and walked...and walked...

At one point, when we'd been walking for over 20 minutes and the cabin did not seem any closer than it was before, we began to question whether or not we were:

1) in a dream (you know, one of those dreams where you're running towards something but you can never get there and you wake up super frustrated, to the detriment of the person next to you or your pillow?)

2) The Twilight Zone

3) seeing an optical allusion not unlike an oasis in the desert

We did finally make it and this place was legit in a "we're really hikin' now!" kinda way: water pumped in from a natural spring, owned and operated by mountain men (I found one of the heavily-bearded ones rather sexy but shied when Ashlei offered to talk to him with me - I have nothing to say to a bearded mountain man besides, "so. that beard. epic." and I don't know the Bulgarian word for "epic"), and electricity from a generator that seemed to only run for a couple hours just after sunset. I felt pretty disgusting after the hike and was bummed not to be able to take a shower. I also had a mini panic attack when I let my mind fully digest how remote and stranded we were in this deep valley not accessible for miles by anything but feet (peoples' and horses'). It creeped me out in a claustrophobic, head stuck in your pullover sweater when the neck's too tight and you start to freak out a little and tug at it 'til it feels like you might rip your own face off kinda way.

The next day, Kerri, Katelyn, and I went home while the others continued on an even more challenging hike. We went down, passed all the same lakes at rapid speed and managed to all be in (or near as Kerri had to sleep at Katelyn's cuz her town is a bit remote) our own beds that very night.

I got a wicked sunburn that is peeling in a way that makes me look as if I've just had a chemical peel like the Desperate Housewives of LA/NY/NJ/OC. Not cute. Nor is it fun to hear, "Oh, miss, your face," from all my students. I respond with, "I know, my face is angry with me."

But I had a great time. I would, hands down, do it again in an all-terrain jeep with ipod hook up, AC, and mini-fridge. For sure.

-Age

So, today was the first day of school. All my little savages are back and looking as deceptively cute as ever - they are so tricky. Basically, the day goes like this:

The kids and teachers all gather outside of the school

The older students march around with the school's flag and then hang the Bulgarian flag on the pole in front of the school

Speeches are given (our mayor, the director of our school, and my counterpart spoke)

The students listen with rapt attention

The youngest and cutest kids recite poems and speeches about the first day of school. The students in the front row are our new first graders. We're pretty excited about the 12 of them because we didn't have enough students for a 1st grade last year. They are pretty adorable.

With our new 1st graders comes a new (new for me, at least) tradition of walking under the arch for good luck. Yesterday, the 3rd grade teacher and I went hunting all over Momin Prohod for ivy and flowers so we could make the arch look this beautiful. It was fun.

The students also eat a peice of bread called "pitka" with honey for good luck before going under then arch, over the water, and into the school

This is the bucket for the water I was talking about. It's tradition, and I believe I've mentioned it before, to pour water on the ground in front of people who are embarking on something new and exciting in a ceremony such as the first day of school, graduation, or a wedding. There's also the school bell, decorated with pretty wild flowers

Then the kids go home and teachers, director, mayor, retired teachers, and the PC volunteer all pile into the teacher's lounge and eat lots of sweet things and drink lots of sugary drinks. It's usually tradition to drink rekia but my school's not big on drinking so we stuck to lemonade...and cigarettes.

It was a really lovely day. A couple staff members who were visiting a nearby volunteer dropped by to say "hi" and met all my colleagues. They also got to hear everyone brag about me (I bragged about myself a little too - I'm not gonna lie) and see the new classroom we're constructing. Speaking of that classroom, it's not really ready yet so we'll be teaching elsewhere until it's finished, which should hopefully be soon.

Here's hoping for a great year!

-Age

I realize it's Culture Thursday but I have nothing interesting to tell you, sorry. However, I do have a dentist appointment tomorrow in Sofia. While that may normally seem like a boring theme, this is Bulgaria and I'm gonna bet there'll be a fun story to go along with what's sure to be minor suffering tomorrow. I'll let you know. (Also, I'm first visiting the medical office at the PC headquarter ((I feel really cool using a word like "headquarters")) because I got stung by a bee and now have a huge, red circle on my arm that was at first the size of a baseball but is more like a genetically engineered grapefruit right now and it itches. I want all of that to go away but I don't own any Benadryl - I'm hoping they do).

-Age

My PCPP - Peace Corps Project Proposal - was reviewed, accepted, published and funded relatively recently and we've since started construction. And because I'm the big money-holder I get to tag along when we buy everything which has included treats such as sitting in the front seat of a car all the way to Pazardzhik (45 kick-ass minutes away), visiting a home supply store not unlike a mini Home Depot, and unloading a windowless white van illegally (I know, I laughed at the thought of anything being illegal in Bulgaria too) parked in front of our school. Jealous? I wouldn't doubt it.

All the desks, chairs, cupboards and remaining furniture have been taken to Kostenets to be refurbished, the floor torn up, and the radiators removed from the walls. The floor tiles have been bought, the cement purchased, the fancy light fixtures picked out, and the new lacquer for the cabinets is ready to rock and roll. The lacquering of cabinets will be the extent of my counterpart, Reni, and I's physical contribution to this whole new classroom thing - we'll be wearing old clothes and painting all day tomorrow with the two smallest paint brushes you've ever seen cuz my counterpart is thrifty (originally she only wanted to buy one and then trade off) so when I say "all day" that is precisely what I mean.

I often find that when I am in a situation in which my help or input is not needed and Bulgarian is spoken in so rapid a way and with so many unfamiliar words and phrases that I simply tune out...to everything. It's like I'm in my own little world and only occasionally do I snap out of it long enough to realize I may resemble a nicely dressed (and apparently full since I'm not trying to eat anyone) zombie or a person who's been lobotomized and seems to really enjoy blankly staring at bathroom fixtures and occasionally touching something shiny with a raise of the eyebrows as if to say, "Ooo, I liked touching that shiny faucet." In case I'm confusing you, this is what it was like for me at the Krez (Bulgarian Home Depot) we visited. At the end, I bought a .49 cent measuring cup for myself and handed over my bank card so my colleagues could purchase almost a thousand leva worth of materials. I even said "here you are" in Bulgarian which probably shocked all the store workers who, up until that point, were probably considering calling someone to come take me somewhere safer.

This zoning out thing happens a lot and I think it must be some kind of defense mechanism that keeps my brain from overheating when too many incomprehensible words are trying to be comprehended all at once and shiny things are present to distract. My brain doesn't want to blow up. Which is understandable so I don't complain when people look at me like I'm a cross-eyed two-year-old. My Bulgarian is at about the same level as a cross-eyed 2-year-old (with a speech impediment) so it's fitting as opposed to insulting.

Anyway, the construction has only just begun and I'll have fun pictures and a nice breakdown on here within the next couple of weeks. I'm hoping my kids absolutely love it and show the new room the respect it deserves, i.e. no more throwing chairs or trying to set stuff on fire. One can only hope.

-Age

The Peace Corps always encourages us to integrate into our communities. Integrate. Integrate. Integrate. Until we wish 'integrate' had a face so we could punch it. I'm exaggerating, because each one of us knows the importance of integrating into what has basically become our home. Why wouldn't we want to get to know people and understand the in's and out's of our community? We would do the same things if we moved to a new place in America: explore, meet new people, attend events and join clubs. The only reason it's emphasized so much is because the language and cultural barriers make it difficult and sometimes it even seems impossible. The trick is to realize you don't have to know everyone, you don't have to visit every shop, and you don't have to pretend to like people who are jerk-faces.

Anyway, the point of that was to explain an interesting barrier I have to integration. I live in a house/apartment. It's basically one big house with 4 small apartments - 2 on the bottom floor and 2 on the top. I live in one of the apartments on the top floor but have things that most volunteers living in a блок, or apartment building, don't have, such as a big terrace (bigger than my bedroom actually), a backyard with a garden, and big, family homes surrounding me. What also makes my home unique is that the apartment directly below me, with whom I share an entrance, is rented out on a weekly basis. My landlord does this for people who are on vacation or visiting our hospital for it's mineral baths.

This means that I'm constantly meeting new people, making new friends, sharing new experiences, and then saying good-bye shortly after. Which doesn't really help me integrate into my village as these people don't actually live in my village. Also, I meet them when they are on vacation and in great moods with no work to do which isn't very culturally realistic. Not that I mind it, most of the people I've met have been wonderful and even inspiring. I honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

I recently met a mother and daughter from Sofia who were here to visit the mountains for a week. The mother was 86-years-old and went on hikes with her daughter and myself on an almost daily basis. They were patient and kind and up for anything - it was a lot of fun.

Then, last week, another mother and daughter pair came through from Razgrad (a city I'm fully aware is really far away) to visit the mineral baths. The daughter, who is about my age, spoke English really well as she'd lived in Alabama for 3 years. After she came back to Bulgaria, she was ready to travel again, this time to Norway. Not too long after that, she volunteered to teach English in a small village in Mozambique. She had a lot of stories to tell and wasn't even close to being done with her travels - she already had plans to go back to the same village in Mozambique a month from now.

Meeting people like this and experiencing Bulgarians from all over for a short period of time is like a special treat that makes my life here exciting when it can sometimes feel mundane.

Culturally, this shows the diversity of Bulgarians - their experiences, their passions, their attitudes. As many of the people living in my village tend to live similar lives, I find it a breath of fresh air to meet a girl who is volunteering (like me!) and giving what she can to those less fortunate than herself. She spoke of their poverty, of the things they lack, but she also spoke of their positive attitude, interesting culture, and delicious foods. I've never met a Bulgarian who volunteers before, it seemed a concept that was too foreign for most to comprehend (which is probably why they all looked at me so strangely when I first got here) but now I see that things are changing and younger generations are opening themselves up to new, better things.

It's been a fun adventure, walking downstairs not knowing who I'm going to meet that day or what they're going to show me - and I'll call it integration and anyone who disagrees can bite me.

-Age

I recently went to the capital with a friend to watch a movie and indulge in some delicious Mexican food. We decided on Captain America for the movie (and burritos for the Mexican) because there was nothing better and who doesn't love a good comic-book-based movie every now and again, right? The movie was alright but it was the previews that got me thinking. Thinking about a particular movie theme that I find rather funny.

It was a preview for The Three Musketeers (I won't even tell you how excited I am for this movie - I LOVE that kinda crap) and Orlando Bloom was in it...but not as a Musketeer like you might think. No, he was clearly not a good guy. He was a bad guy.

Oh, yeah. A dirty, stinkin' little bad guy that just pisses everyone off the whole movie but is totally essential to the plot because, without him, how would we know that the good guys are good, huh? We wouldn't. They would just be dudes. Dudes with swords and witty banter. Which is all well and good but hardly what I would call an action flick.

Anyway, I'm off topic. I could tell that Orlando was playing a diabolical villain. You know how I knew?

One word: moustache

Now, this was a Musketeer movie, which means that a lot of the characters had moustaches. They were apparently all the rage during this particular time in history but this movie is not the only example of this particular film phenomenom. No.

Guy Who Likes to Tie Girls to Train Tracks:

Hitler:

This guy:

and this guy:

grossest one

him:

I'll admit his moustache may be the least evil-looking thing about him

we all remember this ace-hole:

Snape:

and even the dude who assassinated Lincoln:

So, clearly, the moustaches have spoken. All you need is an appropriately thin, evil one of these bad boys and it's clear that you are up to no good. This, my friends, is how I knew Orlando Bloom will be playing a bad guy in what's sure to be an action-packed thriller.

clearly he's a huge douchecanoe

-Age

On Monday, after my little ones left their morning summer school session with me, I patiently awaited the arrival of my older students so we could practice a little English and play a little volleyball. They didn't show up. Which is odd cuz they have shown up every other day so I just had to chalk it up to Mondays being what they are: the day everyone dreads and tries to avoid if at all possible.

So, I'm just sitting there at the school talking to two of my favorite colleagues (cuz they're super nice and really patient with my Bulgarian) and they tell me that today is a special holiday at the church and would I like to join them. Awesome. Yes, I absolutely would. Thursday is coming up after all.

The празник (holiday) held on August 15 is called "Успение Богородично" or "The Assumption of Mary". This day is also an important "name day" in Bulgaria, the day we celebrate any name connected with Mary: Maria, Marietta, Marianna, Marian, etc. I may have mentioned name days in the past but just to catch you up they are basically like birthdays and people celebrate them by bringing candy to work or school and passing it out to everyone and maybe having a nice lunch or dinner as well. This name day is special because the Eastern Orthodox religion practiced here in Bulgaria believes that this day represents the day Mary passed away and God brought her, body and soul, into heaven. This is a day to visit the church (which most Bulgarians only do on special days like this, Easter, and Christmas) and so that is precisely what we did and I will take you through the steps as they happened:

When we walk up to my villages very small church, the pathway leading up to the front doors is lined with a variety of brightly colored flowers. It's really a beautiful place and the teeny, white church that can fit about 20 people at the most is one of my favorite places in Momin Prohod. We said hello to the babas standing out front and walked inside to the little window that sells candles of all sizes. There are very thin candles for 10 stotinki that apparently only the cheapskates buy cuz we passed right over that very full box and went straight for the 20 stotinki candles (though we could have gone as high as 1 lev if we were feeling really fancy). I purchased 3 candles thinking that I would just group my prayers: my family, my friends, and those I've loved that have passed away. I placed the first two candles here:

I then placed the candle for the dead in a lower candle-holder thingy because those candles are always placed near the ground. There was a man there with his daughter, one of my students actually, and they were both scraping the wax off of the candle-holders (which I'm sure have a real name I just don't know it) and removing candles that were beginning to bend or burn out. My friend, Lenka, told this man I was interested in learning more about the holiday and could he please explain it to me in more detail. He looked at me very skeptically and, despite the fact that Lenka assured him I can understand Bulgarian, spoke almost directly to her the entire time. Which was fine because, to be perfectly honest, he was using the type of vocabulary I am not familiar with and keeping up with him was not an easy task.

As many religious folks do, he did not explain the holiday so much as his religion in general. He asked me about my beliefs though didn't seem too interested in the answers. He possibly saw this as an opportunity to convert me which, being raised a Christian, is something I understand more than he could ever know. After some time, Lenka told him that he was giving me a lot of information and that maybe that was enough for one day.

We left the man and went outside to the baba who was standing near a table at the front of the church. On the table was a ceramic bowl of water and vases full of flowers. She took a handful of white flowers, dipped them in the water, and patted them against each of our heads three times, blessing us in Bulgarian (I have no idea what she was saying). We left a 1 lev coin in front of the picture of Mary and began to walk away. It was then that another baba ran out of the church with a big bouquet of beautiful red, orange, and yellow flowers, handing them to me and telling Lenka, "these are for the American. She has to burn them after they die for good luck." And that's exactly what I plan to do.

This is a very happy holiday for Bulgarians, a day to pray and be blessed and honor an important female saint. I couldn't help imagining what this day would have been like in one of the huge churches in Sofia or one of the beautiful monastaries I visited in the Northwest corner of Bulgaria. These churches have so much history. They seem medieval somehow and the monks inside with their long black robes, tall black hats, and impressively lengthy beards make it seem as though I've traveled back in time. The "nuns" and monks both seem to hide in the deep recesses of the church when it's time to sing. Though "sing" isn't really the right word, it's more of a chant. They chant these long, beautiful, mysterious notes and it echos throughout the whole church and it's literally awe-inspiring. I've never heard anything like it and I would have loved to visit one of these churches on a holiday like "Успение Богородично" and just listen.

-Age

What I want to say to the old man standing way too close to me in the ticket line at the train station:

"Um, excuse me. You're uncomfortably close."

"You see, I'm American and I've been raised with this concept of 'personal space' and your breath on my neck is violating that."

"Are you trying to put your money through the slot before me? I'm standing right in front of it. Clearly I'm buying a ticket right now, at this moment. Yup, that's exactly what you're doing. Wow."

"You're touching me. You're actually so close to me while we stand in this line that your arm is touching my arm and I could lick your face if I wanted to just by sticking out my tongue. Do you want me to lick you? Is that what all this is about?"

"Hey, I get that you're old and you don't like to wait in line because you want a good seat on the train. I get it. I really do. But. All the politeness and respect I was taught to show the elderly went out the window the second you set your bag on my feet and tried to cut me in line. There. Is. No. Cutting. Didn't you go to kindergarten? Cuz that's where I learned that rule. That's where I learned that that rule is more important than any other rule. Rules like 'don't throw dirt at your friends' and 'glue is not for eating' don't even come close to the 'no cutting' rule so you're currently in violation of everything I know and it's making me want to punch you. Which I'm also pretty sure is a rule: 'no punching'. But I'll do it. In my mind. Repeatedly. Actually, I'm doing it right now. In my mind you're crying and will never cut again."

-Age

I'm going to walk a fine line between "cultural insensitivity" and "keeping it real" today. I want to relate what I've seen here in Bulgaria while at the same time remaining respectful. That being said, here I go.

In Bulgaria there is very little diversity. There are basically three different races/cultures here: Bulgarian, Turkish, and Roma. And while the Roma and Turkish peoples should also be considered Bulgarian by nationality because many of these families have been here for some time, the lines are always a little grey.

But that's about it. Everyone basically looks the same. Acts the same. Speaks the same. The culture varies little because, hey, it's a small country and what should we expect.

So, when someone who does not look like they belong here, i.e. volunteers from America, walk down the street, sit at a bus stop, order food in a restaurant, there is often, particularly in smaller communities, a standard response: staring.

I get stared at walking down the street in my non-Bulgarian clothes, with my non-Bulgarian sunglasses, my non-Bulgarian walk (Bulgarians don't really walk, they stroll, never in a hurry), and I'm watched. When I sit on a train people will change seats in order to gain a better vantage point for unabashed staring. And I'm not even all that different looking. I sometimes wonder what it's like for other volunteers that are, let's say, not white. Must be tough.

I'm not trying to say that it's a part of Bulgarian culture to stare. It's not. What I am saying is that the huge differences in Americans' and Bulgarians' reactions to diversity are what cause the stares to seem so odd and blatant. To me, at least.

We were told being volunteers in a foreign country would be like living in a fishbowl and that we would have to constantly watch our conduct because our conduct would be constantly watched.

But, sometimes, I think it would be fun to take advantage of all this staring. To embrace it and realize that, no matter what, I'll be stared at so I might as well do whatever the hell I want. I mean to say, do the types of things that would absolutely get me stared at in The States not because I'm different looking, but because what I'm doing is friggin' weird.

Like using the big fountain in the center of town as a swimming pool. Or putting little fish in it and coming to feed them every day.

Or power walking, but just back and forth across the street in the exact same spot over and over for like 30 minutes, pointing and winking at every car that drives by.

Or furiously playing the air guitar inside a local store and then taking a bow when finished.

Or reading at a local cafe and jumping up to dance around the table every time I finish reading a chapter. Then high-fiving everyone around and saying, "Oh yeah! Another chapter down! I am SO good at reading! That book doesn't stand a chance!"

I think as long as I was in complete control of the stares and thought that every Bulgarian was perfectly justified in stopping, mid-sentence, to watch me with wide eyes, life would be a lot more fun.

Just sayin'.

-Age

I held my first day of Summer School yesterday but it wasn't until today that kids actually showed up (after I yelled at them for not being there). But that's boring and no one cares about it so let me tell you a story instead:

Today, while I was playing sports with my 6th and 7th graders in front of the school, a couple of boys around that same age walked up and lingered. You know the type: mullet, short shorts, flip flops...OK, maybe you don't but it's totally the sh** around here so, of course, all my girls start to giggle and point and act absolutely ridiculous.

One girl would yell over to them that another girl was in love with them and then another girl would yell back that it wasn't true and that, in fact, it was the first girl who was in love with them and then they would all laugh and giggle and the boys would look pleasantly uncomfortable (or uncomfortably pleased?) and ignore them.

Um, barf.

I'm not saying I didn't used to do these things (I totally did) but having to translate it in my head and feel the full force of these kids' first attempt at flirting was not my favorite thing. I'd like to think my flirting skills have improved since I was in 6th grade but I still practically yell across rooms to boys and say, "Hey, my friend likes you!" It's slightly more subtle than that but only slightly. I have a horribly recent example of just such an occassion but I'll keep it to myself. Let's just say it involved Sofia, a sweater vest, and me thinking I was the slyest girl in the bar. I wasn't.

Anyway, it just struck me as funny how similar kids can be no matter where they're from and what language they speak. I wonder if I was in some small village in Africa instead of some small village in Bulgaria if I'd have to put our soccer game on hold so those kids could yell at a couple of boys? Probably.

Ah, youth. I didn't appreciate it when it was mine though the idea of repeating it sounds like absolute torture.

Despite their antics, I really missed my kids. I've designated Monday's as game days, Tuesday's as sports days, and Wednesdays as excursion days so tomorrow we're off to hike in the local mountains. It'll just be me and a crap-load of kids hiking up a mountain I've never actually hiked. My goal is to bring back at least 90% of them. I feel like that's pretty reasonable. Wish me luck!

-Age

So, "Culture Thursday" didn't go quite as planned the first time around. I had planned to further my integration skills by chatting with a neighbor I hadn't visited in awhile and telling her about my desire to write about Bulgarian culture.

Her response, "Why would you want to do that?"

I told her I want Americans to know more about Bulgaria. Not just what goes on in the schools but about the life of a small town and what's it's like inside a Bulgarian home. I offered to help her with cooking and gardening and canning fruits and veggies for the winter. She said that wasn't necessary or interesting and that she would simply give me that vegetables from the garden, the canned fruit, and I could avoid all the ugly work involved.

As we were having this conversation, me trying hard to understand her rapid Bulgarian, there was a large, old, slightly rusted tub over a burning hot fire full of jars only a few feet away. Earlier that week, another one of our neighbors had brought her a large bag of pears from the tree in their yard and now these jars were full of pear slices, water, and sugar. After boiling the jars for ten minutes they are then stored away for the winter. A cheap way to still enjoy fruit when there's snow everywhere, fruit is scarce, and the fruits the stores are carrying is very expensive. It's pretty smart though, apparently, ugly work.

She didn't understand my desire to learn about these practices because, to her, they aren't interesting or enjoyable. Basically, they suck.

I may have to rethink my tactics here.

I did find out that yesterday our church had a holiday to celebrate its name. And, because it was a Wednesday and you can't eat meat on a Wednesday (still not sure exactly why), they made bean soup and everyone went to buy a bowl (1 lev) and ate for good health and happiness. I knew nothing of this celebration until it was well over so I can't give a firsthand account though that's exactly the kind of thing I want to write about. I'll have to ask on a regular basis what's going on in my town in order to stay informed.

That's the thing about Bulgarians, for whatever reason they all assume that we Americans know exactly what's going on without actually ever telling us what's going on.

There's a half-day at school today? Who knew?

Today's is so-and-so's name day and we were all supposed to go to the cafe and celebrate? News to me.

There was a teacher's meeting yesterday at 5:00? Well, oops.

It takes a lot of effort to remain informed. I'll do my best so next week I'll have a real story for you. And pictures. A story should have pictures. It'll make it so much more real.

Don't give up on me just yet - I promise to make this a learning experience worth reading about.

-Age

I've always highly valued humor. It's a commodity that's wide-spread, easily produced, and comes in a variety of forms. You may not share someone's particular "sense of humor" but pretty much everyone has one and uses it to: create a little happiness, impress, lighten the mood, make a living, or, most genuinely, make people laugh. The hopelessly flawed are always redeemable in humor, at least that's what I tell myself.

According to an excerpt I literally just googled from a book entitled The Sense of Humor: Self and Laughter in Modern America, the phrase "sense of humor" has only been around since the mid-1800's, when it was first considered to be valued in modern society. The idea that humor was a valuable asset, a characteristic that held high esteem on the social ladder, was first started in America, naturally, and has been a part of our culture ever sense. Before then, it was stories and fables that held the humor and there was a time and place for laughter. Anyone able to read or remember one of these fables was capable of making others laugh but the idea of having a funny-bone all your own that might just be funnier than anyone else's is a relatively new concept.

I got all of this from one measly paragraph that summed up this book I have no intention of reading so most of it is complete bull**** but it's usually safe to assume I'm right. I'm almost always right. And that's the truth.

I place a lot of importance on sitcoms. Too much. Like, it's unreasonable really how important I find them. I feel like the quality of my life would significantly decrease if, for whatever reason, some new type of social reform banned all sitcoms and satirically-based television probably because those bastards in the White House didn't like being made fun of so much by people like Amy Poehler, Tina Fey, and Fred Armisen!

I'm not apologizing for that rant either. The banning of sitcoms would be worse than prohibition. Bootlegged copies of Arrested Development would so be hidden under my bed, It's Always Sunny would be in my freezer, and The Office, Parks and Rec, and Modern Family would be under the floorboards...or somewhere much sneakier now that I've given away my hiding spots.

I just really like funny things.

The point of all this was to explain that recently I've felt like I've lost some of my "sense of humor". I used to write about funny things related to American culture (without really realizing that's what I was doing) but since I've been in Bulgaria so long that's not really relevant and those types of things no longer come to mind. And I can't make fun of Bulgarian culture cuz that just seems super wrong somehow and, mostly, I might get in trouble. Plus, then it would only be funny to other PCV's and you guys probably wouldn't get it at all and think I had gone mad. Which is fair.

I think I can still make people laugh pretty well in person, but not being funny in writing makes me sad. Which is why I've come up with an idea to make this blog what it really should be - me relating my experience here, to you over there. I've come up with "Culture Thursdays" in which I write about something new/interesting I've learned about/experienced and share it with you here. I'm trying to get the word out to friends and colleagues here in my town so they'll invite me to, I don't know, can stuff or cut off a chicken's head!

I don't want to cut off a chicken's head. I don't even want to watch that happen. Maybe I'll just stick to feeding the chickens who still have heads (whispering to them secretly that they better watch out for their heads cuz people like to cut them off - I bet most chickens don't know this and will be super grateful for the heads up - pun intended).

Anyway, knowing me, I'll probably always be late with the "Thursday" theme but I'll do my best. You all already know that I'm always late for everything. I pretend it's an endearing quality that makes people go, "Oh, that Adrienne, always late. Isn't she just the cutest!?" instead of, "Damnit, where's Adrienne! She's always M-F***ing late that s***** h** b**!"

Please don't call me a s***** h** b**, thanks.

-Age

I don't know if it's my inherent narcissism that drives this long-going obsession but I've been fascinated with the Myers-Briggs "Know Me" personality tests for some time. Ever sense it was sent to me in email form from a friend and I found out which of the 16 possible personality types basically sums me up to a tee (I don't really understand the phrase "to a tee" - not sure if it's referring to a golf tee, the letter "t", or tea, like the kind you drink. I went for “tee”, obviously, and I'm gonna hope that's accurate. Frankly, I doubt you know either).

My personality type is an INFP and is entitled "The Idealist". There are detailed paragraphs explaining the way I think and feel and my perspective of the world. It tells me the ways I may be misunderstood as well as the ways I misunderstand others simply because our thought processes differ. I'm told which jobs I'm best suited for,who to marry, and what kind of mother I'll be in the future. It blows my effing mind.

Then, after discussing these personality types the other night with some friends while drinking beer and being devoured by Bulgarian mosquitoes I was sent a link (on my facebook of course) that lead me to a site full of information about my particular personality type and which famous people throughout history have shared my INFP status. The majority of them were philosophers and writers. Each persons’ name and picture also came with a quote. I read them all. And noticed a theme.

The majority of them seemed like people who were interested in the meaning of life. Interested in discussing it, reading about it, writing about it, and analyzing it from every possible angle but very few were able to come up with an answer. They were ponderers. They pondered. They spoke/wrote/berated people about it. I'm also pretty sure they were all narcissists as well. Makes sense. We ponder our own genius (whether or not it actually exists) and that leads us to firmly believe that we are, in fact, more interesting than everyone else. And then we write about it.

One of my friend’s personality types was given examples such as Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., and Ronald Reagan. Those people probably weren't narcissists. That's because one of their major traits is to be interested in people and the human condition and not themselves. I bet Mother Teresa falls under that list too, just to rub it in.

I'm not saying that all I do is think about myself. On the contrary, I'm always thinking of ways to better myself, to encourage others to see and act upon the best in themselves. It's this "idealist" nature that forces me to never except the reality and to always push for something more, something better. We're all capable of so much, why not spend the rest of our lives trying to get as close to ideal as we can? For me, settling for mediocrity seems painful and pointless and frightening. For others, being average isn't even something they think or worry about. It's not a concern. Which is perfectly delightful because the world needs people like that to keep people like me from talking/writing too much and never getting anything done.

I highly recommend finding this book (or just googling it cuz that's way easier though you risk sullying the accuracy of your outcome ((if you see Einstein's face floating around on the screen or anything really silly like that I suggest not basing your entire personality on the information you read on that page))).

The book also, by percentage, shows the rarity (or commonness I suppose) of each personality type. The rarest type, or the type held by the fewest number of people, is “The Artist” and the second rarest type is mine. And, yes, I’m bragging. That means that there are only 30,000,000 other people in the world like me. I’m a real diamond in the rough, that’s what I am. A rare jewel of narcissism, disregard for reality, and self-deprecation.

-Age

My vacation in America was pretty effing fantastic. The best part being that I got to see my friends and family again and remember why I love them SO MUCH! When I was sitting in the back seat with my two best friends in the front making jokes, being ridiculous, and cracking me up I couldn't help but tell them how much I missed them. My best friend, Amanda, who I've known since we were both 7 (something we brag about often) is more like a sister to me than anything else and I don't think anyone will understand me quite like she does. We're going to be little old ladies together - it's gonna be a blast. I also spent a lot of time with my mom who was a great sport and took me anywhere I wanted to go - we had a lot of fun, spent a lot of money, and ate some damn good food. It was fantastic to see everyone and to enjoy Cali once again.

I thought going home would be so strange. I thought I would get culture shock and freak out. Nope. It was as if I'd never left. And that's what everyone kept saying, "Adrienne, I feel like we were just doing this exact same thing last week. Freaky." What was most strange to me was how much I enjoyed being just another girl. I chatted up every person I came in contact with simply because I was just an American. I spoke English like everyone else, I looked like everyone else and no one would ever guess where I live or what I was doing. The anonymity was refreshing. I didn't expect that.

I returned to Bulgaria just in time to celebrate the 4th of July with two new volunteers who have just moved to towns so close to mine I could cry. I've always been jealous of volunteers with site-mates and now I kinda have some. People to have coffee with when I just need to speak with an American. People to plan projects with, help with events, and collaborate. Should be great.

Then it was off to our Mid-Service Conference in a beautiful city named Tryavna. The town was amazing and getting to see everyone again was such a blast. In the past, I've always felt kinda overwhelmed when our entire group gets together cuz there are so many of us but this time wasn't like that at all. It was as if our group shrank and there were only a few people there that I didn't know well. Amazing what can happen in a year. The conference was inspiring and helped to give me the push I needed to really take this second year head-on. Also, after dinner on the last day, Tom planned a talent show for us all in the main hall of our hotel. It was awesome. People sang, danced, read original poetry, fought to the death, and joined together to end the show with an amazing combination of the songs "Friday" and "Baby" - sounds awful but it wasn't. It was great. I remember sitting there and thinking, "I'm always going to remember this. This is one of those moments." Bravo Tom!

Katelyn was the host of the talent show and did her own small performances in between each act until...she injured herself during an interpretive dance to "All By Myself." I can't make this up. She finished the song but then had to be lead away so her foot could be wrapped and iced, ready for an x-ray in Sofia the next morning. She didn't break anything but she gets to wear a cool boot for awhile. Injuries at these types of events end up making some of the best stories. Also, she finished hosting the show surprisingly enough, just with a bit of a limp and no more costume changes which is too bad cuz one of them was a hospital gown and I was really interested to know exactly how she planned to pull that off.

Now I'm back at my site and making plans. It feels good to be back and I realize I really miss my students. Well, most of my students. I have some integration plans that put me a bit out of my comfort zone (something we were all highly encouraged to do at the conference) so I'll keep you updated on how all that goes. Other than that, I hope to write something interesting or funny on my next post instead of this updating bull that you probably couldn't even finish reading. I'm back in the blogging mode and I like it. Ciao for now.

-Age

The school-year is beginning to wind down and the students are mentally absent as per usual for the last week of school after all the important tests are done. Personally, I've been fighting a cold all week (fighting the cold as well as the acknowledgment that I actually am sick as I am not normally one to succumb to such weakness) so my head hasn't really been in it. I hope to make up for that next week when I pass out free smiles, hugs, cheers, and sarcastic remarks (I save the sarcastic remarks for my students that know they should not have passed my class but did and have absolutely no understanding of my foreign sarcasm).

Speaking of students passing my class when they really shouldn't have, all of my students passed!!! Yay!!! No. It's not exciting. It's kinda sad to tell you the truth but that's simply the way the Bulgarian school system works. "Works" just doesn't seem like the right word. Let me try again. That's simply the way the Bulgarian school system breaks. Better.

Let me break it down for you:

My school is in a small village of 2,000. There are just enough students here to fill my primary school from 1st through 8th grade but because the parents here can send their students to any school they like regardless of location, many of the children here go to the big and fancy school in Kostenets, the much bigger town about five minutes away. We receive our funding based on enrollment so the lack of students on our part presents a problem, one that the teachers and directors are trying to solve at all costs. This means, if a student fails every test, skips school, disrupts the lesson throughout its entirety, never does homework, and learns next to nothing, the student passes. That's it. They pass. Because, if they don't pass every class, they have to repeat that grade. The parents, generally, don't like this. So, they'll send their student to a different school where they automatically, upon enrollment, go on to the next grade. So, we pass them. And pass them and pass them until they've mastered the system so well that they are capable of not studying, doing basically whatever they want and getting away with it. Wouldn't you do the same if you were 13? I probably wouldn't have but that's based more on my strict and demanding parents than an innate sense of morality, values, or an appreciation for my education.

A book was mailed to me recently by some friends in the States called Whatever It Takes. It's about education in poor urban areas like Harlem and how the culture and socioeconomic factors contribute to student achievement (or the lack of). It's been really interesting and reminds me a lot of Bulgaria. It's so easy to blame parenting or a poor school system for students who graduate (or don't graduate) without knowledge or proper skills to strive in a competitive economy. What's not easy is doing something about it. Changing the way parents view schools and education. Changing the way schools are run and making sure that every child is given the opportunities they need to succeed. Not easy.

What's also really frustrating is that I know my students are fully capable of learning English. They may not all be capable of fluency but they can certainly learn a thing or two and do well on these tests. Maybe even attend a language school and really advance themselves. But, they don't have to, so they don't. Understandable from a pre-teen's perspective but borderline depressing from a teacher's point of view.

I do have smart, hard-working students who make me proud. However, these students tend to be the one's who've always been taught to. In other words, they did well when they were young, back when everyone paid attention cuz they were too little and scared not to, and they turned out to be the best for one reason or another. After being labeled "the smart kids", they were the one's the teachers focused their attention on, forgetting the rest. It's common and really unfortunate. Learning is easy for them because learning is all about them. For the rest of the students, I imagine they think, "why even bother?" They're being left behind and it's considered their fault regardless of the fact that they are only 9-years-old.

I'm realizing two years is not enough. A lifetime is not enough when there's only one of me. I hope that, as a whole, combined with other Bulgarians who see the light and really care, there will be a change in the Bulgarian public school system and soon.

There are some really brilliant folks here and this place is full of potential and promise, it's just a matter of making the necessary changes. It's not gonna be easy though, that's for sure.

-Age

I know I haven't written lately. It's been tugging at the back of my mind for awhile actually. Normally, writing, on here or anywhere else, is like an addiction. I can only stay away for so long before I feel the withdrawals and something flies into my head to write about (or I go the boring route and simply write about what's been going on) but lately I haven't had the urge. I haven't wanted to do much at all that involves the internet or connecting. I've just been keeping to myself. I think, I'm mentally preparing my tired brain for the next phase. A two-week vacation in the States and then time to try this all again. But, this time, with different ideas and a much better/more realistic perspective on things. The end of the school-year is fast approaching and I need time to re-group before I "fully" immerse myself back into Bulgarian life and culture.

Though, tomorrow I'll probably negate all of this my feeling the sudden urge to write about the habits of squirrels or other such ridiculous things. Until then.

-Age

Check out this extremely cool link. You'll like it.

-Age

Currently, my school and I are writing a project in order to receive funds for a new English classroom. The way the project works is:

• We decide what we want and how much it's going to cost

• Our community funds 25% of the project

• The project is posted online and American organizations donate the other 75%

• Our fully funded project is implemented

Seems easy enough and I'm hoping it will be just that: easy. We've decided to re-model our English classroom which will cost almost 6,000 leva. The 25% took some time to come up with but the municipality offered to pay for new windows which worked out perfectly. Before the municipality stepped in, my students from the Volunteer Committee were planning fundraisers to help raise the money. The last two Saturdays, with the help of another awesome volunteer, we've gone to the local market and sold raffle tickets. We've raised over 100 leva and I couldn't be more proud of them, they really worked hard and had a great attitude the whole time. I have to say it was the most fun I've had with my students all year and it came with the greatest sense of accomplishment.

However, now that we don't actually need to fundraise because of those new windows, we've decided to use the money to buy a new computer, which is something we wanted to include in the project but didn't think we could afford. We've found a local place that revamps old computers and sells them at a reasonable price so all we have to do is raise 400-500 leva and our classroom will be complete! With a new computer in the room we'll be able to utilize the school's projector which hardly ever leaves the director's office simply because there are no computers in the school to give it a purpose. I find it interesting that every school in Bulgaria is required to have a projector but that they go unused because there aren't computers in most classrooms to hook them up to and no form of training or resources for the teachers who, like me, may want to bring a laptop from home in order to make use of it.

Anyway, the project is ready and I'll be sending it in for approval within the next couple of days. I hope the funding comes quickly so we're able to finish construction before the new school year begins. It's all very exciting and I can't wait til it's finished and all our hard work is right before our eyes in the form of a shiny, new, modern classroom. I'm hoping it will perpetuate a feeling of seriousness and motivation for the students when it comes to English. Lord knows they could use it.

We have a few more ideas for fundraisers including partnering with the local restaurant and hosting a bake sale which I hope to get started this summer. It'll be nice to keep the Volunteer Committee going after the school year ends. I'd like to give them some sort of prize or certificate at the end of the year for all of their help, hard work, and good ideas but I haven't decided exactly what I wanna do for them yet.

On a seperate note, May has 20 working days and, of those 20, we have 8 days off of school - it's the month of holidays, testing, and fun and I've really been enjoying it. This upcoming week I only teach Monday and Wednesday as Tuesday is testing day for the high school (and even though we're a primary school we get the day off), Thursday is a break for schools in the Sofia region (still not sure why), and Friday is sports day. I'm EXTREMELY excited about sports day. I love being outside and running around with the kids. We get to relate to one-another out of the classroom and have fun doing it. I plan to play volleyball, per usual, but also teach them 3 Flags Up which is a game every kid loves and requires nothing more than an easily-catchable ball. I told the athletic director that I'd like to help and she seemed thrilled. Should be a fabulously tiring day and an ideal way to end the week.

Overall, the Spring has been pretty great and I have a feeling it's only gonna get better as we transition into SUMMER!

-Age

I watched Two Weeks Notice yesterday. You know, the romantic comedy with Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock where they try and out-do one another with witty humor and quorky antics. They both win. Well, throughout the movie she continues to order chinese food (mmmmmm, chinese food) for herself, just tons and tons of it cuz she's a stress eater (I'm a bored eater) and at the end of the phone call she always says, "this is for one." It got me thinking about my eating habits here in Bulgaria.

Cooking here is a bit tricky. There are many reasons for this including:

-small refrigerators

-questionable ovens/stoves

-the season and, accordingly, what foods are available

-countertop and table space for the preparation and consumption of meals

-what to do with leftovers (availability of a microwave)

Despite the fact that Peace Corps Bulgaria has it's own cookbook and Bulgarian traditions seem to revolve around the culinary feats of баби, майки, лели and the like, most of us don't put too much effort into our cooking. When a volunteer does go above and beyond and makes something that could actually fall into the category of a meal, it's a big deal. Pictures of it get posted all over the internet. It's "liked" on facebook, commented on in blogs, and even youtubed as the cooking process becomes genuinely fascinating to all who have been deprived of what used to be a pretty mundane event.

The reason for this, I think, is simple: "this is for one."

When I went to visit my friend and fellow PCV, Evan, in her village and the nice Bulgarian woman, Betty, who takes care of her teased Evan about her lack of cooking, I thought it seemed unfair. If Betty didn't have a husband and a daughter, I doubt she'd put nearly as much effort into every meal. Maybe she would, I don't really know, but she has to know that we volunteers have no real reason to make anything more praiseworthy than a grilled cheese sandwhich and a shopska salad. Top that off with a cold beer and that's a Monday night (and for me, Monday came twice this week). Who are we trying to impress? No one. Well, I mean maybe the cute guy on the television screen but that's only because we've all started to go a little crazy and pretend he's real sometimes but that's beside the point. (Plus, he likes grilled cheese and thinks it's cute when we spill beer on ourselves)

I've had friends, both American and Bulgarian, over for dinner and I've made nice, fancy meals with multiple ingredients and courses. I've woken up early to make people breakfasts that have included pancakes with a sweet, fruit toppings, scrambled eggs, and toast. I've even tried my hand at making banitsa. But, for the most part, scouring my fridge and cupboards for whatever seems edible while trying, with best intentions, to include all the food groups so I don't become diagnosed with anemia or scurvy and whipping up something completely mediocre is simply how this whole Peace-Corps-volunteer-living-alone thing is gonna go. I leave the fancy cooking up to the Bulgarians and always appreciate a good на гости but това е.

We also have a really nice restaurant in town. I'm really good at ordering, eating, and paying for food. Like, really good.

-Age

I played soccer and volleyball with my students today during the breaks. It was SO fun. The kids are great when they're out of the classroom. Also, when I don't take this whole "teaching" thing seriously, it makes my life a lot easier. When one of my dreaded/horrible/wild/crazy/savage seventh graders tried to crash my fifth grade class today I made it a game.

He had one side of the door, trying to open it. I had the other side, trying to close it. We were pulling and tugging, trying to out-do the other.

First I tried tickling him to make him let go. That didn't work.

Then I said, "Хе! Какво е това?!" (more or less - "hey, what's that?") and pointed down the hall. That didn't work either - more than likely do to poor Bulgarian.

Finally, I said, "Alright. Fine. We're studying for a test. Take a seat." Worked like a charm.

When my fourth graders were tired of repeating verbs (laziest class ever!!!) I started saying them in weird voices/loud voices/quiet voices/deep voices/etc. and they thought it was FANTASTIC. No problem with repetition exercises today. Boom.

We also took our sixth graders on a field-trip to the local church for absolutely no apparent reason. I had nothing to do with that. But I went. It was nice.

Anyway, that was my day. Full of games, laughter, and very little English. Bravo za men.

-Age

My counterpart is the epitome of a girl. A Bulgarian girl. She's teeny-tiny, so petite that I'm pretty sure she doesn't have the same organs that I do - she's definitely missing some. Not only that, but it's obvious that she's never played a sport in her life and any type of strenuous activity is a completely foreign concept to her.

Sometimes, while teaching English, we mime things and the students have to guess which verbs we're acting out. She can handle verbs like read, write, and walk. But the time I saw her act out "playing basketball" may have been the funniest thing that's ever happened to me...in Bulgaria...in that classroom. Whatever, it was funny.

She hops around, does this strange thing with her hands, then makes this half-hearted effort to, I think, shoot the ball.

She's so uncoordinated that, even though the ball doesn't actually exist, I'm pretty sure she dropped it. And then missed the basket completely.

The students stare at her in wide-eyed confusion until a brave student ventures, "Riding a horse?"

Nope, but good try.

"Jogging with a yo-yo?"

So close.

-Age

I’m gonna get a little narcissistic for a moment and talk about me. That’s what this thing’s for, right? So, at the top of this blog there’s this cute little map of the world and all these adorable little hearts that show from what area of the globe people have visited my site – yet another example of my narcissistic tendencies. This map fascinates me. I’m always looking at it, searching for new hearts, making sure old hearts are still there, representing the people who I imagine to be incredibly interesting, affluent, and/or possibly trapped in a location that, tragically, cannot support their genius and have come to my blog for entertainment.

I know exactly who some of these hearts represent. The one in Alaska is my Aunt, Jill. The one’s all over So-Cal are my friends and family. The one in Hedley, Texas is my friend and fellow blogger, Colleen. The one’s in Bulgaria are other PCV’s like myself who also have very interesting and entertaining blogs showcasing the goings-on of this place. Though, for the most, part, I have no idea who most of those hearts represent.

I love that.

It allows me to over-romanticize the fact that we are all connected. That people, all over the world, share common threads that bind us together and prove that we work better as a team than as competitors. People from all over the world who are drawn to peace and the promotion of friendship beyond borders connect through the web and through blogs like mine. It’s kinda great, is what it is. Kinda, f***ing great.

There is one heart, however, that has baffled me for months. I’ve been dying to comment, to ask, to scream, “Who are you!?!?”

Do you see it? It’s that lone little heart, off the coast of Africa, in the ocean, all alone, by itself, and single.

When you put your cursor on it, it says, “Unknown.”

UNKNOWN?!?!

Doesn’t that drive you crazy?!

It drives me friggin’ crazy.

So, I click on the map and I’m taken to a website that gives me more map options. When I put my cursor on it now, it shows not only the names of each place, but the flag of it’s country as well. This little, lonely heart has a flag I didn’t recognize (despite the fact that I’ve been living in a seriously foreign country for over a year now, I’m still not very cultured) so I googled it. The flag is for the European Union.

Yet another mystery. What the h-word?

So now my mind has created all these wild fantasies regarding this heart and what it could possibly represent. At first I thought it was an island that is simply unmarked and some seriously crazy stuff is happening not unlike that show LOST that everyone used to watch before it got so crazy and confusing that we all had to stop.

But, no, why would it have the EU flag?

It must be a top-secret, underwater station for spies to meet and…do spy stuff. Or a submarine that never moves, or…or…?

Yeah, my imagination only goes that far. But I really want to know. Who are you? What’s the deal? What is this place and how do you get internet access?

TELL ME!

I realize that the desperation in my all capital letters gives you a bit of an advantage over me. You may be thinking to yourself, you mysterious heart you, that you can keep this information from me and hold all the power in our relationship. However, I’ll strike you a deal. You tell me who and what you are and I’ll, in exchange, offer you one question of your own that I promise to answer in all truthfulness. Or a banana. Or I’ll give you a banana. I’ll mail it right to you (if you have an address – if not, I’ll save it for you and you can come get it).

That’s your choice: question or banana.

Choose wisely.

-Age

My Greek vacation was exactly what I needed. It was relaxing, beautiful, full of history and beaches, and topped-off with the two coolest girls I know. Perfect. The highlights would be... Seeing the Acropolis:

Eating and drinking delicious things:

Hanging out with "The Funny People":

Playing the "Two Guys, One Vespa" game (I don't have a pic - only a link)

Exploring the prettiest place I've ever seen (which is saying a lot cuz I'm from So-Cal and that place is full of amazing sights):

And, finally, lying on the beach. An activity I missed this past summer for the first time in, I'd say, 20 years. Felt darn good:

I've been back to school for a week now and, at first, wanted to shoot myself or get on a plane back home (post-vacation depression amplified by the fact that my work is in a foreign country and there aren't many people in my village who get how hard this is for me sometimes). But, after a few days, just like I knew it would, the routine of my pre-vacation life returned and I'm back in the swing of things - which isn't a phrase I'm particularly drawn to as swings tend to make me nausous, for reals. Yesterday, my counterpart, three awesome students, and I went to Sofia for the First Annual Bulgarian National Spelling Bee. My students did so well (one of them even made it to the finals!!!) and we celebrated with McDonalds and a fun walk around the center of Sofia.

pre-SB cram session

I'm currently in the process of writing a project in order for my school to receive the funding for a new English classroom/Resource room and it's already daunting and full of unnecessary drama. I expected nothing less so I'm ready for the challenge. It would be my dream come true if the women at my school could come together as a team and realize that this particular strategy not only works better all-around and saves time but keeps the volunteer from wanting to rip her hair out and run away. I'll keep on dreaming. Also, because I'm a Secondary Coordinator for the International Writing Olympics, I've just received the winning essays from each participating country in order to judge them and choose those which I feel are the best of the best. So far the essays have been pretty great and I have a feeling that Bulgaria is going to do really well. We had some truly amazing essays written by some brilliant Bulgarians. While reading some of them, I forgot completely that English was their second language. It's moments like those that give hope and encouragement to the future of Bulgaria and knowledge that our work here, with these students, really does mean something. Anyway, enough of that sentimental глупости. I'm getting more and more excited about my upcoming trip to the States. I can't wait to see my friends and family! It's going to be the relief I need at the end of a trying school year. That's all. Take care - love and kisses from The Bulge. -Age

I hung my laundry outside today. This may seem like super mundane news to some but it’s actually pretty monumental in my life right now. The sun is out, there’s a lovely breeze and I swear I can feel Spring all the way down to my bones. As soon as the fruit trees outside my apartment start to bloom, I’m hanging my мартеници on the prettiest one and taking a picture of that bad boy for ya. You’re welcome.

So, Word is telling me (with a patronizing little green squiggly line) that Spring isn’t actually capitalized. I feel like that’s wrong. We’re supposed to capitalize names, right? And Spring is the name of what’s making me happy right now so…bite me, Word. Just. Bite. Me.

Capitalization also implies importance in some cases. Maybe. I’m going to build off of that idea and showcase my feelings for the Four Seasons with grammar or punctuation or whatever:

SUMMER

SPRing

Fall

winter

Yeah, I’m pretty happy with that.

So, the dreaded season of snow is over and, according to my Bulgarian friend, Tsvetla, “we will feel overwhelmingly tired for a little while as our bodies adjust but soon we will be happier and more energetic than ever before!” (this wasn’t a direct quote or anything – if I’d directly quoted her there’d be red and green little squiggly lines everywhere)

My colleagues are so aware of my disgust for cold weather and my desperate desire for warmer weather that the past few days have been full of them pointing out the window and saying, “Слънчево! Sunny!” I give them a big thumbs up and we both walk away feeling as though that particular cultural exchange went really well.

Well, I have a sink full of underwear in need of washing so I can hang them on my balcony for all to see. I imagine my neighbors have really missed my polka-dots over the past few months. Who knows, maybe some of them have even forgotten what my underwear looks like. Wouldn’t that be a shame. No worries, neighbors, there’s months and months of future underwear sightings to be had and be assured I’ll be taking a gander at yours as well (though it really takes the mystery out of the whole “boxers or briefs” game).

-Age

There seems to be a great number of commonalities Peace Corps volunteers share. One being an attraction towards impermanence. Another being a desire to feel like an individual, team-player, leader, helper, and many other contradictory adjectives. It’s interesting. It really is.

For one thing, I know, for me, part of the appeal of the Peace Corps was the fact that it was a two-year commitment. I knew it had an end. Even now, while we do try to integrate and be useful, influential participants in our communities we also can’t shake the feeling of “this is only temporary.” Temporary. This isn’t our “lives” – I mean, it’s our lives now, from 2010 until 2012 or maybe even 2013 for some – but it’s not our lives forever like the majority of Bulgarians around us. I assume (and assuming is something I do a lot of despite the idiom) that very few of us have a place that is our “forever.” I certainly don’t. There are so many places I want to call “home.” But only for a little while and then moving on will be absolutely necessary.

Why is that?

I can only answer for myself (though don’t think I haven’t the gall to answer for everyone, cuz I do)… Huh. As it turns out, after sitting here for some minutes trying to find the right way to word my answer, I realize I don’t have one. Whoops. It seems I can answer for no one – not even myself.

Talking to many other volunteers, their “after Peace Corps” plans include:

Going to grad school and then moving on

Touring the globe and then moving on

Visiting family and friends for a bit and then moving on

We just move on and move on. Though, I suppose, it’s age-appropriate for most of us. Young, ready to start our own lives. But I’m not quite as young as everyone else here and yet I can’t seem to picture my life more than a couple years in advance. And even then it’s fuzzy. Maybe I need to up the prescription on my brain.

For months, my dreams were about the US. People from the US. Places from the US. Nothing about Bulgaria. Occasionally some PCV’s would join in with my friends and family from back home in a dream or two, make an appearance. But only recently, and by recently I mean in the past week, have I started to dream of my life here, in Bulgaria. My work colleagues. My students. My friends here. Only recently has my subconscious decided that this is my life – for now. Took long enough.

Is it wrong to want to be with people, help them, and at the same time wait impatiently for the day you can leave them and move on to something new? Maybe. I’m not just talking about Bulgaria either. What makes a person want to stay? I want to know what makes a person say, “this is home, where my life is,” as opposed to, “this is my house, where I keep my stuff.” I wonder what it feels like, what many of my colleagues, students, and neighbors must feel, to know that you’re living the life you’re always going to live. You’re in it and this is it.

I’ve been wondering lately if it’s possible to be overly ambitious. To think you want more than you actually do or are capable of. Grad school. International Studies. NGO’s. New York. Boston. DC. Why can’t I just go home? Get a nice job. Visit my parents once a week. Be still. What’s wrong with that? People do it all the time and they seem perfectly content. At ease. In their element.

What’s my element?

Probably to ponder unanswerable questions until I’m in a nursing home with nothing more to ponder than the paper peeling off the walls. Sorry, I’ve been reading a lot of JD Salinger lately. I’m reading Ernest Hemingway next so hopefully my mood will brighten and I’ll stop being so damn critical. I also have no idea what Ernest’s work is like so it may only get worse.

-Age

From Jenny, The Bloggess:

"This post isn’t really a funny one and I apologize for that but it needs to be said so just bear with me a minute, okay?

I love Japan. I’m not much of a traveler so it’s the only far-off place I’ve ever been and it holds a special place in my heart. If you’ve read here long enough you know about the time that a young girl named Chicako volunteered to show me around Japan for free. She didn’t know me and had no idea I had a blog but the people of Japan have such a strong feeling of civic duty and politeness that they regularly sign up to escort strangers around their city so they can practice their English. She took me to her favorite local dives and sat patiently while sweet make-up artists made me into a prostitute (long story). I met so many amazing people in my time in Japan and was almost embarrassed by how generous and selfless they were to a total stranger. That’s why the earthquake and tsunami that struck there this week really hit home for me…because so many people I love are struggling there now. And chance are, if you read this blog regularly, they’re people you love too.

You can’t always tell, but a lot of our regular commenters are in Japan. They read. They laugh. They interact with you and me. I usually have several hundred Japanese readers stop by on average. In the past two days there’ve been only 40. I hope to God that they’re all alive and well and are busy helping others and I wish I was there to help. But I can’t be. The only thing I can do is to donate to the Red Cross and Doctors without Borders and to encourage you to do the same.

They aren’t strangers. They’re us.

PS. One of the easiest ways to donate is to text the word REDCROSS to 90999, and your $10 donation will just show up on your phone bill. It’s crazy-easy and after you do it you’ll feel technologically savvy and philanthropic.

PPS. We go back to the funny, fluffy stuff tomorrow. Promise.

PPPS. I’m including an old video of me eating Japanese boobie pudding as a small “thank you” for donating. It’s really long because it was before I knew how to edit properly. You totally have my permission to skip it because I realize my Minnie-Mouse voice clashes with my online persona. Also, yes, my books are organized by color because that’s what normal people do. Stop judging me."

-Age

Yesterday was Women's Day in Bulgaria. Not Mother's Day. Not Grandmother's Day. Women's Day. Ден на Жена. The Day of the Woman.

Needless to say, I loved this day.

First, the 2nd grade teacher invited the mother's of all her students to the school for a morning of flowers, poems, songs, and cuteness. Ridiculous amounts of cuteness. She asked me to teach the students a song in English that they could sing to their mothers. We decided on "You Are My Sunshine." They learned it quickly, sang it beautifully, and one student was even able to translate it into Bulgarian - amazing.

After OD'ing on the sweetness of the morning, I went to teach my normal classes and received flowers and Честит Осми Март's from all my students. They even behaved...kinda. To make it through the terror that is seventh grade, I decided to teach the lesson to myself. It was about Ireland and their traditions. Occasionally, when a student would get really loud and yell at another student cuz he cheated at poker, which is what they play while I teach...yup, I would say something like, "I know! I'm excited too! Ireland and it's traditions are so interesting I can barely contain myself as well! I love the enthusiasm, keep it up!" They think I'm crazy. I told my mom that sometimes the school is like a circus and seventh grade are the clowns. She said, "and what are you?" - - - "The English teacher." Naturally. Just try and imagine teaching English to a group of clowns...while they're performing.

Anyway. Sheesh, it seems like I'm always giving seventh grade the spotlight (that's probably how the lion-tamer feels. Damn clowns.)

After school, all of the other teachers and I went to the local restaurant to celebrate the awesomeness that is us and all the things that make us amazing women (like teaching seventh grade. There I go again!) and I had a really great time. I got to practice my Bulgarian, see my colleaugues in a more casual and carefree setting, and dance horo.

Dancing horo is no simple task. Especially if you have no feet-brain coordination like myself.

Towards the beginning of the evening, I danced an easy one on purpose to get it out of the way so I wouldn't have to dance again but, later on, I was tricked into dancing once more. A woman stood up and asked others to "go" and I thought we were leaving so I stood up and began to gather my things. She wasn't leaving. She was dancing. And she thought the American had bravely volunteered. Well, shit. What choice did I have. I blushed, joined the line of dancing women and horo'd for what seemed like hours. The song really did last FOREVER. I kept asking my colleague, Lenka(sweetest lady in the world), if we were going to be dancing forever. She just laughed. Which wasn't an answer. At some point she asked if I was tired and wanted to stop. I said in what was probably terrible Bulgarian, "Аз не мога да спи преди бабите,"(I can't stop before the old ladies) which instantly made me the funniest person in the room. I like being that person.

We ate good food, drank good wine, danced until our faces were red, and enjoyed being the beautiful women we are - it was nice. I really enjoyed Bulgaria on that particular day.

Also, there is no Day of the Man. Just saying.

One more also, a few women at the restaurant got drunk off rekia and started "sexy" dancing all over the place. Then one of them did a cartwheel. She almost killed a few people. There wasn't a whole lot of dancing after that. It was awesome.

-Age

Today was an interesting holiday in Bulgaria: Baba Marta. Grandmother March. Баба Марта. Here's the story:

Baba Marta gets real pissed cuz it's winter and so dang cold. So usually around March 1st she says, "Alright. Enough of this. Let's start celebrating the coming Spring. Right. Now." So all the little Bulgarian boys and cute, little Bulgarian girls give each other мартеници (martenitzas): bracelets made of white and red string usually with a cute bead in the shape of an eye, heart, flower or butterfly (you can even buy them with Hannah Montana's face though I'm not sure how Baba Marta would feel about this).

You where them until you either

See a stork

or see budding flowers and leaves on the trees

Both signs that Spring has arrived and Baba Marta is happy once again.

It's then time to hang all your martenitzas on a tree outside. These two entertwining strings represent health and good fortune so hanging them all over the village is an important part of the tradition and something I'm very much looking forward to - favorite Bulgarian holiday so far.

Because I'm a teacher, I received 31 martenitzas today - I'm not going to keep them all on (I left 3 on each wrist) but they are each a little different and quite adorable. Bring on the storks!

Up until recently I've focused mainly on the specific aspects of Bulgarian culture I've observed over the past 9 months. I can tell you all the ways that Bulgarians are unique and about their many traditions and how their past has shaped their present. Though lately, I've realized a couple of eye-opening things about American culture that I'd never noticed before. Things that are so obviously reflected in my actions and attitude that I can't believe I wasn't more conscious of them before coming here.

The first, Americans have a very strong sense of justice. We view fairness as a right, one to be defended. Bulgarians rely much more heavily on luck and fate and generally believe that good things happen to some, bad things to others, and fairness plays little part in it all. But Americans do not like to be treated unfairly. Not. one. bit.

Case in point, when a group of us went to Sofia for my birthday, we were waiting on a corner to cross the street when an man with a thick Irish accent yelled at us as he walked by, "Hey, you guys are really rude! The way you talk about Bulgaria is insulting and disrespectful! Learn some manners!" He then kept walking, satisfied with having lectured a group of Americans. We were immediately outraged as a healthy percentage of our group was, in fact, not American but Bulgarian and not a single one of us was saying anything even remotely disrespectful. His obvious prejudice against us caused us to defend ourselves...to no avail.

After we called after him with our complaints, the man turned around and walked up to us visibly upset and obviously inebriated. He yelled at one of my Bulgarian friends, D, calling him an "arrogant American" when my friend replied in a thick accent, "I'm Bulgarian." The man only blinked for a second before telling him he was "just like his arrogant, American friends.” As I was closest to him, I had much to say about his accusations and insults one of which was, "I'm sorry, who's being rude?" He replied, and I'm quoting him word-for-word, "I'm not rude, I'm Irish." Yeah, OK, my mistake. After that, all I had to say to him was, "Go away. Just go away and leave us alone," which he didn't appreciate much but after my much more patient Bulgarian friend, V, intervened he eventually left.

We were pretty upset about that encounter for hours afterwards and it wasn't until the next day that I realized how one unfair comment can set-off a whirlwind of obstinate resolve to set the record straight. All of our arguments with this man were logically-based and genuinely in search of a legitimate reason for his accusations. We didn't like being labeled simply because of our accents. That's not something we're used to and not something we tolerate from others.

The second thing I realized about our American culture though, be prepared, I am about to generalize, is our preference towards the casual rather than the formal. It could be simply a middle-class thing or even just a California thing but I never feel comfortable in formal settings. And, you know me, when I'm uncomfortable, bad things happen.

Like last night, when I went to a birthday dinner and continually blushed for no good reason throughout the entire meal. I had what I would equate to an anxiety attack though I wouldn't want to imply that I experienced anything close to what people who actually have anxiety issues experience. However, last night was awful in terms of simply feeling like I'd rather be anywhere else, an unnecessary fight-or-flight response to nothing more than a na gosti with friends.

It was just so darn formal. Sitting around a table, burning hot in the room because of the furnace, fancy dishes and glasses that didn't quite fit so I kept awkwardly dropping my fork on the floor. People singling me out simply because I'm the American who speaks English. I swear if we'd been at a cafe or just sitting around the TV, I would’ve been fine. But, instead, I kept turning red and receiving pitying glances from the baba I barely knew. Not only that, but my friend’s dad bombarded me with political theories regarding America and all of its faults. I actually got a little upset which never happens. Not to contradict my point above, I believe that differing opinions regarding politics and the government of a country in general are common and nothing to get worked-up over. But, last night was a nightmare. Plain and simple. I won't even tell you how the night ended cuz I still don't want to admit it to myself. Embarrassed would be the best way to describe how I feel.

Anyway, my point is, that it all started with the formality of the setting. I prefer casual. Casual is my favorite, right up there with crime novels, orange-flavored things, and flip flops.

My general awkwardness hit an all-time low but I'm sure my Bulgarian friends will forgive me - they are super great people and take good care of me even though I now know for sure that they think Americans are a little weird.

-Age

I'm sitting here, waiting patiently for Spring. With Spring comes, not only sunshine and warmer weather, but all the things I miss and love about being a volunteer here in Bulgaria: my volleyball team, my adult English course with the best Bulgarian ladies EVER, and the ability to exercise and not feel like a hybernating bear.

Though, there are a surprising number of things going on currently that I'm pretty darn excited about. First, I'm a Co-Secondary Organizer (Official title. Fancy, right?) of the International Writing Olympics here in The Bulge. Several countries from this neck of the wordly woods are competing and Bulgaria is participating for the first time. Which means, we're kind of new at this. Vaune, the coordinator, basically our boss, is an amazing volunteer who has taken-on this project with gumption and only minor skepticism. She has delegated to Megan (the other Co-SO) the task of collecting 21 prizes for the first round of the competition. Things started off slow - like us planning a trip to Sofia with letters written in English and Bulgarian asking major bookstores and publishers to donate to our event only to find that all the bookstores were closed - no one is interested in reading on Saturdays, apparently. But, after the PC office promised us old Bulgarian-English dictionaries and the amazing Valya gave me the email to a woman at the embassy who has already started looking for other prizes for us, things are looking up!

The event takes place this Thursday and I have some students from the local high school interested. Though I've taken on a bit too much lately and haven't been able to make my way over there in awhile, I hope that more students have decided to sign-up and I'll have some seriously great essays to take with me to Sofia for judging in just a few short weeks. Then, it's on to the the International part of the competition (which means our work is pretty much over and the more exciting aspect of the competition begins!)

Also, some more awesome volunteers are coordinating a spelling bee for Bulgaria and I and my counterpart, Reni, are participating. I am working with not only my school, but a school in a neighboring village becuase the English teacher there had a PC volunteer at one time and is still very intersted in the things we do, naturally. We've decided to have our own practice SB between the two schools at the end of February and then move on the the regional aspect of the competition in late March. Eventually, our best students will wind-up in Sofia to compete nationally. I'm pretty excited about this as I have some pretty amazing 2nd and 6th graders (as well as one stupidly smart 4th grader) who I feel will go really far. The list of words for each grade is long - 250 words - but I know they can do it, I've got some smarties.

Being a teacher here in BG is exhausting. So exhausting that I've been abbreviating for some time now, I'm sure you've noticed. Also, I'm too lazy to spell-check and find out if "abbreviate" has two b's or not. I go to bed at 9:00pm. Like an old lady or a 3rd-grader. I'm either 9 or 79 depending on whether I drink apple juice or warm milk before falling asleep. Don't judge me.

Anyway, like I said, I'm sitting here, waiting not so patiently for Spring. It snowed today. Snow, I'm beginning to really despise you. Though, I recently bought (or PC bought) a ton of wood for my pechka (stove) to keep me warm over the next couple months - as soon as I get a key to the garage it's locked away in, I'll be warm and toasty. Mmmmm, toast. I'm gonna go make some. Ciao.

Wait! I also recently found out I'm going home to the States for a two-week vaca in June!!! I'm so excited that 3 exclamation points really don't feel sufficient so...

! x Infinity = my excitement (it's probably algebra and can't be debated. Math never lies, I'm that excited.)

-Age

My friend Evan and I have spent some serious time discussing what we plan to do after we leave the Peace Corps. There are many options and we weighed them all with the wisdom of our combined experience. We could take advantage of the one year of non-competitive job eligibility within the government, we could enroll in one of the many graduate schools PC has partnered with, or we could extend our service and stay in Bulgaria for another year. Though these all seemed like interesting and beneficial options we ultimately decided on world domination, the obvious choice.

We quickly decided that dictatorship is a tricky business. It’s been done before and seriously out of style so if we were going to do it right for the first time in world history we would need to vamp it up a bit. Go at it from a new angle. Which is why we decided to campaign. And, yes, we’re well aware of the irony. After some brainstorming we chose the campaign slogan:

Evan and Adrienne

World Leaders

or

Rulers of the World

(official title pending)

“The Impression of Democracy”

(This regal walrus will be our mascot)

It gave just the effect we were hoping for: implied fairness. Though, we totally plan on being absolutely fair. I mean, we are Peace Corps volunteers after all. We’ve decided that we will use the mistakes of past dictators as a platform for our dictatorship; we won’t make the same mistakes. The world will be awesome because of us, we’re super good at problem solving.

Here are some examples of our future campaign ideas:

“Evan and Adrienne: Making the world a better place one non-disputable decision at a time.”

“We’re painting the White House blue because we’re not racist or sexist!”

“Dictatorship is such an ugly word. Feel free to never call us that or we’ll chop off your head. Kisses – Evan and Adrienne, World Leaders 2012.”

“Hitler: What a douche. Vote for us! (voting is purely arbitrary but in a completely non-condescending way)”

“Stalin was a buttface. Our faces look nothing like butts. Vote for us! (voting is purely arbitrary but comes with a free cookie upon ballot completion)”

“First order of business: Solving World Hunger. Cuz we really feel like Marie Antoinette was onto something.”

Those are just a small taste of the awesomeness that is to come. We’ll continue strategizing. Right now we plan to coordinate with Ludacris, Science, and the lady who wrote the Twilight books cuz all of those things worked out pretty well. They’ll be like consultants (cuz consultants sounds better than royal advisors – though we’re totally gonna have jesters cuz, I mean, who wouldn’t?)

That’s all for now but I would advise all to be super nice to us cuz, who knows, there may be a country in it for ya!

-Age, Co-World Leader 2012

To be quite honest, I haven’t been enjoying teaching much. There are a lot of reasons and I don’t really want to get into them all (plus, I’ve already whined about this) but I’ve been having a difficult time finding the motivation I need. It seems that I simply can’t wait to leave my village on the weekends and meet up with other volunteers. I try not to do it too much but my weekend’s quickly fill up and I so look forward to the end of the week. This is beginning to worry me. I’m here not simply to help, I’m here for the experience as well. But I’m not gonna experience much in terms of Bulgarian life and culture if I’m not a part of it, right?

After the flu vacation and my many days off from school, I did not want to go back. I wanted to stay in bed and be lazy and pretend that I didn’t have any responsibility here. I mean, who would miss me really? I team-teach every class so it isn’t as if the students would be left without an English teacher. The Bulgarians I tutor were getting on just fine a few months ago without me. Volleyball isn’t going to define the futures of the young girls in my village. And my school’s fully capable of collecting money and supplies when needed. Who would miss me?

But, I got out of bed. I went to school. And all my students, all my little monsters, greeted me with big smiles, with English “Hello, Miss Hadaway, how are you?”’s, with “happy birthday”’s, and made it perfectly obvious that they did in fact miss me. There are some students who could care less about whether or not I’m there and those students are louder. They used to grab my attention with more frustrating strength but now I know that most of my students are sweet and kind and benefitting from my presence. It felt good.

Not only that, I had my friend, Marietta, and her husband, Angel, over for dinner to celebrate my birthday and they immediately began to fix every problem I had in the place. They showed me how to make a fire, offered to find me wood to last the rest of winter, unfroze my pipes so I could shower (hallelujah!), and changed the breakers so that I’d stop losing electricity. She also said that I should come for dinner at her house once a week and sleepover – it’ll be fun and more warm, she says. They are always taking such good care of me.

It’s good to be back.

I’m still running around and planning to meet volunteers in various places but I’ve decided to try and spend more time in my village because there are some amazing people here and the relationships I’ve made are real and worth the struggles. I’m blessed. I’ve been trying to foster this attitude for months knowing it was somewhere inside of me and I think I’ve finally found it. I’m going to focus on the good and exciting things that are happening (like the National Spelling Bee and International Writing Olympics!) and really enjoy the rest of this school year.

-Age

Written last week when I was actually on flucation and away from my computer:

The oblast, or county, I work in closed its schools this past week due to a flu epidemic that has broken out this winter season. Many schools around Bulgaria have shut down as well and many TEFL volunteers including myself have found ourselves in the midst of a surprise vacation. That is not something I ever considered possibly (hence my usage of the word "surprise" in the previous sentence). At the most, I was looking forward to the prospect of a snow-day or two, something unheard of in my Sunny Southern California, but 7 full days of school off? All I can say is Woo Hoo!

I'm sure all the kids are excited as well, whether or not they're one of the many suffering from the flu, as final exams for the end of this first semester have been postponed. For some students this means the ability to momentarily put-off the inevitable F's that they know are coming their way because they crack open their books to study just about as often as they ask for extra chores or put themselves to bed early (though they'll act outraged when they receive their grades - it's a matter of principle, after all). For others, this will mean an opportunity to study further and do really well on their exams. From what I've seen of Bulgarian students, there's very little middle-ground. They either know the information or they don't. They either study all their subjects with dedication or they don't study at all.

Even at a young age, some students are aware that their future starts now. Ambition is an uncommon emotion for many students and because of this, an extremely valuable asset for those who have it. Others seem already doomed to a disappointingly mediocre fate regardless of their potential or any available opportunities. Much like the States, motivation and desire are everything and if the students lack these things, if they or, more importantly, their parents, aren't capable of valuing education and showcasing an optimistic attitude towards the future, they won't go far.

It's unfortunate but true.

Education is a problem here in Bulgaria, most Bulgarians will be the first to tell you. There needs to be a complete overhaul in the education system. Families from all over need to regard their local schools as an important part of the community and the learning going on inside as the future of Bulgaria - full of opportunity for prosperity.

Bulgaria's generally defeatist attitude, fostered under years of oppression where one's views and desires were of little importance because individual effort didn't influence the outcome of one's life, is what keeps them from making a united, proactive change. They have so much potential as a country part of the European Union and with genuinely clever youth who could grow up to make a real difference if raised with the right attitude and examples.

Basically, the problem is bigger than me but I can still do my part. My contribution, if combined with the contribution of others in my community in positions of influence: teachers, parents, directors, students, community leaders, and so on, can create a small change moving in the right direction. It seems lofty, because it is, but it's also absolutely possible.

But, right now, I'm on flucation and enjoying every minute of it...as are my students, each in their own way.

-Age

It’s been a bit strange for me here lately. First off, I’ve been told quite a lot recently how necessary it is that I find a man as soon as possible.

The first attack was from my friend, Marietta, who, point-blank, told me, “You’re almost twenty-seven. You need to get married and have babies.”

Um. Wow.

Then, our local policeman, Vladi, told me that I need a boyfriend. He offered to post a big sign along our main road saying, “Local American accepting applications. Pictures and CV must be included. Interviews to follow upon selection.” He offered to be one of my judges. I accepted his offer, saying I trusted his judgment explicitly. But really it’s because he can put me in jail.

He then asked me a series of questions:

“Do you smoke?”

No.

“Do you drink alcohol?”

No.

“Do you have a boyfriend here in Bulgaria or in America?”

No.

“OK. You don’t smoke. You don’t drink. You don’t have a man…what do you do?”

Ummmm…

Then, today, three of my co-workers asked me what I look for in a man. I won’t tell you the fuss they put up when I quoted the tall, dark, and handsome phrase we often use in America. But, after we discussed the few other adjectives I know in Bulgarian: smart, funny, nice, blah, blah, blah, they said that I should be on the look-out. “No, seriously. You need to look. If you find him, grab him. Seriously.”

OK.

Even my principal, my boss, told me it was necessary to have a man if for nothing more than to keep me warm in the winter.

“I have blankets. And a heater!”

“Men are better.”

I really enjoyed each conversation immensely.

Another reason the past few weeks have been strange relates to my lack of contact with other PCV’s. I usually see someone at least every other weekend. But, it’s been awhile. Two weekends. At home. Doing…not a whole lot. I’ve been bored and lacking in the silly, American antics that allow me a sense of release.

I’m pretty sure this is why I’ve been having wild daydreams and fantasies lately.

Nothing scandalous. Nothing related to the topic above. My fantasies have more to do with being a huge rock star or world-renown author or something like that. I mean just the wildest, detailed fantasies. I have to shake myself out of these sometimes, laugh at myself, and go back to work. It’s silly. I think I’m just absolutely bored out of my mind. I need to do something fun. Soon.

Also, the weather has been AMAZING! It’s sunny and warm and beautiful. I have to admit, it greatly effects my mood – I’ve been quite cheerful despite the boredom. Apparently this is very unusual for Bulgaria and it will most likely change soon, just like THAT. Cuz that’s how it is in Bulgaria. No warning, just extreme changes in weather that make you catch you breath and say, “Aw, crap, it’s snowing again.” I keep telling myself that I’m half-way through winter. Six more weeks and we’ll be past it and I no longer have to fear the impending doom that is below-zero temperatures.

Anyway, that’s all that’s going on with me.

-Age

There has been a lot of talk lately regarding the special 20/20 has recently aired discussing the Peace Corps and its safety. I was aware that it did not show Peace Corps in a positive light and initially thought, “What poor timing to degrade Peace Corps right before they celebrate such a monumental anniversary, 50 years of service.” It wasn’t until after I watched the special that I realized the timing had more to do with the recent death of a Peace Corps volunteer in Africa, Kate Puzey. What I’m about to write in no way reflects the thoughts or opinions of the Peace Corps or the US government.

I remember receiving the email from Peace Corps that a girl named Kate had died in Africa. It said that there was on ongoing investigation but it seemed that she had died of natural causes. She was in her mid-twenties. I remember thinking that there is nothing natural about dying in your twenties. I suspected that the whole truth was not being told. I’m now sorry to say that I assumed that she’s been tied up in drugs and had overdosed and the Peace Corps was simply trying to keep it on the low down. I even discussed the case with other volunteers who also thought that there was no possible way she simply died of natural causes. Now I find out she was murdered, something that in no way could be confused with anything natural.

Was it necessary to tell us all that she died of natural causes when that wasn’t at all the case? Peace Corps did not have to go into the details of her death at all if they chose not to – they could have simply informed us that she had died. Upon watching the special, I felt awful for having assumed she’d gotten herself into trouble but my suspicion that her death was not conveyed accurately held true.

This isn’t the place to get too far into my thoughts and opinions regarding the safety and security of volunteers here in Bulgaria but I will say that if our safety is their number one priority than Peace Corps should not hesitate for a second to do what is right and necessary regardless of how it may reflect on their image or reputation. In fact, being open about their lack of tolerance for any form of harassment would be more reassuring then the hushing up of situations that are later heard through the grapevine…or aired on national television. If a female volunteer feels unsafe and has perfectly good reasons for wanting to be moved from her site or even just her current living situation, then it should happen. Period. Regardless of whether she came home a half-an-hour after dark or she had a beer at the local restaurant. She should not have to endure any behavior that makes her feel uncomfortable or unsafe in any way. I certainly wouldn’t.

I feel very opinionated on this subject because I’ve felt in the past that I wasn’t receiving the whole truth from Peace Corps. Not lies, necessarily, and nothing as important as major safety and security issues but I do wish that they were a bit more open with volunteers and the public. I was not at all surprised that they asked a woman who had been gang-raped to tell her fellow volunteers that she was going back to Washington to have her wisdom teeth pulled. The fact that I was not at all surprised is what worries me.

Despite what I’ve written, I have in no way ever felt unsafe here in Bulgaria. I think the staff are amazing people who are great at their jobs and each one of them believes in Peace Corps and its mission which fills me with admiration for our work here. The vast majority of my views towards the Peace Corps are positive. It is a wonderful organization doing truly incredible things all over the world and I’m proud to be a part of it. But it is not perfect. The flaws that have been presented, though unfortunately timed, need to be addressed and I would very much like to hear more from Peace Corps regarding these matters. The statistics are strong, Peace Corps is a safe organization. But, when there are warning signs, safety should come before image, before reputation, in all circumstances.

My thoughts and prayers go out to Kate Puzey and her family for all they have been through. I hope she has found peace and that her bravery is remembered by the people and community in which she served. She truly was a hero just as her father said, as are all people who stand up for the rights of women and minors despite how difficult it may be to come forward and be the one who has to take action. I’m very impressed by all who have done this, those of whom I know personally and those of whom I do not.

“Doing what’s right isn’t always positively accepted and doing what’s positively accepted isn’t always right.”

20/20 Special

-Age

My Christmas in Varna was wonderful. Great people, old and new. We had a gift exchange (I got a beautiful new scarf from Kerri along with some kick-ass American candy, which I consumed within 24-hours), ate amazing food, played games, and enjoyed the unique holiday atmosphere that is Peace Corps Bulgaria.

We then headed back to Sofia and danced the night away before our morning flight to Bologna. I was extremely tired but it was a ton of fun and no one wanted to say good-bye to our new friend, Morocco, so the night turned into morning before we knew it.

Italy was amazing. A stark difference from Bulgaria in terms of people and culture and I swear I actually experienced a bit of culture shock. But in a good way. We mostly ate. And ate and ate and ate. I pushed my stomach to the limit and am really proud of the amount of pizza I can eat in one setting and the fact that I can always manage to squeeze in some gelato. I’m like a pro.

I won’t go on and on about that trip cuz I know that type of thing gets boring so I’ll just highlight:

• There was a two-story, paper frog in the center of Bologna. This frog was set on fire at the stroke of midnight and we all cheered and kissed and watched it light the sky ablaze while Italian firefighters and policemen patrolled the area. It was surreal. Our new hostel friend, Richard kept saying, “There’s a f*ing frog on fire. I mean, there’s a f*ing frog on fire!” It was epic.

• An Italian boy ran past me when we were walking down the streets of Bologna so, naturally, I start to run after him in a mocking fashion. He suddenly turns around, sees me chasing him, and then I burst into convulsive laughter because I was totally busted. He mocks my laughter, grabs my shirt sleeve, and marches me down the street saying something about a “magistrate” before I realize he’s taking me to the police station. He’s basically putting me under arrest. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. We later saw the same little boy dancing the cha-cha in the town center surrounded by 50 or so people. I chose the right little boy to mock.

• We ate a lot of pizza. Pizza is good.

• Where’s Matt? We never knew.

• We saw the statue of David. Well, kinda.

• Lots of girl talk. It was fun.

• We found the most delicious beer in the world called Kwak. Yeah, Kwak.

All in all, I had an amazing vacation and have spent the entire day today in bed recovering from it. You always know it’s a good vacation when you need to take an extra day off just to sleep in until noon.

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. Time to get back to work and make the world a better place!

-Age