Where were you when I was learning spanish? That's a question I recently asked my brother. We didn't grow up in a bilingual household, but I have an entire catalogue of memories learning as much as a could. I wanted to understand what could cause my dad and the deli owner to laugh so hard. I sat in the kitchen pointing to things, mantequilla, leche, cocina, jugo de naranja slowly building my vocabulary. Something I think about frequently is how influential Spanish was in my life and now I struggle to remember simple words and phrases.

People back home ask me "So are you fluent in Bulgarian?" I never know how to answer that question. I respond with, "Well if there's something that needs to be said I can say it". Arguably my Bulgarian is better than my Spanish at this point but I still feel like I can express myself better in Spanish, not what I want, but what I feel. Love, hate, empathy, annoyance, the whole gamut of emotions were expressed to me in Spanish. CHANCLETAS!!!!! For you gringos who don't know, it's a slang word for slippers and God help me if my dad saw me without them on in the house. Pobrecito, will never have an English equivalent for me. When I'm sick and want my mom I say ¡Ayúdeme!. When I'm uncontrollably angry and frustrated it in class it's ¡Dios mío! or ¡Sientate!. I call my best friend here Chica. I know these words in Bulgarian, but they do not and cannot capture what I want to say.Last month I started teaching Spanish after school to some of my more ambitious students, and my only regret is that I didn't start sooner. I feel like this is the first time I'm sharing part of who I am as an American and not just representing America. Part of what makes America so great is that we are all so different and yet we embrace and encourage those differences. I know that my time here is winding down but I sincerely hope that these girls will see that whether you're American, Bulgarian, or anything else we all have different stories to tell and different experiences to share. Oh yeah, listen to this.

The Plastics Revolution | Light Of Day | A 'BlackXS Live Sound' Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

I have one major rule for winter. It can snow as far into spring as it wants as long as it DOESN'T SNOW BEFORE DECEMBER 1st. I hold my breath through the progressively darker and colder days of November hoping that what I see is just dirt specks in the air and not flurries. It's funny how easily the two can get confused.

So today I celebrated. I celebrated with the lack of snow, 3 weeks until I go home for Christmas, and the official start of my holiday season. Hello George Michael, I've missed you

In the past year and a half there was something that I have been seriously missing. Zheni Time. Loosely translated that means time with my ladies, NO BOYS ALLOWED. The fact that I need my girl time still seems like something my 13 year old self would mock. I spent my formative years around boys in Warhammer craft shops in the Village. Um who said that? Starting in high school girl time was like a secret ritual. Sneaking into each other's rooms after lights out, hanging around if you shared the same free periods. You know during girly stuff that you can't do when someone who isn't your best friend is around.

Zheni Time came at an opportune moment. One month into school, after the honeymoon period faded away when I learned that most of my classes worked on two volumes, Loud and "Good thing I keep tylenol in my desk"

Without Zheni Time loosing its mystique all I can divulge is that there were sweatpants, shopping, shameless dancing, eating that would probably a man never look at me the same way ever again, laughing, coffee drinking, libations, sleeping, and more eating.

I love Zheni Time

Lets do it again soon.

For those of you who have patiently followed my ramblings for the past year + months, it is no secret or surprise that the first year of school was "challenging" I use that as a euphemism for MISERABLE. After an amazing summer of travels, friends, and a lack of stress I hit a serious depression wall when faced with the impending doom of September 15th. Part of what I told myself I would do this year is stand up for myself. The atypical people pleaser, I knew that if I was going to stay in Bulgaria for another year I would have to find a way to make me happy. It ultimately came down to the choice of teaching 18 classes per week but teaching the 6th graders I taught last year again as 7th graders OR teaching 21 classes a week and working with a new batch of 6th graders. I had all of 30 seconds to make this decision so I went with the unknown. I know, it was tough, how was I to know if it would get any better?

I didn't. But it did.

For the first time I am at a loss of what to say. Usually I have tales of adversity, my struggles and what I've done to overcome them. Why my accomplishments, however small they may be, outweigh my setbacks, but after two days of school I have nothing to complain about. I hated, possibly envied, those volunteers here who loved their kids, loved their schools, talked about how great their lives were. We're all supposed to struggle through this together. It isn't supposed to be easy.

My first day of class I prepared for the worst. Fights. Name calling. Girls getting dragged out by their hair to fight in the bathroom. The normal things that happened during my first few weeks, if not days of school. Whereas I was hit with soda bottles, paper airplanes, and other various classroom weapons, this year I was shocked with their knowledge, enthusiasm, and good behavior. On my birthday, which today marks a lovely quarter century on this planet, I was presented with roses that a couple of girls picked for me. I've been told that I'm a good teacher. Last year it was all "I hate you" and "Kiss my penis".

If I even had one complaint about one of my 6th grade classes it is that one section is so ADD that they have trouble keeping on the task at hand. But they're kids! They are supposed to be inquisitive. Mind you the 8th graders are still as apathetic as ever. Learning is so not hot right now.

I know this is still only the beginning of the year but for the first time, in what feels like forever, I am optimistic without it being a kind of blind optimism.

GAME ON.

Where has this summer gone? September 1st marks the first day of "work". I use that term loosely as it's barely an hour long meeting but classes get doled out and agendas discussed before everyone heads to the cafe. I take this time to zone out as my mind takes too long to process Bulgarian conversations out of context. Instead I play my favorite look busy past time anagram game by taking a word inspired by the place I currently am. For example, Director: Dire, tore, tire, rod, direct, cite, etc. etc. etc.

After this first meeting day we aren't at school again until the 15th with classes beginning on the 16th.

It's been almost 3 months since I've taught a lesson. Probably 4-5 months since I've had a full week of school. It's always at this time of year that this commercial pops into my head.

The beginning of the school year is one of those things that no one is ever ready for but part of me, the optimistic part of me, is ready to start. So the optimistic part of me also wants to talk why the coming months are going to be the best ones yet....

Cooler days=being able to drink coffee in the morning without breaking into a sweat.

Not sweating all the time. Living in a cement bloc doesn't allow for much ventilation.

The smell of Autumn and the smell of everyone turning on their wood burning stoves.

Pumpkin EVERYTHING

Cardigans and Blazers. What?

Not feeling guilty/being able to go to bed at 9pm.

CHRISTMAS CHRISTMAS CHRISTMAS. Is that jumping the gun a bit?

So fare thee well summer. It's been fun. Play me out to this song

For those of you who don't know I took a brief hiatus from the BG and headed back to the land of the free and home of the brave. AMERICA.

The questions that most people seem to ask are generic but still the amazement that comes with it is genuine.

"How was it?"There are no words to describe how good it was being home. The best way to describe it was if I had been holding my breath for 13 months and when the plane landed in Newark I was finally able to exhale. I didn't think I would be so emotional, but broke down when I saw my mom for the first time. She quickly soothed me with a tall coffee light frappucino. She knows me too well.

Was it weird being back?Definitely not. It was weird how easy it was to slip back into my life. How simple it was to be back with my friends without skipping a beat. Knowing that even though I don't talk to them all the time it doesn't change how much I miss them, or how much they miss me. I'm truly lucky to have such wonderful people back home supporting me, I didn't think it would matter as much as it does. I wish I could have been home longer, I didn't get to spend nearly enough time with my favorites.

What did you eat? Did you eat Mexican?What didn't I eat?! Of course I ate Mexican! I think I ate about 3 pounds of guacamole and a burrito the size of my head. What surprised me is that I didn't eat fish. I've been a semi-vegetarian for about 14 years now but went ovo-lacto a year ago. I wondered if I would be tempted at all by the promise of wild salmon from my local farmers market but resisted. Oddly enough the hardest moment was seeing a tuna fish sandwich at Pax. Yeah I know. Of all the things I could crave, I really wanted that tuna.

Is it hard being back?Yes, definitely. But do I regret my decision to come to Bulgaria? No not at all. In fact, I think going home affirmed more than ever that I made the right decision. I was stuck in a life rut before I came to Bulgaria, being here only makes me see how much beauty, life, and creativity there is in New York. Before I wasn't sure if I wanted to be back there ever, but going home made me appreciate how much difference is celebrated in the city. In New York no one is stared at for being different, everyone is different. I know some people were worried that I wouldn't come back. I know I was worried that I wouldn't come back. I woke up every morning elated for the first week, then the second week I woke up every morning saying "I can't believe I have to go back to Bulgaria". However once I got back my perspective on everything changed. I was excited to see my friends and I actually got excited about starting my second year. I feel more confident in myself, my Bulgarian, and my abilities as a teacher, and I know that I can speak up more for what I believe in after having paid my dues for a year.

Also, and I know I say this all the time, the friends I've made here both American and Bulgarian keep me sane, keep me motivated, and keep me from taking the easy way out and getting that one way ticket back home.

Today marks one year as a Peace Corps Volunteer which means that this time next year I will be done. 365 days.

365 Days

Piece.

Of.

Torta

д

...That's the letter "d" in Bulgarian for some reason whenever I write it I can only think of

the Super Sockets from my favorite childhood game Bubble Bobble.

....Do you see it?

...When you're watching the Bulgarian equivalent of America's Funniest Home Videos and you're more impressed with the fact that they have a bathtub in their house rather than paying attention to the actual content.

....When you're watching a soap opera where one person is sick and the other one tries to force her to drink whiskey to feel better and that seems normal. And when she refuses you immediately know it's because she's not sick, she's pregnant.

....When you find validity in the statement "Pearl Harbor is better than Titanic."

...When you get into an argument over who is more attractive:Hristo Botev

ORVasil Levski

**My vote was for Levski.

Today was a magical day. I am DONE with my first year of teaching. I officially have to be at school on Monday and Tuesday to work on end of year reports but I was told that the children aren't expected to come to school. All of my grades are in. There were hugs there, were tears but now it is OVER.

This was pretty much my reaction as I departed from school:

Happy Summer!

This week has been rough.Rougher than most.I can't explain why but I've found myself getting angry and annoyed with everyone. Colleagues treating me like a dumb child. My students trying to bargain their way into better grades than they deserve. Being a girl who went through puberty in New York, I have a thick skin when it comes to boys and the comments they make. It's degrading and upsetting to a point where I don't want to leave my apartment some days in fear that I'll hear someone yell "Kiss my penis"....and that's not even the worst of it. I think part of this funk is that I also realized that soon will mark the longest that I have lived continuously anywhere since I was 13 years old. I went away to boarding school coming for holidays and summer, followed by college following the same routine. I never spent more than 9 months in any one dwelling. The same followed after college. I went from New York to Buenos Aires to New York to DC to New York and there I stayed for a year waiting for my Peace Corps invitation. Around that 9 month mark (about the same amount of time I've been at my site) I started to get that itch. That vagabondy-wanderlusty-itch. I started applying for other jobs, I looked into going back to South America or Spain. To have that excitement of going somewhere new and different is exhilarating and addictive.

I grumbled to myself as I went to meet my tutor. Where as my life was once exciting and fresh, everything seems so mundane and banal now. See I'm in a funk I know. Things turned around a bit when I met up with my tutor. As she was making dinner she gave me an assignment to write a postcard to her pretending that I was in America over Christmas and New Years the post card went something like this:

Dear Slava,How are you? I'm fine. Last night I decorated the Christmas Tree with my family and then ate a lot of food. My mom made a cake. I'm now the fattest woman in the world. What are you going to do for New Year's? I'm going to a party with my friends and we're going to drink champagne all night. I miss you! Send my greetings to your mother, father and Vicky (the cat)KissesEllie.

This letter ,I kid you not, brought her mother to tears. She acted like I was leaving tomorrow. She made me promise to call and write. I told her I would, but that I wasn't even leaving until next July, She dried her eyes. I thought to myself as we were sitting around the table having dinner and watching the news "I'm going to miss Bulgaria" Well that was a first. I never thought I would miss Bulgaria. I thought I would live my two years here, look back on it fondly but readily and happily move on. I think about the time I spent in Greece, Argentina, Costa Rica, Italy, and so on. I love all of those places, but I don't miss them. When I was in most of those places I was more likely a glorified tourist. I had a place to live but it was only temporary and I knew that. 2 years is not temporary. At least not for me. The excitement that comes with travel is amazing but what I'm doing here and now is more than that. It's settling in. It's making friends. It's getting adopted by a surrogate family. While I think my life is anything but invigorating now, I think that one day in the distant future I will look back at this time as possibly being the most stirring event to ever have happened to me. I guess we will see....

As an ode to such time passers/wasters (whatever your perspective) such as texts from last night and FML I want to acknowledge some of the funnier moments from my friends back home.

it's suppsoed to be 89 degrees todayi'm going out for drinks with my team after workI FORGOT TO PUT ON DEODORANT THIS MORNINGgreat.

Anyways, when I introduced myself to her mans (forgot his name) and said I was your friend, he said he knew all about me....including us running naked down the streets of FI. I love that both our mothers continue to relive this story to every person that has anything to do with Fire Island as though we did it last week. I mean, I also used to shit myself...but its not something I go advertising.

Guess what, I'm going to a party in Zurich tomorrow night dressed as Maverick from Top Gun!! (80's icons). Thought you'd love that little gem!

http://neatorama.cachefly.net/images/2009-01/koala-water-bucket.jpgNote: My response was "That looks like what I do my laundry in"

i really want pizza. after having seomthing as sweet as this, i need something savory. thus begins the never-ending cycle of me just eating my way through the day. awesome.

Other than that just looking forward to the time when I get you stateside and we have a dance party to rival all others.

....I'll see you guys in 2 1/2 weeks but keep these gems coming. They make my day!

I've let it be known on numerous occasions I'm in no way a master chef. At home PPC (Pre-Peace Corps) I had moments of excellence but those were mostly in part to Trader Joe's doing most of the leg work for me. Also the amount of kitchen tools I had at my disposal made cooking less of a culinary art and more of a paint by numbers activity. Here, I am equipped with an oven that looks like a Hasbro on steroids Easy Bake Oven

Measuring cups are also something I lack here. So I do a lot of eye balling and guess work which usually works out fine except for the Snickerdoodle Thanksgiving fiasco of 2009.

Another problem is that I hate doing dishes. In the winter it was out of survival as I didn't have heat or hot water in my kitchen. I could barely wash a glass without my fingers going miserably numb running into my room and hiding in my sleeping bag for the rest of the night.

Today though I managed to make dinner and dessert successfully, and by successfully I mean I made dinner, ate dinner, and then didn't have to eat pepto tablets for dessert. I've decided to share these recipes with you, and how I've adapted to my Peace Corps lifestyle.

Main Course: Roasted Eggplant and Zucchini. Ingredients:Eggplant or Aubergine depending on how long you've been teaching British English in your classroom.ZucchiniOlive oil or the cheap mix of olive oil and "clean oil" that I got from the CBASaltLemon Juice

Pre-Heat your oven to around 230 C. Also if you have the capability heat from both top and bottom.Cut Eggplant length wise and score it. Meaning I kind of cut it with my dull knife but not all the way through. Sprinkle some salt on it and let it sit there until Megavideo has told you have watched 72 minutes of video today. Wring out eggplant or blot with paper towel. Cut up zucchini then coat both of them in olive oil.Line a pan with tin foil! This is key as you won't have to wash the pan when you're done. Put in the oven checking on them after about 15 minutes to stir. Roast until desired consistency I like my food practically charred. Sprinkle with salt and lemon juice to taste.

Dessert: Vegan Chocolate Cake.Ingredients:Cocoa PowderFlourSugarOilWarm WaterSaltBaking SodaVinegarVanilla

Pre-oven to about 170-180 C. I'm still working on which temperature is the best for this. This is where it gets tricky since I don't have measure cups, so I work more with proportions.Take standard glass and fill it 1/3 with cocoa powder. Then add 1 1/4 flour, 1 cup sugar. 1/3 cup oil. 1 cup warm water. Again since I don't get warm water in my kitchen I get it from the bathroom. A little salt and a little baking soda. A couple of splashes of vinegar...trust me you won't taste it later. Then one of those containers of the butter/vanilla flavoring.

Put in oven. Go take a shower until your hot water runs out, then get dressed. By the time you're finished doing that the cake should be done. Let cool or burn your fingers while snagging a bite.

Enjoy!

Whelp.

I've been here a year. One year. A year? Sometimes it feels like I just got here, other days I can't even remember what America is like. I think we all know how challenging this year has been, firsts of everything usually are. So I thought instead of dwelling in self-reflection I'd dedicate this post to a couple of my favorite "seconds" as I look forward to my second year in the BG.

Second CD ever purchased: Now & Then Soundtrack. What little girl doesn't remember loving this movie?

Second Choice High School & College: I think the saying "first is the worst second is the best" is fitting when it comes to Kent and Colby. These are two places that I still consider to be home and think they were the best fit for me. I miss all of you dearly and there are few things I wouldn't do for a sandwich from Stroble's or Riverside/Big G's right now. Seriously.

Second time I ever left the country: Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica.

Second city I ever lived in (post-college): Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Second year out of college was spent repeating. Thank you for calling Anthropologie 5th Avenue, this is Elani. Not the most glamorous job, especially when you see "ladies" get crazy when they think they see a sale rack. However, laughing at the situation with all of my favorites in the stock room made it worth it. First day? Thank you.

Second concert ever attended: Dispatch .

Second cat owned: Doc. Other aliases include "No Diggity, no Doc", "Diggity", "Digs", "Monkey" and "Baby Cat". My companion during my post-workout ritual of eating breakfast while Maury Povich revealed paternity tests. It's his favorite.

My mom's second choice for my name: Elani. It was A LOT better than the alternative.

We may fight, cry, bicker, and gossip but we also laugh until it hurts, remember it's silly to hold grudges about anything insignificant (in all likelihood it probably is), and dance party our hearts out. Here is to our SECOND year in Bulgaria, I look forward to starting it with people who I once thought of as friends but now I think of as my family.

на гости "Na gosti"

Directly translated it means "on guests" but here in Bulgaria we volunteers know it as "come over for some tea but we're going to sit here for at least 5 hours and I'm going to feed you until you can barely move and/or breathe, make you drink rakia, and then send you home with some more food....and we'll do it again tomorrow"

The gosti is something I've avoided. I guess in the traditional sense. Na gostis are something I feel like I'm usually tricked into not knowing that I'll be with someone for hours, thinking we're just going to have a casual chat and tea. I still can't fathom why anyone would want to spend hours listening to me say da da (yes yes) over and over and speaking my broken bulgarski. I faux-gosti practically daily under the guise of tutoring. We study for an hour then watch TV and eat for 2. It's enjoyable because TV is there to help break the awkward silences and my tutor speaks near perfect English after working at McDonalds for 3 summers in Montana. Today though was a full blown na gosti. On my way out of school a colleague asked me if I would like to go with her. Not really knowing where we were going I said sure. She told me to drop off my stuff and meet me outside of my apartment. I should have known what I was in for then. This woman I've really grown to like. She's one of the few teachers at my school who isn't afraid to talk to me and invites me to do things with her and her husband. Last weekend she took me to a monastery and an old village for a nice day trip. It was a beautiful day and I was afforded the luxury of driving in a car. This teacher of mine is a Biology teacher, primarily, but has taught a variety of subjects and has been teaching for 27 years. I think the reason why I like her so much is that she exemplifies what a good teacher should be. She loves all things science and loves sharing her knowledge with anyone who will listen, in this case me. We stop and look at different plants and she explains what they are, where they're from, and how they can be used. If she hears a bird she can identify it only by its call. I can only liken her excitement and thorough knowledge to the way I am able to spot Anthropologie clothes on television. She's so passionate about biology and I can tell the frustration that she has with the students. We talk for hours. About the differences between American schools and Bulgarian schools, about whether or not I'll stay in Bulgaria for longer than two years. I forget that this idea doesn't seem implausible to someone who is from Bulgaria. I tell her all the thing I like about Bulgaria but I also I tell her it's hard and that I probably won't. I tell her how much I miss my privacy, how I miss my anonymity. In a small town everyone knows who you are and what you do. She gets that. Our compromise was me buying a house here so I can come back and visit.

She tells me what life was like during the change from communism to capitalism. She's in her 40s so she knows what life was like before the changes not like the younger generation, my generation, now. We were sitting outside in her garden, not something uncommon for a Bulgarian family. Everyone seems to have a garden. She tells me during communism that everyone had two jobs. The work that they did for everyone else, and then they came home and worked in the gardens for themselves. It makes sense and it's something that I never even thought of. Whatever they produced from their gardens was theirs and theirs alone. It seems like a lot of work, especially to me, who has subsisted on yogurt and granola for the past 10 months, but I understand.

The rain starts to come in and I decide to make a break for it. 5 1/2 hours later I've eaten 2 meals and 2 desserts. She asks me if I want more. I politely decline, fortunately I was wearing my spandex however even those were becoming uncomfortably tight. Still before I leave I'm told it's not healthy to only eat yogurt. But I like yogurt! Two jars of canned food are thrust into my hands. They were canned from her garden last year. After only a slight protest on my part I accept them. I tell her I'll be back soon and that I want to help her with her canning this summer. She laughs and tells me she enjoys my company. However I think she was laughing because she really can't wait to see this American girl make an attempt at gardening. If it wasn't why she was laughing, it should be.

Instant Pick Me Up

Depeche Mode - Just Can't Get Enough (Music Video) from Depeche Mode on Vimeo.

My life changed dramatically 2 years ago. 2 years ago today. 2 years ago and 4 days later I decided that I needed a change, I decided to apply for the Peace Corps. For those of you who know me, I think I come off relatively carefree, for those of you who really know me I think we both know that's a lie. I'm a planner, and extremely circumspect in making decisions. I play it safe, doing what is expected of me. Whose expectations I'm trying to live up to I'm still not sure but I feel like there is some unattainable goal of being the perfect everything. Daughter. Sister. Friend. It's silly to think that perfection exists and it's even sillier to think that my parents expected it of me. My dad believed I could change the world. Now while I'm not expecting to do that, at least not yet, is there any more special than that? To have someone believe in you so much? I'm not like the men in my family, I'm not the dreamer that they are, I'm pragmatic and complacent. I was looking for a desk job that I may or may not have loved, but I would do it because I work hard, I succeed, sometimes forgetting that there is a life out there to live.

I got my wake up call.

The thing about being a dreamer is that your life is filled with highs and lows, extreme ecstasy and turmoil. I learned that dreamers also break your heart which is probably why I prefer moderation. But here I am almost one year later, still in disbelief that I got on that plane. I thought there would be one reason or another to back out, that my pragmatism would convince me that I was making a mistake. Who goes to Bulgaria? Are you really making the right decision? Aren't you going to be 26 when you get back? Does that leave time for grad school? Law school? Establishing yourself in a career before you want to get married and have kids? Shut up. I'm 24. There is no better time than now and there is nothing else that I would rather be doing.

So dad, here's to you. Here's to breakfast for dinner, to coming to my field hockey, basketball, and lacrosse games and heckling refs (sometimes heckling teenage girls), to talking your way out of a speeding ticket that should have gotten the car impounded and you taken to jail when I was late to practice on the way home from a college interview, to buying lotto tickets for every occasion, to letting me throw parties at your apartment even if my friends made a mess. Here's to showing me it's okay to have dreams and do something out of the ordinary. I will never be the same as you, but I now know I can be more like you without losing who I am and who I aspire to be.

I know a while back I griped about train travel. Now, it's probably one of my favorite things about being in Bulgaria. Yes, it's long and seemingly cumbersome at times but I feel closer to the wanderlusters that came before me. Most recently I returned from a 7 hour trip from another volunteers house. 7 hours. That is almost as long as it will take me to get to America. However I can't complain as I didn't even have to travel the farthest. We do that here. Travel great distances just for the chance to hang out with other volunteers. We pack ourselves into each others apartments claiming beds, floor space, couches, kitchens, balconies....Wherever there is room. I never regret it. I'm lucky here, I have really good friends. I love laughing and for some reason being around these fools invokes some sort of deep guttural laugh I never knew existed inside of me.

The way back home this past weekend was more of the more enjoyable trips I've had. Relatively speaking, I'm always excited to go somewhere but rarely excited to journey back home. I ran into a friend on the train and we went in search of a train car with more leg room. We were hesitant to join what my friend dubbed as "The Grumpy Old Men" car, but we did and spent the next 5 hours with two men that bore a similar resemblance to these guys:

One of the men was the most talkative Bulgarian I've ever come across. I don't think he stopped speaking during the 5 hours I was on the train. Our car filled up some so I was able to take naps while he regaled newcomers with his stories or interrogated them accordingly. Our conversation jumped from questions about America, to Bulgarian children's songs, to questioning why I'm a vegetarian, to a lesson on Bulgarian history. It was ridiculous, and I'm lucky that someone could share in the absurdity that the situation was. I've never had anyone pantomime snails for me before, it was incredible to watch. But this is what makes train travel exciting. Isn't that why we travel? Isn't that why we joined the Peace Corps? Not to just see the world, but to live it, to experience it. No one interacts on airplanes, the setting is hardly conducive to it, here you're sitting face to face with mere inches between you and the next person. It's more intimate. I think what I found most fascinating was towards the end of this journey one of the men got off and it was only then that I realized that the two old men had only just met. They seemed like old friends but their friendship was only that of however many hours. When I got off the train we said our goodbyes and that was that. No trying to exchange phone numbers or emails, no concerns about whether or not he was going to try and find me on facebook. We left each other taking with us only the stories of people we met on our travels.

Watching this clip made me think of the times that people made fun of my brother. It's only okay if I do it, when other people do it I get offended. David Cameron did you really have to go there?

I'll be honest, there are many Bulgarian things that I don't understand. Why does shaking your head mean yes while nodding your head means no? Why do they like to serve food that should be hot cold, but will not hesitate to microwave pickles which should be cold? Why does my school give 15-20 min breaks between classes so kids can get food but then are shocked when the kids are late since 736 people are all standing in line trying to get snacks at the same time. I don't understand any of this. However the latest fetish to boggle my mind is mostly occurring in America and its name is Chatroulette. The basic premise of this website is that you can randomly video chat with strangers all across the world, clicking next as you please. A friend of mine mentioned that he had seen a satire of this site on South Park and had to check it out. He was so shocked and horrified that a group of us had to see what the fuss was all about. After a few libations we all gathered in front of the computer and decided to test our fate. We were so excited to see people at first but were being quickly nexted by one person to the next until we landed on a girl in a very compromising position. I expected to see men being voyeurs but not a lady. She remained this way until she dexterously used her foot to click the next button without every revealing her face. Also I should have been careful what I wished for because it seemed like from then on out every guy was sitting with the camera positioned at seductively to accomplish what I don't know. It just seemed to ridiculous to me that I couldn't stop laughing. Maybe I just don't have that voyeuristic instinct in me. I've taken an accidental foray into this arena when I didn't realize for about a week after moving into my apartment that my curtains were indeed see through. I immediately bought blinds, I didn't install a webcam and make a show of it.

Luckily the internet went down and we focused our attention back to more productive activities and conversations, which is what friends are supposed to do when they are together. I think our biggest problem with this site and the people on it, who are mostly American, is that they have the opportunity to go out and meet and interact with each other. Living abroad in small towns we don't have the same luxury and use the internet as an outlet to keep our relationships and friendship alive. It seems that this site is just another hinderance to actual human connection. I wonder what they'll think up next.

By now you've all probably heard me rant and hate on Stephanie Myers. I've found an ally in this fight for the mind of the teenager in an article recently published on The Daily Beast.

How to Make American Teens Smarter

First of all, if you don't know The Daily Beast, check it out. It's smart, entertaining, informative, and while it does have a liberal slant there are plenty of conservative opinions offered.

Anyhow,I'm so glad to know that I'm not alone in people so sick of the "Harry Potter Defense". When someone argues that at least we're getting kids to read. I don't buy it. Reading Twilight does not count as reading any more than reading the back of a cereal box. I think part of the reason why this topic infuriates me to no end is the fact that I am now a teacher and see first hand what this is doing to children in Bulgaria. Last week I gave a test in which they had to spell words in Bulgarian. Some of them failed to spell "fruit" and "rice" correctly, points for me for recognizing that they were spelled incorrectly. I know the brain isn't technically a muscle (thank you wikianswer for making me not look stupid), but it still needs to be challenged and stimulated. I've taken to the extremely dorky habit of reading with post-its instead of bookmarks so I can write down words that I don't know the exact definition of and look them up later. Am I taking the GRE soon? Yes. Will I continue this practice when I'm done? Maybe. Do I hope that I will? Definitely.

I don't know if there was a point to this post other than me wanting to stick it to Stephanie Myers and her battered wife at 18 heroine. Seriously Bella, if your boyfriend finds it hard not to KILL you that's when it's time to get out of the relationship. I'm pretty sure Scruff McGruff had a PSA about that.

Me: This test is going to be easy breezy.

Kaloyan: Freezy

Ivan: Cheesy

Tsvetomir: Young Jeezy

Like you wouldn't die laughing. I live for little moments like this...

So today is apparently not just a Bulgarian holiday but an international holiday. Who knew? I dedicate today to the most absolute amazing woman I know. My mom. It may be cliché but it's true. What can I say? She's awesome. So mom know that I love you and that this song will forever make me think of you.

The alarm clock sounds. 6:50. Today I won't be late for school I hate being late. 7:59 I'm greeted by the kind old man who sits at the entrance of the school corralling the youngest students of the school. He attempts to get them to stop running. His attempts are futile. He says he will beat them tomorrow. Maybe he isn't as kind as I thought. 8:00. Leaving the oasis of calm to venture into the corridors of my school. It's immediately like stepping through the looking glass. I never understood why my colleagues would become so livid when students ask for them, knocking harshly on the door of the teacher's lounge. I do now. They are two separate worlds, one is a place of escape from the other. I sit there, mostly listening to gossip, the latest recipes, or the general frustrations that are common at this time of year. The corridor is a completely new world. Lord of the Flies springs to mind. "Hello Ms." One of my students. He has a black eye again. I wonder where he got it this time. He lives at the orphanage, but I think that's the least of his problems. He asks me to translate something for him. It's the letter "m". He asks me when I'm going to come back to the orphanage. I tell him I don't know. I turn to walk away as he's asking me something else, I pretend to not understand. I feel guilty for doing this but he frustrates me. I try to be patient because I know he doesn't understand respect and social cues , he was never taught and has never learned, but somedays I just can't. 8:05. I prepare myself for my most difficult class. I talk to their class teacher. He's a hoary, stout, man. A pensioner forced out of retirement. He will retire again after this year. He tells me that that they're stupid, that they're lazy. I wonder how many times he told them this before they started to believe him. I wonder how many times he will have to tell me this before I do. I'm greeted at the the door, by 26 rambunctious 6th graders. Good Morning. How are you? Do you have your homework? I say this every day. Repetition is key. I repeat repetition is key."Gosposho!! I have homework" He's the only one. I try and decipher what it is that he has pieced together. It was a fill in the blank activity. I'm not sure how he even found these words. I realize he filled in the blanks with the instructions from a previous assignment. I ask him to read the instructions in Bulgarian. He struggles. He can't. Unfortunately, and much to my dismay, this is not uncommon. I struggle. The room is so loud, too loud. I promised myself I wouldn't yell. I try to teach, they do everything they can not to learn. There's a birthday. I'm offered chocolate. He says something, the class laughs. I don't understand. I'm told he said "Take it my sweet little angel". My authority is continuously undermined. We continue. Tensions are mounting, I'm not sure why but from months of not understanding their words, I've come to understand their body language. Quicker than I can reach them they begin to fight. Unfortunately, and much to my dismay, this is not uncommon. They've learned I'm deceptively strong and as unrelenting as they are. I hold the larger one back, he fights because he can, the smaller one is wiping away tears, he fights because he has to. 8:45. Exhale after it feels like I've been holding my breathe for 45 minutes. 9:00, 10:00, 11:00, 12:00, 1:00...The classes are a blur. 2:45 I go up to the orphanage. We color or I help them with homework. They are so excited to see me, they are so excited to have someone notice them. It's exhausting but the good kind of exhausting. The "what I came to Bulgaria to do" exhausting. Make a quick get away during their snack time at 4:00. 5:00 I study Bulgarian. Once a tedious chore now keeps me sane. My tutor's family has made me their surrogate daughter. I think I'd forgotten what it was like to have someone care for you, have someone care about you. They make my days here worthwhile. We talk about work, we talk about school, we talk about anything. We talk. We watch Wheel of Fortune in Bulgarian. I'm excited because I can play. The beauty is that you just say letters. I can do that. We watch the news while we eat dinner as a family. I think my last family dinner was sometime in the early to mid 90s. 8:00 I return home satiated mentally and physically. I feel energized and recharged, not knowing if tomorrow will be better but at least still hoping that it will be.

Obichate li salam? A question that I get often is "Do you love salami?" It's usually from the kid in the front row that still seems fascinated with the fact that he has an American teacher (even though he probably still thinks I'm from England). He is repulsed by the surfeit of produce that his grandmother grows in her garden but loves kufte, kebabche, salam, and my personal favorite, universal meat. His mouth salivates just at the thought of these words and as quickly as I hear his arteries harden I also hear his little heart break when I utter three little words. I'm a vegetarian. He looks confused at first like he didn't understand what I said, then that look turns to incredulity. But...but Gosposho why? Where do I begin? There is hardly a paucity of reasons but I don't know what would make the most cogent argument for this wide-eyed carnivore. I start with, "I think it's environmentally responsible..."Before I can even finish that thought he is asking me if class is almost over. I jump to my next point. Well, Ashley (the other American in my town) is also a vegetarian. He responds Gosposho are all Americans vegetarians? Points for remembering that I'm American but obviously he has never been to this site. I come from the country that founded McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, Dunkin' Donuts, and the Bacon & Chicken Narwhal. I contemplate trying to explain the "what right do you have to kill a sentient being argument" as I look down at my sheepskin boots I figure being a hypocrite in addition to being a vegetarian would not garner me any support. After an oddly pleasant yet exasperating conversation everyone is rustling their papers and fidgeting in their seats waiting for me to say the magic word..... "свободно" cvobodno, free, that will surely break the invisible chains I have on them. Finally I answer with the most simple straight forward and unarguable point that I can make "Because I don't like it". He laughs shakes his head and tells me I'm not normal. I don't mind. Maybe one day he'll change his mind and take some of this when I offer it.

Alright Kids,

I know it has been a long year and I know you're tired but I need your help. Yes, me your teacher, needs your help. I know it's supposed to be the other way around but help me help you. Yes I know that was awkward and cliché but it's true. How can you do that? That's an excellent question. Let me tell you it's very easy. Listen. Not just to me but to each other. Respect. I'm shocked that you still don't understand what this word means in English or Български. You have grown up together, you see each other every day and you still think it's okay to throw around racial slurs and fight with each other. I'm sorry that you've been taught this but in my classroom I will not accept or allow this behavior. Respect my time. We only have 45 minutes (more like 40 since I always let you leave 5 minutes early), you won't starve to death, pee your pants, or go into severe nicotine withdrawal in that amount of time. Be patient with me. I know it's not fair that I can really only speak English and that many of you were stuck with an absentee teacher last year if you even studied English at all. If I could speak perfect Bulgarian to you and help you understand I would, but in the mean time please forgive my solecisms and don't make me feel like a complete idiot for saying "homemade" instead of "homework". I do the same for you.

We're in this together. Enough jabbering, let's learn some English.

The most aptly put statement on life in Bulgaria

"Our life is like the black and white part of an infomercial....Cut to a PCV saying 'There's got to be a better way."

...It's funny because it's true. P.S. Blessed be our regional/semi-regional friends

With tomorrow being the last day of my first semester I think it's time to stop and take note of some pretty important self-realizations that have occurred.

1.) I'm not nearly as patient as I thought I was but surprisingly more patient than I ever thought I could be.... especially when the kids get into battle mode and use chairs as weapons.

2.) Even though your friends are scattered throughout an entire country, just know that somewhere at the exact same time another PCV is watching the Jersey Shore.

3.) Winter sucks, that's not just a local phenomenon. Yes it's cold but that's what happens in winter people. It's no reason to ET. Besides being so bored and cold can be channeled into other more productive activities like studying for the GRE.

4.) I don't like studying for the GRE. I guess that's not so much a self-realization as much as a statement.

5.) I don't really have anything else to add, in fact I was done at #2 but I thought I needed to have at least 5 things to make this seem semi-valid.

Lets call a spade a spade.

I can't cook.

I watch my site mate cook up magical feasts fit for kings as I look over my own lugubrious meal. Tonight it's an Asian fusion combo of broccoli and zucchini. I call it "Asian" because I put soy sauce on it and "fusion" because I burned it and most of it fused to the bottom of the pan. I've been getting bored making what any other sane person would buy. My speciality is granola, I make a mean mix but instead of focusing my energy on making breakfast for 3 meals a day I thought it would be nice to incorporate something green. I think this realization kicked in a little while back when were were forced to take a survey on everything we spend money on in a 30 day period. In 30 days I ate over 60 containers of yogurt. No, correction. I bought 60 containers of yogurt, I remember that month some were gifted to me as well by my tutor's mom. At 400g per container I don't even want to do that math.

I've always considered myself an independent person, but being in Bulgaria, living alone completely changes that meaning of independence. Growing up in New York it meant being the person who would order take out on the phone because no one else would do it, here I don't think they even comprehend delivery service. At the cafes in my town getting a menu isn't even automatically a given, you have to ask for it.

Being here I'm forced to take care of myself in a whole different way. The existential experience I had in the supermarket oddly sums up my life in Bulgaria and Peace Corps service so far. I am a person with free will but I must work within the means that I have. While there are a limited amount of resources here I just have to be creative and resourceful to make the most of what I do have. And yes, this conversation was had in my head over the frozen vegetable section at the supermarket trying to figure out what I could make with the array of condiments in my refrigerator.

Happy New Year Everyone!