Dear Reader, the first anniversary of my arrival in Bulgaria came and went on Tuesday. I wasn't around to commemorate it, and since I commemorated the year in a New Year's blog, I won't repeat myself. But it's been a year within these borders, and that friends is a long time.
So, on Wednesday I had to go to Sofia AGAIN to have an old filling refilled. I was able to take the second bus from Straldja at 6.30 a.m. instead of the 3.45 a.m. one...Travelling in daylight was fun! There are all sorts of cool monuments to Bulgarian national heros and communism along the way. Anyway, let me relate the day's events under smaller sub-headings:
Just Easing You In
I arrived in Sofia slightly behind schedule, so rather than risk it taking public transport to a far-off and strange place and getting lost, I decided to take a cab. I found one at the train station, and we began on our way towards the hotel.
Over the course of conversation, the fact that I was going to see a dentist came up. It also came up that I live in Straldja, and the cab driver looked at me confusedly.
"You came all the way to Sofia to see a dentist?" he asked me.
"Well, this is the dentist my organization uses," I told him.
"Open your mouth," he told me.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"Let me see your teeth," he said.
I gave him a big, toothy smile.
"AH!" he said. "You're teeth are fine. What do you need a dentist for?"
Not knowing the words for 'cavity' and 'filling,' I just said, "One of them hurts."
He just sort of clicked his tounge and kept driving.
When we arrived at the hotel, we found all of the roads in blocked and police men swarming the place. Apparently some of the NATO folk were going to be guests at the hotel and they were setting up security a day early.
Inside the hotel was a security point complete with a metal detector and an X-ray machine. The guard asked for verification I needed to be at the hotel, and I simply said, "Um, I have a meeting with the dentist..." Amazingly, he waved me through.
Mr. Crazy Swedish Dentist
I have already introduced you to Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist...This time, I met her boss. The man himself. The Swedish Dentist.
I had heard stories of this guy. I had heard that he had a diamond on one of his front teeth. I had heard he was wild. I had heard other things not appropriate to retell here.
I found all of these things are true. He has the same too-fast, slightly-stuttery English that Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist does, and crazy light-brown hair.
He had me sit down in the chair, and started to prep me for the procedure.
"I-I-I-I-I vill num-b the er-r-r-r-ria around da toot," he said. "I-i-i-i-it vill b-b-b-be too painful if I-I-I-I dun't."
He proceded to tell me that if I felt pain, I was to make some sort of sound with my throat. He demonstrated one, which I can only liken to how I imagine a dying elk would sound. He, being Swedish, would probably know this sound pretty well.
Then it was time to start. He gave me my shot, and we waited for a few moments for it to take effect. Once my lip felt swollen, he began his grinding and pressing and digging and scratching. Because it makes me woozy to think about it, I won't describe it in detail...But you know.
How to Speak Bulgarian with a Numb Mouth
The best advice I can offer in this regard is JUST DON'T. Once the filling was fixed, I left the office and made my way to the taxi queue to head up to the office.
When I got into the first cab in line, I proceeded to give the cab driver instructions. In giving them, I managed to spray half a gallon of spit all over the poor guy (who, by the way, was one of the most attractive young men I've seen in a long, long time.) To make matters worse, he seemed to want to hold a conversation, and I, who could still not feel my mouth, found it almost impossible to form Bulgarian words without giving a weather report. After what seemed an eternity, he dropped me off at the office and I made my way through the gate.
Now, I live far away from Sofia. In theory, I should be one of those complete strangers to the folks at the Sofia office. However, when the guard on duty saw me walk through the gate digging in my wallet for my ID card, he waved me through.
"I remember you!" he said to me. "How are you?"
Suprised he had remembered me, I told him I was fine. Immediately he noticed something was up and asked me, "What's wrong with your mouth?"
I told him I had just been to the dentist, and he chuckled.
In the office I stuck to English, which was hard enough to form. After a few short minutes I headed back to the bus station to catch the bus home.
Attractive Man, Unattractive Bling
So on the bus home they were training this new guy to work as the "steward." He had been on my bus in the morning, but I had been too sleepy to notice him.
He was a cute dude. And I don't mean "cute for Bulgaria." He was a good medium height, a solid medium build. Chocolate brown eyes. Almost-blond hair. Attired in a nice J. Crew-style sweater and not-too-tight jeans. And wearing the ugliest gold watch I have ever seen.
I have never seen a peice of jewlery that looked more like it had come out of a plastic egg from a vending machine in a supermarket parking lot than this thing. It was huge and shiny and really discouraging. As much as I just wanted to appreciate looking at this very Western-style guy sitting opposite me, my eye kept being drawn to that monstrosity on his wrist. It was tragic, it really was.
After 5 1/2 hours, I made it home. All tolled it had been 11 hours on a bus, and I was exhausted. With any luck, I will not have to make that trip again in a while.....
Friday, April 28, 2006
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Великден
So it is Velikden (literally "Great Day") which is Orthodox Easter.
In the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, the most traditional of Easter services is actually at midnight on Saturday (well, the start of Sunday). It is a candelight service that put me in mind very much of my Christmas Eve services, only with the added benefit of Bulgarian Chaos.
I met my counterpart, Rosie, outside of my bloc at 11:15 p.m. We walked to the church, which was being protected by two police cars (apparently crowd control). There were swarms of people all over the place, most of them carrying the orange candles always available at these churches. Rosie and I went inside, bought some candles, and managed to shove our way to the alter to light them. (I lit one small one for each member of my immediate family and carried one slightly larger one.)
Then we stood and waited....And waited....And no one seemed to know when anything would happen. Or even WHAT would happen next. After about 15 minutes of everyone standing in a mob inside the church, dripping wax all over, the priest came out and pressed his way through the crowd to the outside. We all followed, pushing and shoving one another, and pushing and shoving the people trying to get inside the church. We were all going to exactly the same place, and we all had candles in our hands, but apparently the pushing and shoving is just a cultural thing that needs to happen. Even when it can result in burns.
Anyway, the priest led us on a walk around the church 3 times. I have still to find someone who can explain why they do this, but I will. Once we made it around, the priest set up camp right outside the door and began to chant. No one was really listening, and people were pushing past him to go in and out of the church. After a few minutes of this, Rosie said it was over and we tried to walk all the way home with our candles lit. I made it to the benches outside of my bloc, which was impressive. I think she made it all the way.
Anyway, I came home and went to bed. The next day, Velikden, was a lovely spring Sunday. The highlight of the day was watching the beginnings of a wedding from my balcony. One of the girls from the business center got married, and the beginning part of Bulgarian weddings looks like so much fun!
First, the whole of the groom's family parades from the groom's house to the bride's house (in this case, she lived in the apartment building next to mine.) They play the guida (Bulgarian bagpipes) and drums and the women horo all the way...Along the way the maid of honor and best man, who will later become the couple's children's godparents, join the parade.
When they arrive at the bride's house, the groom and his immediate family go up to her door and a ritual is performed...I have heard various accounts of this part though I know it includes the groom offering the bride's father money, the father refusing, the groom offering more, and so on until they reach an agreement. Then the bride is brought out, and the dancing starts again for a bit (this time I think it is just to show the bride off to her neighbors.) Then they all parade and dance to the center of town where they go to the municipality building and sign the papers, then to the reception hall where they party to all hours of the night.
And that's a Bulgarian wedding. It is less formal and regimented than American weddings, but I don't know, it's more soulful. It's a true celebration of the community, and the bride and groom are not just the ones on display amongst the guests...It is their special day all over town. It's just...FUN.
In the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, the most traditional of Easter services is actually at midnight on Saturday (well, the start of Sunday). It is a candelight service that put me in mind very much of my Christmas Eve services, only with the added benefit of Bulgarian Chaos.
I met my counterpart, Rosie, outside of my bloc at 11:15 p.m. We walked to the church, which was being protected by two police cars (apparently crowd control). There were swarms of people all over the place, most of them carrying the orange candles always available at these churches. Rosie and I went inside, bought some candles, and managed to shove our way to the alter to light them. (I lit one small one for each member of my immediate family and carried one slightly larger one.)
Then we stood and waited....And waited....And no one seemed to know when anything would happen. Or even WHAT would happen next. After about 15 minutes of everyone standing in a mob inside the church, dripping wax all over, the priest came out and pressed his way through the crowd to the outside. We all followed, pushing and shoving one another, and pushing and shoving the people trying to get inside the church. We were all going to exactly the same place, and we all had candles in our hands, but apparently the pushing and shoving is just a cultural thing that needs to happen. Even when it can result in burns.
Anyway, the priest led us on a walk around the church 3 times. I have still to find someone who can explain why they do this, but I will. Once we made it around, the priest set up camp right outside the door and began to chant. No one was really listening, and people were pushing past him to go in and out of the church. After a few minutes of this, Rosie said it was over and we tried to walk all the way home with our candles lit. I made it to the benches outside of my bloc, which was impressive. I think she made it all the way.
Anyway, I came home and went to bed. The next day, Velikden, was a lovely spring Sunday. The highlight of the day was watching the beginnings of a wedding from my balcony. One of the girls from the business center got married, and the beginning part of Bulgarian weddings looks like so much fun!
First, the whole of the groom's family parades from the groom's house to the bride's house (in this case, she lived in the apartment building next to mine.) They play the guida (Bulgarian bagpipes) and drums and the women horo all the way...Along the way the maid of honor and best man, who will later become the couple's children's godparents, join the parade.
When they arrive at the bride's house, the groom and his immediate family go up to her door and a ritual is performed...I have heard various accounts of this part though I know it includes the groom offering the bride's father money, the father refusing, the groom offering more, and so on until they reach an agreement. Then the bride is brought out, and the dancing starts again for a bit (this time I think it is just to show the bride off to her neighbors.) Then they all parade and dance to the center of town where they go to the municipality building and sign the papers, then to the reception hall where they party to all hours of the night.
And that's a Bulgarian wedding. It is less formal and regimented than American weddings, but I don't know, it's more soulful. It's a true celebration of the community, and the bride and groom are not just the ones on display amongst the guests...It is their special day all over town. It's just...FUN.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Thank God for lesser favors...
Today, dear reader, I was not the only freak in town. I was not even the most conspicuous freak! And it was wonderful.
An acting troop from our fair capital came to town to perform at our "Chitalishte" (cultural center). And friends, they stuck out more than I do.
First of all, there were like 20 of them. You just can't hide a pack of 20 strangers in this town, even if they are Bulgarian. Second of all, I was asked directions like 3 times. I have NEVER, EVERRRR given directions in this town. I mean, EVVVERRRRR. And third of all, they were theater folk. Theater folk don't fit in anywhere outside of a theater, trust me. I used to be one until I realized that even I was too normal and too emotionally balanced to truly fit in. Just imagine, dear reader.
Anyway, I went to see the show. Everyone in town was there, and they were all amused by my attendance. One of the older male teachers for whom I have mentally written this tragic history was there, wearing a tweed suit obviously made during communism and about two sizes too small. It was sweet, really. Here is this suit, the only one he has probably ever been able to afford in his life, saved for special occasions over the last four decades, and brought out for a night at the community theater. It made me smile.
As far as the play went, I didn't understand enough to know if it was good or not. I understood most of the dialog and the plotline, but some of the characterization was lost on me. The leading woman, this 60-something Miss Piggy of a thing, seemed to make quite a lot of mistakes in dialog (such as calling others by the wrong name, forgetting lines and waiting forever to speak), but I don't know if the reasoning for this was worked into the bits of dialogs I didn't quite catch. So bascially, I have no basis on which to judge the production.
I left the theater with a headache from my intense paying attention, and came home to write this very blog. I feel my literary juices flowing again, and I hope they will continue throughout the Easter holiday. Time at home, alone, and potentially bored...There is no better catalyst for my prose.
An acting troop from our fair capital came to town to perform at our "Chitalishte" (cultural center). And friends, they stuck out more than I do.
First of all, there were like 20 of them. You just can't hide a pack of 20 strangers in this town, even if they are Bulgarian. Second of all, I was asked directions like 3 times. I have NEVER, EVERRRR given directions in this town. I mean, EVVVERRRRR. And third of all, they were theater folk. Theater folk don't fit in anywhere outside of a theater, trust me. I used to be one until I realized that even I was too normal and too emotionally balanced to truly fit in. Just imagine, dear reader.
Anyway, I went to see the show. Everyone in town was there, and they were all amused by my attendance. One of the older male teachers for whom I have mentally written this tragic history was there, wearing a tweed suit obviously made during communism and about two sizes too small. It was sweet, really. Here is this suit, the only one he has probably ever been able to afford in his life, saved for special occasions over the last four decades, and brought out for a night at the community theater. It made me smile.
As far as the play went, I didn't understand enough to know if it was good or not. I understood most of the dialog and the plotline, but some of the characterization was lost on me. The leading woman, this 60-something Miss Piggy of a thing, seemed to make quite a lot of mistakes in dialog (such as calling others by the wrong name, forgetting lines and waiting forever to speak), but I don't know if the reasoning for this was worked into the bits of dialogs I didn't quite catch. So bascially, I have no basis on which to judge the production.
I left the theater with a headache from my intense paying attention, and came home to write this very blog. I feel my literary juices flowing again, and I hope they will continue throughout the Easter holiday. Time at home, alone, and potentially bored...There is no better catalyst for my prose.
Look ma! Leafy greens!!
After a long winter of cabbage and various pickled vegetables, lettuce has returned to Bulgaria. And edible tomatoes. And spinach.
On a sidenote...this is what a kilogram of spinach looks like. If you live alone and are not a rabbit, perhaps consider buying half-a-kilo....
Monday, April 17, 2006
Seven Signs of Spring Not Found in Suburbia
1. ROOSTERS. Crowing early. I mean, eeearly. We've hit 4 a.m. folks!
2. STORKS. Not just a ficticious bringer of babies. Their graceful circles and swoops scream SPRING to me now.
3. INFANT LAMBS. Nothing makes a walk home from school better than watching some of these little guys tumbling around a garden. I try to forget that they will evenually be slaughtered for Easter dinner...
4. CLOTHES OUTSIDE drying in less than 4 days. No more sopping carpets for me. There was a time in Suburbia when this would have been a sign of spring, but now not so much.
5. CLEANer AIR that is not filled with the smoke of burning garbage cans and woodstoves.
6. HOMELESS ANIMAL SEX. Loud, often violent-sounding, at all times of the day and night. Females dogs and cats sure don't like it...
7. THE EXODUS of school kids after classes to work in their parents' garden. Gardens are not for show here. They are for basic food needs.
2. STORKS. Not just a ficticious bringer of babies. Their graceful circles and swoops scream SPRING to me now.
3. INFANT LAMBS. Nothing makes a walk home from school better than watching some of these little guys tumbling around a garden. I try to forget that they will evenually be slaughtered for Easter dinner...
4. CLOTHES OUTSIDE drying in less than 4 days. No more sopping carpets for me. There was a time in Suburbia when this would have been a sign of spring, but now not so much.
5. CLEANer AIR that is not filled with the smoke of burning garbage cans and woodstoves.
6. HOMELESS ANIMAL SEX. Loud, often violent-sounding, at all times of the day and night. Females dogs and cats sure don't like it...
7. THE EXODUS of school kids after classes to work in their parents' garden. Gardens are not for show here. They are for basic food needs.
The Norwegian Dental Hygenist and other tales
*to the tune of I'm So Pretty* I'm so sleepy. Oh so sleepy. I feel sleepy, and dirty, and poor.
That's because Becca has moved to Sofia for the week -- the pocket-emptying, dirt-ifying, sleepless, soul-sucking grad to the east. But, they have Pizza Hut, so it's not ALL bad.
I arrived Monday on the famous 3:45 a.m. bus from Straldja. As always, I felt only half-alive by the time I arrived, but the sight of some of my fellow B17s lifted my spirits. The mood in the rest of the office, however, was quite somber as a particular set of volunteers took care of their final business before going home. That's all I'll say about that.
Those of us in town for the Resource Volunteer meeting crowded into the small Primary TEFL office, and had our small training on our responsibilities. (We will be visiting the new kids arriving Monday at their training sites to offer deep insight and set a noble example.) They've picked a good group of us to do it, I think. Then again, we 17s really rock the whole of PC Bulgaria.
Once the meeting was finished I went downtown to check into Hostel Mostel, my home for the week. As soon as I had laid down my load, I managed to find my way to a Subway in this food-courty thing. A SUBWAY. I could hardly believe it. Mmmm, meatballs... I passed the evening with Sarah, who has decided to go home (she made her mind up Monday afternoon). We managed to find our way to the National Palace of Culture to see Brokeback Mountain. (A two-second review: Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams have never been better. I still hate Anne Hathaway. The photography was stunning.)
In an effort to pace my spending, I called it an early night and went "home" to sleep.
So Tuesday. Tuesday was a bonus Day of Nothing. I had no real business, but Dora and Chavdawg agreed it was stoopid to make me go home Monday night, teach Tuesday, then come BACK Wednesday morning at 3:45. Since I had no business, I didn't go near the office. In fact, I didn't go much of anywhere. Sarah came to the hostel and we went out to eat, and then we took a walk through some random park with random communist art. I loves me some communist art. We took photos, chatted with some kiddos, and generally passed the time until she had to take a night train to her town to pack up.
Then it was Wednesday. Ahhh, Wednesday. I had my mid-service physical in the morning, so I got up and headed to the office. Andrea poked and prodded me and told me I wasn't dying so far as she could tell. She also told me that Elena, another 17, would be moving from the hospital (where she had had her appendix removed) to the sick bay in the office.
Since it is odd to sleep alone in the locked office, it was arranged that I would sleep with her on the extra mattress. I went back to the hostel, packed a small bag, and headed down to my dentist appointment.
The Peace Corps has no dentist here in Bulgaria so they send us to this Swedish dude. His office, interestingly enough, is located in a converted guest room in a 5-star hotel. Mr. Swedish Dentist happened to be on vacation this week, so I was handled my Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist.
Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist was typical Norwegian...Blonde. Blue eyed. Fair skinned. And she pronounced it "tar-TAR." I have never had a Scandanavian dental exam before, and I assume you never have either. So let me walk you through it. I was given little plastic booties to put over my shoes when I entered. I was put in the chair and the fast-talking hygenist took my X-rays. Then she took a lazer gun and blasted each of my teeth to remove the tar-TAR. I had extra tar-TAR on the teeth under my tounge, which was extra uncomfortable to remove. Once the lazer gun had done its business, she took the siver hooky thing and scraped each of my teeth to remove even more tar-TAR. My sensitive canines were a'wailing, which exist because I brush too hard (or so says Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist). The next step, however, took the cake. Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist whipped out a goggles/mask jobby and told me that she would, and I quote, "Blaaast [my] teet wit a so-LU-tion of sALT, LEmon, and WWWAter." She told me to keep my eyes closed, and smathered my lips with, I swear to god, body lotion. She proceed to blaaast my teet with this machine that almost drove me mad right there in the chair. Between the air, the coldness, the wetness, and the sheer power, my gums got crazy angry.
When it was all over I rinsed like I've never rinsed before, and realized my face felt like it had been at the beach, unwashed, for upwards of a week. My teeth, on the other hand, felt baby smooth. Once I had wiped a sufficient amount of salt from my face, I caught a cab and went back to the office to hunker down with Elena. And when I say hunker down, I mean it. It was the most secure night of sleep I have ever had, complete with two guards, an electric iron fense and a giant bomb-proof door.
It is a surreal sensation to wake up in an office where people are arriving for work. It seems so...backwards. In any event, I washed up and bit and bummed in the basement lounge until we began our Volunteer Support Network training.
For the afternoon we got to act out volunteers with problems and practice being good listeners. It was really easy to act out volunteers with problems seeing as we'd been in most of the situations ourselves.
Once our training was finished we went en masse to Hostel Mostel which by this time was packed to the gills. I escaped the crowd by meeting my Bulgarian friend, Ivcho, for dinner.
Friday was more of the same. Back to training...and I caught the 5:30 p.m. bus home.
Write more later...
(this blog was written bit by bit from Tuesday until today, the following Monday.)
That's because Becca has moved to Sofia for the week -- the pocket-emptying, dirt-ifying, sleepless, soul-sucking grad to the east. But, they have Pizza Hut, so it's not ALL bad.
I arrived Monday on the famous 3:45 a.m. bus from Straldja. As always, I felt only half-alive by the time I arrived, but the sight of some of my fellow B17s lifted my spirits. The mood in the rest of the office, however, was quite somber as a particular set of volunteers took care of their final business before going home. That's all I'll say about that.
Those of us in town for the Resource Volunteer meeting crowded into the small Primary TEFL office, and had our small training on our responsibilities. (We will be visiting the new kids arriving Monday at their training sites to offer deep insight and set a noble example.) They've picked a good group of us to do it, I think. Then again, we 17s really rock the whole of PC Bulgaria.
Once the meeting was finished I went downtown to check into Hostel Mostel, my home for the week. As soon as I had laid down my load, I managed to find my way to a Subway in this food-courty thing. A SUBWAY. I could hardly believe it. Mmmm, meatballs... I passed the evening with Sarah, who has decided to go home (she made her mind up Monday afternoon). We managed to find our way to the National Palace of Culture to see Brokeback Mountain. (A two-second review: Heath Ledger and Michelle Williams have never been better. I still hate Anne Hathaway. The photography was stunning.)
In an effort to pace my spending, I called it an early night and went "home" to sleep.
So Tuesday. Tuesday was a bonus Day of Nothing. I had no real business, but Dora and Chavdawg agreed it was stoopid to make me go home Monday night, teach Tuesday, then come BACK Wednesday morning at 3:45. Since I had no business, I didn't go near the office. In fact, I didn't go much of anywhere. Sarah came to the hostel and we went out to eat, and then we took a walk through some random park with random communist art. I loves me some communist art. We took photos, chatted with some kiddos, and generally passed the time until she had to take a night train to her town to pack up.
Then it was Wednesday. Ahhh, Wednesday. I had my mid-service physical in the morning, so I got up and headed to the office. Andrea poked and prodded me and told me I wasn't dying so far as she could tell. She also told me that Elena, another 17, would be moving from the hospital (where she had had her appendix removed) to the sick bay in the office.
Since it is odd to sleep alone in the locked office, it was arranged that I would sleep with her on the extra mattress. I went back to the hostel, packed a small bag, and headed down to my dentist appointment.
The Peace Corps has no dentist here in Bulgaria so they send us to this Swedish dude. His office, interestingly enough, is located in a converted guest room in a 5-star hotel. Mr. Swedish Dentist happened to be on vacation this week, so I was handled my Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist.
Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist was typical Norwegian...Blonde. Blue eyed. Fair skinned. And she pronounced it "tar-TAR." I have never had a Scandanavian dental exam before, and I assume you never have either. So let me walk you through it. I was given little plastic booties to put over my shoes when I entered. I was put in the chair and the fast-talking hygenist took my X-rays. Then she took a lazer gun and blasted each of my teeth to remove the tar-TAR. I had extra tar-TAR on the teeth under my tounge, which was extra uncomfortable to remove. Once the lazer gun had done its business, she took the siver hooky thing and scraped each of my teeth to remove even more tar-TAR. My sensitive canines were a'wailing, which exist because I brush too hard (or so says Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist). The next step, however, took the cake. Mrs. Norwegian Hygenist whipped out a goggles/mask jobby and told me that she would, and I quote, "Blaaast [my] teet wit a so-LU-tion of sALT, LEmon, and WWWAter." She told me to keep my eyes closed, and smathered my lips with, I swear to god, body lotion. She proceed to blaaast my teet with this machine that almost drove me mad right there in the chair. Between the air, the coldness, the wetness, and the sheer power, my gums got crazy angry.
When it was all over I rinsed like I've never rinsed before, and realized my face felt like it had been at the beach, unwashed, for upwards of a week. My teeth, on the other hand, felt baby smooth. Once I had wiped a sufficient amount of salt from my face, I caught a cab and went back to the office to hunker down with Elena. And when I say hunker down, I mean it. It was the most secure night of sleep I have ever had, complete with two guards, an electric iron fense and a giant bomb-proof door.
It is a surreal sensation to wake up in an office where people are arriving for work. It seems so...backwards. In any event, I washed up and bit and bummed in the basement lounge until we began our Volunteer Support Network training.
For the afternoon we got to act out volunteers with problems and practice being good listeners. It was really easy to act out volunteers with problems seeing as we'd been in most of the situations ourselves.
Once our training was finished we went en masse to Hostel Mostel which by this time was packed to the gills. I escaped the crowd by meeting my Bulgarian friend, Ivcho, for dinner.
Friday was more of the same. Back to training...and I caught the 5:30 p.m. bus home.
Write more later...
(this blog was written bit by bit from Tuesday until today, the following Monday.)
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned....
My friend Lucia (author of Identity Amnesia), tagged me to play her little confessions game. I will keep this PG-rated for the kiddies, but here'goes.
Name Seven Guilty Pleasures. I'm not talking necessarily about you eating ice cream once a month because it's "so good" but I'm talking about things that create the feeling of regret, creeping into your brain, or secret things that you may not tell anyone else about after or when you do them.
*I like chalga. There, I said it. I don't like all the stars, or all the songs, but the fact that I like any makes me feel like I have no soul. No taste. No brain or individual identity. But come on, "Az bih bila shtasliva do kraya...(I would be happy with you till the end)" has some poetry to it...
*I am secretly extremely lazy. I only ever do enough to look hardworking and diligent to the outside world. Otherwise, it is painfully easy for me to just do nothing.
*I have locked my cat in my closet on purpose...several times. But she was just being so darn annoying!
*I have literally wanted to slap certain students of mine. The important thing here is that I never have.
*I sometimes wear a pair of underwear for 2 days. Or more...It's turned inside out, of course.
*I didn't shave my legs from November until March. And when I finally did, it took three tanks of hot water over three days to complete it.
*I gave up 2 of my 3 Lenten "fasts." They were no watching of Friends, no eating pizza and no chatting online on Fridays. All but the Friends thing were lost...Inadvertantly, but nonetheless lost.
So, I'm not altogether sure who to tag now who hasn't been tagged already. So, if you like, make this little confession.
Name Seven Guilty Pleasures. I'm not talking necessarily about you eating ice cream once a month because it's "so good" but I'm talking about things that create the feeling of regret, creeping into your brain, or secret things that you may not tell anyone else about after or when you do them.
*I like chalga. There, I said it. I don't like all the stars, or all the songs, but the fact that I like any makes me feel like I have no soul. No taste. No brain or individual identity. But come on, "Az bih bila shtasliva do kraya...(I would be happy with you till the end)" has some poetry to it...
*I am secretly extremely lazy. I only ever do enough to look hardworking and diligent to the outside world. Otherwise, it is painfully easy for me to just do nothing.
*I have locked my cat in my closet on purpose...several times. But she was just being so darn annoying!
*I have literally wanted to slap certain students of mine. The important thing here is that I never have.
*I sometimes wear a pair of underwear for 2 days. Or more...It's turned inside out, of course.
*I didn't shave my legs from November until March. And when I finally did, it took three tanks of hot water over three days to complete it.
*I gave up 2 of my 3 Lenten "fasts." They were no watching of Friends, no eating pizza and no chatting online on Fridays. All but the Friends thing were lost...Inadvertantly, but nonetheless lost.
So, I'm not altogether sure who to tag now who hasn't been tagged already. So, if you like, make this little confession.
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