Kiddos

I've spent a lot of time complaining about school, or how child shenanigans make me want to choke said children. At the end of most days I usually feel pretty useless and superfluous in the classroom knowing that most of my kids still can't say simple things such as, "This is my pencil," and they've been in English class for over three years. These crappy feelings are amplified any time I try to ask them, "How was your weekend," which is a question I pose at the start of every week to my upper grades and they still struggle to give me an answer. Tests, and grading said tests, are also heartbreaking, as it's physical proof that I really am not doing anything for these kids. It's a sneaky hate spiral where I constantly am wondering why I, an anthropology major out of school for almost five years, thought it would be a good idea to go to a country, where I don't speak the language, to teach kids my own language with it's insane rules and contradictions.

And then little things happen.

I'll come into a classroom and the first grader, who is from Russia and didn't know any Georgian so has been learning Georgian and English at the same time, will run over to me with a notebook, throw her arms around me and then show me, with an insane amount of pride, something she drew. And she'll tell me what all of the things on the paper are, in English or in broken Georgian, as well as what color they are and if she likes them or not. She's always done with her in-class work first, and it's always perfect, and I always make sure I give her, secretly, an extra sticker. Nothing big or flashy - just one of the tiny, colorful smiley face stickers they all go bananas for. She'll put it on her workbook page, and then hide it with her hand so the other kids can't see that she has a smiley and they don't, and we'll wink at each other because we know something no one else does, and then suddenly 9 am doesn't seem quite so early.

Or I'll get assaulted after a particularly trying fifth grade lesson by two of the girls - one, the top in the class, and the other her very shy friend. They'll stammer and ask me if I like My Little Ponies, and I'll exclaim happily, "I DO! I love it! It is one of my favorites!" (What? I can be a 26 year old and love the Little Ponies, dammit!). And then we will yap at each other about who our favorites are, and even the shy girl who doesn't like to speak up in class will grin and go on and on about Pinkie Pie, and they will pull out their notebooks and show me page after page of My Little Pony drawings. So now it's once a week, after class, that they will stop me on my way out of the room and show me their latest drawings, and we'll talk about how silly Spike is, or how Rainbow Dash always does the craziest things. It's my favorite part of dealing with the hell that is fifth grade.

Walking into school when it's grey and drizzling and an altogether dreary morning, one of my little fourth graders with particularly bad body odor will be waiting by the front door of the school so that he can give me a hug and a "good morning!!" before he runs off to class. There's a fifth grader who likes to lurk at the top of the stairs so she can hop over to me, arms outstretched, and grab me to give me a kiss on the cheek and say "hello" cheerfully. How can mornings be crappy after that?

I still think it's hilarious that all of my kids, with the exception of my too-cool-for-school sixth graders, love Hangman. Like, love love it. As in, beg me to play it. They come running up to me, their hands at their throat, mimicking choking (which was really startling the first time it happened, as I thought I was going to have to perform some heimlich maneuver bullshit or deal with a dead child and I was SO not prepared for that kind of thing!), saying, "Mas! Mas! Chamokchobana!" ("Teacher! Teacher! Hangman!")

My after school club originally started out as a place where kids could get help with their homework. Not many came for that, however, preferring to play Hangman endlessly on the board. They're for the most part pretty good at it, except for one girl. She is probably my favorite student of all, and she is just the absolute worst at Hangman.

What is that I don't even...

When I first started at school, I couldn't get her to talk for the life of me. She couldn't read, she didn't like speaking, even in Georgian, to the other kids. I asked my coteacher if she was alright, and was told that she is very slow. She was never called on, never offered her hand for answers, and most of the time she just stared out the window. Anna always came to English club but never participated, instead standing off to the side of the gaggle of voracious kids who all wanted to shout letters out for Hangman. And then one day, as I was walking home, I heard running little footsteps coming from behind me, and the third grader appeared at my side. She smiled shyly and said, "Hello." I was so elated that she was speaking that I may have been a little overly enthusiastic in my response of, "Hi! And how are you?" But she giggled and very haltingly said, "Fine." She giggled even more at my poor attempts of Georgian for talking about the day, and then we parted ways when she went into her house.

But the next class period, she was looking in her book and following along. The next English club I threw on a movie on my computer for the kids, and she and I went to the back of the room and worked on reading. She slowly started to raise her hand in class more to read passages or give answers. My favorite part of her transformation, though, has been her responses in dealing with the other students, particularly ones who give her crap and say she is stupid, for her to be quiet and give up trying to read. Because now she'll yell at them and keep going, and it's awesome, and I want to fucking put a million lights on her and say, "You will never be able to touch this kid as long as she wants to keep going, you little assholes!"

But I can't do that, so I just give her a lot of high fives.

She really is terrible at Hangman. Even using a book to help her with words, they always get misspelled anyway, and games always take a way long time to play. But it's alright, cause she's getting better with distinguishing between "e" and "i" (which is a super common problem across the board with most of my kids), and she'll also draw stick figures with Mickey Mouse ears. And that's all sorts of awesome.

The fact of the matter is that I will never be an effective teacher for these kids. I lack the necessary fluidity in their native language to really actually properly teach them the differences between adverbs and adjectives, or how verbs change based on their tenses. I'm pretty much demonstrative only for those things, and that's fine. But I think I'm way better for these kids than I give myself credit for (she said humbly), in that I provide a lot of positive reinforcement for them even TRYING. Especially the super shy ones. Sometimes all they need are a few weeks of friendly smiles for attempting to read, or give an answer from the book. I completely disagree with how my teachers will just write off students who are struggling, or scream at them for making mistakes, since making mistakes while speaking is a whole part of learning a language. But that's a whole cultural can of worms I can't even attempt to break into, so all I can do is work around it, offering whatever kind of support and encouragement I can to these fairly disheartened kids.

And it must be working, because sometimes I get a bunch of little flowers from my little kids.

A Lil' Blurb

I haven't really been in a wordsy mood lately. Part of that might have to do with the fact that I was sick for two days and basically slept like 36 hours total. Anyway, I was going to try to write a post to throw up before I ran away to the mountains for a day, but blech. I started like three different things and none of them sound right so I'm going to just postpone.

I've been reading far too much John Muir and Jack London lately to not feel the need to go crawling around some kind of wilderness this weekend. And while my bank account might protest about this, my mental health will not. Nor will the crushing sense of doom that my time here is just draining away. I've only got twelve weeks until the end of the semester, and then two or three past that which will be spent in this goofy place that I love so much with one of my favorite people on the planet.

But after that? Home. Home, America, and Upper Michigan. I'm not ready to deal with being an actual adult again, and having rules, and forty hour work weeks, and bills to pay. The Taco Bell and IPA parts will be enjoyable, as will the whole dog thing, but the general hubbub of having to be a first world person is not something I'm looking forward to at all. Especially because I'm so clearly well equipped for developing world living and so completely ill equipped for being a functional human being in any kind of first world society and economy.

So to the mountains I go! Cause I can at least plug my ears and close my eyes and go "la lalalaalala!"and pretend that I'm a fantastic grown up! That's an acceptable coping mechanism, yeah?

A Very Merry Unbirthday To Me

I had a pretty weird day yesterday, which mostly consisted of having a whole group of people pretend it was my birthday, while all of them knew it wasn't really my birthday.

It began a few weeks ago. I introduced my sister to Pinterest in the vain attempt of hoping she could fall into a different black hole on the Internet other than Facebook. She was pretty taken by that site and its ability to steal hours and we, of course, started looking up recipes for things to make. Our brief foray on this site got us some pizza instructions, brownies, and various other foods that aren't so common in this neck of the woods, like fruit kebobs. The next few weeks were spent trying out all these new fangled recipes, and tweaking them until we were satisfied with the results.

Last Sunday, Ani announced to me that we would have a party the following weekend, because she wanted to have one and make all this delicious food for her friends. A week in advance is crazy pants for trying to plan anything with other twenty something year olds, let alone any Georgian, but I didn't argue, and instead sent out the desired text messages to my friends informing them of their invitation for the following Sunday. Thursday rolls around, and as Ani and I are chatting, she tells me that her mother does not want her to have a party. She's very downcast as she lets this news out, but then suddenly remembers that my birthday is sometime in March.

"Johanna, when is your birthday? It is soon?"

"Yeah, sort of. It's at the end of the month."

A light twinkled in her eye, and then Ani smiled. "I think your birthday is this weekend. We need to have a party!"

"But it's not my birthday!"

"No, but you have two birthdays! One, this weekend, when you were really born, and the one in your passport, which is end of month!"

"But, what? No! I only have ONE birthday, and it is NOT this weekend!"

She winks. "Yes, one is! And all of your friends will come and all of mine will come and then, two weeks, another party! For passport birthday!"

"But none of my friends can come this weekend! Only Sophia! Everyone else is in Tbilisi! I don't think this is a good idea. We should just wait for two weeks." I'm getting more and more uncomfortable with this whole shenanigan, especially knowing that my host mother said 'no' and that Ani is now just using me for her own ends.

"Yes, but if we wait, none of my friends come! They have other things!"

"So let me get this straight. At my own birthday party, it will only be all of your friends. Only one of mine. And I will also have two birthdays. And your mother will be fooled. I don't think you're as sneaky as you think you are..."

And then she laughed, ran off to tell her mother about my multiple birthdays, and continued plotting.

I kept reiterating to my host mom that yesterday was not actually my birthday. I also made sure to tell her that this was in no way my idea, because birthday salutations are horrific enough, let alone parties celebrating my busting into the world as a gross red slimy blob of newborn human (can you tell how much I just LOVE being the center of attention?).

Not only did Ani throw me the curve ball of this party of hers being masqueraded as my birthday, but she also switched the days from Sunday to Saturday. On Friday night. So Saturday rolls around, and she starts hassling me about how she has two friends helping with cooking, and where are mine!

"Hold on there, gogo!" Sometimes when she is being extra ridiculous I call her 'girl' in Georgian, because it is an equally ridiculous word for her actions. "Sophia is coming later today, because you told me you wanted this shindig on Sunday! She made plans with her host family, so she will be here in the afternoon, crazypants!" There was no more grumbling after I reminded her that she willy nilly changed the plan.

We made some bastardized pizza, brownie cake, and burgers. Her friends brought gummy candy, khachapuri, and lemonade. Sophia and I also purchased a very large container of beer, knowing that if we were to spend most of the evening with a gaggle of thirteen year old girls that we would need our trusty alcoholic friend to help us.

It was a pretty goofy party, consisting of everyone telling me "happy birthday" in both Georgian and English, and then a lot of giggling, and a few even winking at me. Everybody knew it wasn't my birthday, including my host mother and grandmother, but everyone pretended it was. Despite there being no one to fool anymore?

I don't know, it was really bizarre. Much more so than I seem capable of articulating right now.

Ever since I read Alice in Wonderland I've loved the idea of an Unbirthday. I thought it was so silly and awesome, and I always really wanted to have one. I guess it makes sense that something nonsensical like that would actually happen to me while here, since this is the most nonsensical place on the planet.

Georgian Words I Continually Fuck Up

Somewhere around cup three and a half of coffee I decided that today I would write a blog post. But I had a problem in that I didn't know what I wanted to talk about. Occasionally I get things into my head that I have have HAVE to do, but then don't actually KNOW what I want to do about them. This is actually turning into a more and more common occurrence, and it was this exact feeling I experienced as I opened up this little composition.

Then I remembered the lists and realized that, with them, I've got at least six posts just waiting to be written up. I would say seven, but one of those lists is Doctor Who related, and since I've already talked about my favorite floppy haired Brits, I don't need to expand on that subject.

As such, today we're going to tackle the list titled, "Georgian Words I Continually Fuck Up." It looks much nicer in my notebook - there are some poofy lines and stars and little sun bursts all through the name, including some very pretty fonts. Cause nothing softens the blow of gratuitous swear words like some frilly cursive lettering!

Most of my difficulty with Georgian, other than the flat-out pronunciation of words, is found in word pairs that my head just cannot keep straight for some reason.

During orientation, we learned a lot of verbs that would come in handy with our host families. Two of them in particular, "I am going" and "I am coming," have proven to be super useful, as I like to be able to tell the family where I'll be at any given time. So these verbs and their imperatives were some of the first words I committed to memory, and they've really stuck to my brain. მოდი (modi) and მიდი (midi) are "go" and "come" respectively.

Only, ha, no Jo. You're dyslexic, and it's the other way around, with მოდი being "come" and  მიდი being "go." Only, I didn't really put two and two together about that until, shamefully, a few weeks ago when my host mom actually corrected me. So essentially, if I've been trying to say, "I am going to Tbilisi with my friends, and I come home Sunday" I'm actually saying, "I am coming to Tbilisi with my friends, and I go home Sunday." For the last six months. Whoops!

Another tricky pair that has been outsmarting me is ეს (es) and ის (ees), or "this" and "that." Why these are so problematic for my brain, I wish I could tell you. I think it's something to do with the fact that since Georgian doesn't have any articles, definite or indefinite, my poor English deprived brain keeps trying to impose English-like rules into conversation constantly, forcing me to overuse ეს to almost annoying levels. And if that's not confusing enough, ის not only means "that" but also the pronoun "it," which wouldn't be problematic except for I sometimes get nervous and use ეს when I should be saying ის because I want to say "it" and instead I say "this." If that makes sense.

No? Yeah, then now you know how any Georgian I talk to feels when trying to communicate with me.

Another pair that makes me sound like an idiot is ფული (puli) and პური (p'uri). The ფ is a soft sounding P, while პ is a more aspirated sounding P. Anyway, differing P's aside, these words mean "money" and "bread." Now, to Georgians, these words sound completely different. Not only are the beginning letters distinct, but the inner consonants are also totally unrelated. However, to my bastardized American ears, the P's are, in conversation, very similar sounding. So much so that unless it's highly emphasized, I can't tell you which P is which.

I bet you can see where this is going, right?

Yup. At the bank it's, "I need bread, please," and at a meal it's, "can I have money, please?" I was interchanging the two so much that I eventually started to avoid saying either one on the off-chance that I still had them mixed up. I've gone so far as to make a mnemonic reminder tying the consonant sounds together, ფული/lari (Georgian money), and პური/bread, which has helped some, but I still have to take a minute and think about it.

The last two tricky words are also completely unrelated, and this particular difficulty only exists in the plural, since every single noun has the same ending for plurals, and that ending is -ები. ჩიტები (chitebi) and ჩიკები (chikebi) mean "birds" and "cups." On numerous occasions, of course always at school, and of course always in front of judgmental Lamara, I will, inevitably, say, "Do we need birds for coffee?" Because god forbid I ever sound remotely intelligent when speaking this language!

So now that we've established that pairs of words are apparently my downfall, we can approach my most hilariously misused word to date. ყველაფერი. I was pretty stoked the day I found out about this word, which means "something," and I couldn't wait to start using "something," "anything," "everything," and "nothing" (all of which I learned at the same time!) as much as I possibly could because they're just so handy for conversations! I felt like such hot shit at the bazaar talking to a merchant, saying things like, "არ ვიცი რა მინდა, მაგრამ მინდა ყველაფერი!"(I don't know what I want, but I want something!), or when comforting an obviously distressed Bebia, "ყველაფერი ცუდია?" (Is something wrong?). Whenever I say this word, I get smiles, and I think, "Wow, look at me! I'm such a good foreigner that I know obscure Georgian words and they're so happy and appreciative about that! I refuse to be a shitty American that doesn't know anything past 'hello!'"

As I'm slowly discovering, I should probably remember that any time I feel really, really good about something, and believe I'm being a total badass, I'm most likely being the opposite.

My friend and I were heading down to a little shop near my house, and I asked my host mom if she needed something from the store. I always offer to pick up any small forgotten items if I'm going out, so I said the same question I'd asked literally dozens of times, "გინდათ ყველაფერი მაგაზაში?" (Do you need something at the store?)

And now we're nearing the point of the story where I stop feeling like such an amazeballs Georgian speaker.

My host mother, smiling like she always does when I ask her this question, shook her head and said, "No thank you," while my friend suppressed laughter. As we were walking down the street, she busted up and inquired, "So, what do you think you just asked her?"

"I said 'do you want something from the store!'"I proclaimed proudly.

"No," Sophia told me as she laughed. "You said, "Do you want EVERYTHING from the store?'"

So for months - MONTHS - in any situation where I thought I was saying "something" I've actually been saying "everything." My ego has taken a serious blow with this knowledge, and I've been knocked down a few pegs on the "Feeling Good About Georgian" ladder.

No wonder Georgians have been laughing at me whenever I say this stupid word! Looking back on the various instances I've used ყველაფერი in, all I can picture is me looking like this:

This is from a pretty amazing blog, written by one Allie Brosh. She is awesome and hilarious, and there are many times where I feel like she and I lead some weird parallel existence...

"I don't know what I want, but I WANT EVERYTHING!!!"

"Is EVERYTHING BAD???"

"DO YOU WANT EVERYTHING FROM THE STORE???"

Sometimes this language kills me.

But mainly it's a single letter that kills me, and that letter is ყ. Transliterated as "kgh," it essentially sounds like you're choking, but with a "k" at the beginning of your being choked. It is hands down my least favorite sound, and I will always fuck up any word that it is present within.

So naturally, judgmental Lamara thought it would be hilarious if I learned a tongue twister in Georgian (as if just normal sentences aren't enough of a tongue twister in this language, but whatever!), so she taught me a really common one:

ბაყაყი წყალში ყიყინება (bakghakghi tskghalshi kghikghineba), or "a frog is croaking in the water."

So here's how THAT went.

Sometimes it's probably better that I don't talk at all.

Unfortunately, that's never happened, not in the 26 years of my existence, and it certainly has not happened here.

I figure if I don't incessantly speak and make mistakes, I'll never learn. It might take me weeks, or even months, to sort some stuff out in my head, but hey! Baby steps! So maybe, by sounding like an idiot, I'll slowly become better at this language, while simultaneously making some Georgians laugh with my super bad accent. And who doesn't like a win-win sitch like that?

The Host Family With The Mostest (I'm getting bad at naming posts...)

My family seems very a-typical to the standard copy-paste Georgian family TLG gave us advice on how to deal with.1 I'm ridiculously happy about that, because hearing stories from other peoples families I think my overall time here would've been much less enjoyable if I had another. Not that they're horror stories or anything, but just that whole pesky gender issue thing again. I knew coming into this program that I would probably be irritated by traditional gender roles, considering they annoy the hell out of me when I see them in my own country. However, it's been one thing to know about them and another thing to actually live with them, especially when I'm the gender expected to not only do domestic shit, but also conform to all sorts of social rules and cues of which I've got zero clue.

My host father is never around really. I'm alright with this because, when he is, he doesn't really have any interest in interacting with me. I can't blame him - I don't speak Georgian or Russian, and I'm a girl. My friend who can speak Russian and is a dude? Favorite person on the planet. My host dad will give us cha cha and drink with us and play backgammon, all while yapping up a storm. He's actually got a sense of humor on him, but hell if I can understand him! Just me, however, and we exchange simple pleasantries and that's that. He leaves for work before I get up, and doesn't get home until well after 8:30 at night. He is basically useless around the house, like most Georgian men tend to be, but he will, shockingly, heat up his own food. This is a pretty big thing, honestly, because there are many people whose fathers won't even do that. He also consolidates dishes and stacks them neatly up near the sink to be cleaned. He won't wash them, of course, but hey. Baby steps!

Bebia and Papa are still with us - not in an earthly "not dead yet" sense, but a "still living with us in the house cause something happened to theirs" type of way. Bebia is normally home when I get back from school, and she's always very keen to make sure I eat. Her overt concern about my lack of eating bread with every meal ("Do you not love it?" she asks whenever I turn it down) still cracks me up, as does her supreme hatred for dish soap. I really like being in the middle of Dish Turf Fights, where Bebia is standing over my shoulder at the sink, whispering at me to not use soap, and my host mom is in the doorway yelling at her to be quiet and for me to use the soap. I normally just throw my hands up in the air and walk away, saying, "Nope nope nope! You two do this!" There's a lot of laughing as all this is happening, which is good, because otherwise it would be a really confusing interaction. Papa has the same schedule as my host father, so he's not around much, either. The times he is, Ani is usually swindling him at backgammon, and then he plays me so he can win and feel better about himself. I'm alright with this role, because backgammon might just be my new favorite game.

It sounds like there's been a lot of extraneous stuff going on with the family, namely surrounding my host father's seedy brother. I felt bad when I first met him about how creepy he made me feel. He's one of those smarmy scrawny guys who looks like he'd be a really good henchman in a Tim Burton movie, only he keeps asking you if you've got a boyfriend and wants you to drink and have a cigarette with him. No, Sketchy McNasty, I don't want to do any of that! Thankfully, he didn't come around too much, and when he was at a supra I could always just pretend I didn't understand what he was saying, which wasn't hard to do, considering I actually didn't!

Anyway, the dude creeped me out, and I was justified a few weeks ago when Ani and I got a ride home from the bazaar from one of her fathers friends. The host uncle came with, cause he wanted a ride home. Sometimes it really pays to not have anyone speak your language, because while we were in the car, with the two men in the front, Ani told me that she does not like "this man." I asked her which, and she said her uncle.

"Why? He's family."

"Yes, but he is not good man. He is...hm. I do not like. Not good. Very bad. Evil. No."

I've got a feeling that all the shit with Bebo's house, and a large sum of money requiring payment, has to do directly with this sketchball. And once again, my gut and its heebie jeebie detector proves correct.

It's been a while since I've seen the rest of the extended family, come to think of it; probably not since November when we went to the village for my host mother's brother's birthday. My other set of grandparents live in said village. While I don't know its name, I do know that it takes about 40 minutes to get to on the good road, and then another twenty minutes crawling through the Kakheti countryside on potholed dirt trails where you have to dodge tractors, herds of sheep, cows, and village kids on bikes. The first thing I saw when I went to their house was a suckling pig hanging in a tree, and I remember thinking, "Alright. This is going to be a good night!" Village Bebia and Papa are ridiculously sweet, and always make sure to give me a big hug and kiss, even though they hardly know me. They're very warm and open, but also really snarky (I think. This is all going off of facial cues and intonation. I'm pretty sure I can see snark across cultural lines, though.), and it's easy to see where my host mom comes from.

My host mother is only seven years older than me, and considering she has a kid that is thirteen years old, I am freaked out by her age. What I am not freaked out by, however, is our dynamic. She's super goofy, and I really wish I could actually crack jokes with her that were more complex than calling her children turkeys when they fight. She's always yelling at them, and when they stomp away upset she smirks all proud of herself and then winks at me. Or if Bebia is being dramatic and crying (she cries about her house to me at least every other day) she'll usually roll her eyes and start mouthing mocking words. Or I'm assuming they're mocking words. There are many things that seem to be universal amongst human cultures. Silently making fun of people when they're being ridiculous is one of them.

There's something wrong with her, though. Ani says it's something with her heart, but she seems very unconcerned about it, as does my brother. I'm fairly certain my mother suffers from a mix of stress and depression, because she alternates between being really vivacious and completely drained. There are some days that she just walks around the house crying as she cleans, and others where she will lay down, silent and sullen, on the day bed across from the couch where I normally park myself. Yet occasionally she's smiley and silly and makes like four things for dinner and is highly animated. I try to make sure I help her out with whatever I can - chopping wood, keeping the petchie going, sweeping, doing dishes, getting her some tea - just so some of the strain is taken off her shoulders.

I'm always surprised at how little my host siblings do in terms of basic things around the house. Not that I was a beacon child for doing dishes or cleaning up after myself, but if my mom or dad needed help with something I'd do it, and wouldn't throw a fit like these guys. Or maybe I did have hissy fits and just am selective memory forgetting about them. Either way. It's still, almost seven months in, shocking at how little they do around the house.

My brother, well, you can refer to this post to see how I feel about him and his Georgian Boy Shit, which has, unfortunately, plateaued out at a very high frequency.

My host sister has quickly become my favorite person in this crazy little country. Being the only member of my family who truly speaks English, she and I have gotten very close, and the more she's opened up, the more I love the shit out of her.

She's at that awful, shitty age of thirteen, where you're stuck between trying to figure out who you are while simultaneously fitting in with your peers and conforming to bullshit teenage norms. Ani doesn't really have many friends who are girls, preferring the company of boys instead. The boys, her brother included, all treat her like one of them, meaning she's not exempt from the punches and smacks that Georgian boys constantly inflict upon each other. This also means that the chick has a set of lungs on her that can shame a foghorn, since while you're fighting you must also yell. She thinks most girls are very boring, and even one day called a few of her classmates "robots." I thought that was a really great observation, because I've thought that exact same thing on more than one occasion.

We've talked about her plans to go to college, about how she wants to get tattoos, and leave Georgia. When she comes to America we are going to visit national parks, and hike up Half Dome, go to Disneyland, and make delicious brownies for my family.2 Ani's great plan right now (i.e. this week) consists of getting a job as a rich and talented actress with her theater degree,3 and then moving to America where she will buy herself a big house, and a neighboring one for me, and we will go on a lot of roadtrips and take many pictures, since she also wants to be a photojournalist. The girl's got big plans for herself, and I dig that.

She doesn't want to get married, at least not for a while, and so far is the first young Georgian I've met who isn't deeply shocked by my lack of a husband/boyfriend/any type of relationship thing. She likes to draw, and is constantly doing "experiments" like the one that's hanging by the door to the kitchen consisting of an eraser, some string, and a CD. I told her it was a really cool little pulley system, but she just made a face at me and told me she doesn't like physics. She makes the same face when I try to convince her how neat science, in general, is and I think I'm finally starting to get her used to the idea that astronomy is awesome.

She also, for some reason, thinks that I'm way cool, which makes me giggle but also makes me super embarrassed, proud, and terrified all at once. I'm like the least cool person on the planet. I don't care about fashion (I say this from my stupid legwarmers and dorky flannel shirt) or celebrities and their rich person shenanigans. I don't like fancy cars, or fancy things at all, I know next to nothing about pop music and I get way too excited about dinosaurs, pens, and jellyfish to ever really be "cool." We gave a midterm presentation last semester about Kakheti, and most people spoke to the wonderful merits of this region, the people, and the rich history of the land, while I got overly enthusiastic about the tectonic plates that shaped everything. "Cool" is so not a word I would ever use to describe myself.

But here's this teenager calling me "cool," and so now I feel all this pressure to make sure that I do my best to stay "cool," which isn't really hard to do since the weirder and more like myself I get the more my cool points go up. But it also means that someone is like, looking up to me, and that's the most terrifying thing I can imagine. What if the advice I give her isn't good and she gets hurt by it? What if something terrible happens to her while she was doing something I suggested? What if she inadvertently turns her back on everything she's known culturally, socially, and hates it but can't come back to the life she knew because she alienated too many people?

I want her to have a great and interesting life. I want her to not get stuck in the rut that so many people, Georgians and Americans alike, get into and never seem to be able to escape. I want her to feel awesome about herself, because she's hilarious and so so so smart and super cute, and know that she can really do anything she wants to do if she puts her brilliant little mind to it. All I can do is hope that between me, the last American, and our host mom, we give Ani enough support where she isn't ever afraid to try new things.

My host mother and sister have, the last few weeks, been trying to convince me to stay here another semester. I keep telling them it's not that I want to leave, but that I have to, largely due to my student loans. And there's always a little voice in the back of my stupid nagging head, saying, "You know, if you had been able to come here when you originally planned, you could have stayed that extra year."

And then my practical brain, which thankfully is getting larger and larger every day, tells the dumb side, "Oh, shut the fuck up. If you had come last year you wouldn't have had these awesome people as your family, and you probably would've been stuck in the middle of nowhere with an outhouse as your bathroom and you most likely would've frozen to death in the winter while trying to pee. Stuff it."

Which is completely true.

For as much as they sometimes make me want to rip my hair out, I really do love these goofy people, which is about as close to the definition of "family" as you can get.


1. That's a shitty thing to say, because it's assuming that everyone here is the same just because they're not from where I am. That's not what I mean. I mean that during orientation we were told a lot of very general things that Georgians are known for doing that we, as Americans, might not be used to. Lack of privacy, constant physical touching, loudness, etc etc.
2. You're welcome, guys. We're getting way too good at baking things, and the brownies that have this honey/brown sugar/chocolate glaze on them are no exception! 
3. I've slowly been telling her about the cold hard facts of life, and how America isn't really paved with golden streets. The other day I introduced the concept of Student Loans to her, and how a college degree no longer gives you a high paying job, so I think I'm going to let her come to terms with that before dropping the "theater is a pretty crapshoot luck degree!" bomb on her...

Lions and Tigers and Bears! Oh My!

A few weeks ago, several of us found ourselves with a few hours in Tbilisi with nothing to do. The city boasts a zoo, and since none of us had ever been we decided to spent our time there. 

Having previously visited the Batumi "Aquarium" - I use the term VERY loosely, considering it was just a dimly lit building consisting of one big room that had a few tanks of goldfish, and some larger concrete and glass enclosures for indigenous fish which were too numerous for the size of the tanks - I mentally prepared myself to be wholly depressed by the zoo. 

Tbilisi's zoo is actually exceptionally easy to get to, as it's a hop, skip and a jump off a metro stop. It's not exactly the most ideal location for exotic animals due to its proximity to the highway. Did I say proximity? Maybe you misunderstand. It's RIGHT NEXT to the highway. In fact, you can see, and hear, the highway from a good chunk of the animal enclosures. 

There isn't really a sign for the zoo on the street. You more just keep walking until you see some fearsome lion statues with vendors outside. Naturally, they will sell Scream masks. Because those are still way big here, no matter what time of year. Four lari buys your way into the park.

The front end doesn't have any animals. It does, however, have the first boutique pet shop I've seen (I say boutique when really I mean they just sell Eukanuba dog food) and a veterinary clinic. How it works, I'm unsure, because it looked like people were bringing their dogs in. Do they have to pay four lari for admittance, or are they allowed to just go straight in since they will likely be charged up the wahzoo by the vet? If I knew anyone who had a pet in Tbilisi I'd ask them. For now, I'm left to speculate.

In addition to the confusing animal hospital, there were also some trampolines in trees. One of them was on the ground and had some kind of bungee jumper seat on it that kids could bounce on, but as to why the rest were in the trees...? 

On either side of the confused arboreal trampolines were game stands and mini rides reminiscent of carnivals. The people working them were the Georgian equivalents of carnies, also, which meant I gave them a wide, wide berth. I did appreciate Elmo's plea, though, so I ventured close enough to snap that quick shot.

This guy just reminds me of a terrifying machine that used to be in the Marquette Mall, where you could step on it, put a dollar in, and then weigh yourself. If you didn't interact with it, it would detect you walking by and say, in a creepy, dead voice, "Have you checked your weight today?" No, deceased and possessed lady living in a soulless machine. I haven't checked my weight today, nor do I want to because I KNOW THESE PANTS MAKE ME LOOK FAT OH MY GOD. I imagine this guy said something along the same lines, but I couldn't tell because he just grunted incomprehensibly and beeped. Yet another time that Russian would've been handy to know.

After finally making it past crazy commy fun park and it's shenanigans, you get to the animals, most of whom you can get way too close to. Like this unamused ostrich.

Or the pack of wolves. They were close enough that I could have stuck my hand out and touched the fence, thus attempting to poke them. I'm pretty sure this is the closest I will ever be to a wolf without being eaten. 

A few enclosures boasted a couple different animals. Notable examples of cohabitation were a dikdik and ducks, some swans and a fennec fox, yacks and shaggy mountain ponies, and, my personal favorite, a donkey with some rhinos. 

There doesn't seem to really be any rhyme or reason to the organization of the animals (shocker!). The elephants were across from some ungulates, the warthogs across from the wolves. The lions, tigers and bears (oh my!) were all right next to each other, which made me giggle a lot. It seems as though someone had a good sense of humor when planning the layout of this zoo, at least!

Probably the singular best part of the day was feeding time at the bears. We arrived to see them all converging on one part of their enclosure (which was woefully small given how many bears there were, but let's focus on the hilarity that ensued, yeah?). Curious, we watched as a zoo worker rolled a wheel barrow up to the fence and proceeded to throw something over to the bears. Squinting, we realized that they were tossing over apples. Ok, not too abnormal, we thought. I'm sure bears like fruit. And then beets and carrots went flying over, and we were slightly more confused. But the hands down best part were the loaves of bread. I know that the Soviet bread lines were a [sadly truthful based] joke and all back in the 80s and 90s, but I just want to let you know that they still are very much in play if you are a brown bear at the Tbilisi zoo. 

I mean, do bears even eat bread? I know that they're omnivores, and thus will eat [almost] anything, but bread? As part of their staple diet? They had a course of fish after the bread, and a few of them got whopped in the noggin with a frozen trout, all of which were so solid that sometimes they exploded into chunks when they hit the dirt. So I guess the bears probably aren't TOO lacking for nutrition, but considering a large part of their daily intake is bread I really have to wonder what other hilarious dietary decisions are being made for the rest of the animals. Are the hyenas getting hot dogs? What about croutons for the storks?

In watching the shitshow and a half which was bear feeding time, we also took particular note of the sign, politely warning patrons to not touch the fence.

The signs got much more comical from that point on. Since they're all in Georgian, I will give you my rough approximation of what I think they mean.

"Don't Be Human Toast!"

"Don't Poke The Grumpy Bears Because They Have Mafia Connections And Will Steal Your First Born And Make You Rue The Day You Thought You Were Funny As  A Child And Remember That Bears Are Patient And Cruel!" 

"Don't Tease The Derpy Pachyderms!"

"The Lion Has No Friends And You Cannot Bribe Him Into Friendship With Balloons And Candy!"

"No Being Happy And Having Fun!"

There were a lot of enclosures that were huge open spaces, complete with tubs for food and water, or tires for the animals to play with. And then there was the Soviet Bloc part of the zoo. Animals in these ranged from a pair of white tigers to a troop of blue-assed mandrils. Once again, no overall grouping of the animals together by continent or genus.

 Right across from Soviet Bloc Animals was, naturally, another commy fun park. Because nothing says a fun day at the zoo like a ride on a depressed ferris wheel that looks like it's about to fall apart!

 Or on a mafia run carousel, featuring zombie creatures from hell!

Of course, to enjoy any of these thrills, you have to pay. This big ferris wheel, which crowns the top of the slope the zoo is built into, is only one lari. I really regret not going on it, especially after seeing it's remarkable safety features i.e. a chain and some flimsy bars. Oh well. Next trip!

The Tbilisi zoo has something for everyone. If you don't like animals (which if you don't, why the hell are you at the zoo?), you're free to stay in one of the two commy fun parks and get sick off of gratuitous amounts of cotton candy and coin operated games. There are a plethora of fairly tame animals for you to touch through the fence, as well as some super shmerry ponies who are [not-very] willing to give you a ride in a buggy around a corral. If buggy rides are too high class for you, please consider a breakneck speed ride on a semi bucking horse for only six lari! We promise you won't get thrown off, and if you do just make sure you roll out of the way fast so you don't get stomped on!

For as utterly depressing as the zoo was, I actually really enjoyed it. It wasn't nearly as bad as I was expecting, aside from the elephant who looked like it was trying to think of ways to end its life. As is the case with most things here, I'm certain that Tbilisi's zoo would make a huge majority of people incredulous, angry, sad, upset, overwhelmed - you name a negative emotion, and you will most likely feel it if you're a sensitive person.

And I used to think I was a sensitive person.

But then I came to Georgia. Between gypsy kids begging on the streets, and the stray dogs, and the neighborhoods that look like warzones (because in some cases they were warzones a few short years ago), I've sort of become...I don't want to say dead inside, because that's not the right expression. Nor is numb. I'm aware of all the things that are fucked up around me, because believe you me there are a lot. And it's not that I'm alright with all of the shenanigans in terms of human and animal rights, cause again, I'm not. I just. Unsure how to describe it.

Dislocated maybe is the better term. I don't live here. I'm not stuck here. I'm not from here. I can't change anything here. It's not my place to pass judgement on what goes on in daily life, nor is it fruitful to do so. All I can do is take everything in, and remember that not everything has to be some life changing event. The zoo most definitely was not life changing, even though it was memorable, fun, and ridiculous.

Walking back to the metro stop after our day, I saw this sprayed onto a wall. It was like Tbilisi was sending a friendly reminder, cause really, this is all you can hope to do.

This is me...

...throwing you a freaking bone.

Since I promised you all some pictures a few days ago, and since my last upload included a picture, I'm going to assume that Blogger is done being a buttmunch. So here are those previously mentioned photos!

I got crazy this last weekend and painted my toenails since beach means sandals. And even though most of the Black Sea beaches consist of smooth rocks (much like many Lake Superior beaches!), I somehow managed to find a little spot of sand! Complete with black sand, which is my favie!

That's a  five liter jug of homemade wine, purchased at the store that was right around the gate of our guest house. In case you were wondering, wine tastes much better on beaches. Maybe it's the smell of the water, or the sound of the waves, or the people you're with, but it's definitely uber delightful!

In Batumi, while walking down the promenade, we see some dirty looking kids sitting on a curb. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck I hate these!" Jourdan mutters, as they all leap up and come running over. Since he's nibbling on some street food, the kids flock to him, and start jumping at his arms, trying to dig into his pockets, and even just punching his back. And then this happened.

Boom! Tattoo!

Control

One of my favorite parts about my life in Telavi has been watching the evolution of computer availability with my host siblings. When the weather started to turn cold, and the kids were inside more often, they naturally began to fight over the computer. They'd fight when they got home from school, and would barrel through their homework to be the first done and secure their spot on the computer for that precious hour they [each] get. It's really incredible what flash games and Facebook will do to a sibling relationship.

Most of the vicious fights happened when it was just the two of them in the mornings before school. No one ever truly won - someone would get kicked too hard, punched too much, or in one extreme case, where Goga threw a pair of Ani's favorite pants out the back door and into the weird trash filled creek that flows behind our house, be fed up with Georgian boy shit. Their fighting would be so voracious and frequent that eventually my host mother, tired of hearing about these escapades from the wronged child day in and day out, put a password on the whole computer. That way, she would have to be home in order for them to be able to use the computer. In her mind, she was eliminating a huge aggravator from everyone's life.

Unfortunately, what this introduced was an almost blood frenzy of Internet induced angst from my siblings. Now they'd just harangue her even more the second they were ready to go online, not caring about where she was in the house, what she was doing, or who she was talking to. She'd try to hide her keystrokes, but since the passwords were like four characters long and the kids would raptor pack her (standing on opposite sides of her, with one being a distraction and the other watching diligently for what she was typing) they would figure each one out. But she wouldn't know they had figured it out until the next time they would get in a fight over the computer in the morning and the "loser" would complain to her. 

Then she started to hide the keyboard, under the assumption that if they couldn't type they wouldn't be able to log on. Which is pretty sound logic, honestly, but they're determined kids when they want to be. They found that pesky Special Assistance menu that's on Windows log in screens, which brings up a virtual keyboard. Using the mouse, they were able to select the letters needed for the super simple password. And again, they could have gotten away with this, if only they had shut the fuck up and cooperated and taken turns. But no. Shit fests ensued in the mornings again, and word finally got back to my host moms ears. Naturally she started to hide the mouse, also. 

It began in a drawer in the desk, but Ani and Goga quickly found this hiding spot. Then my mom moved them into a cabinet in the living room, changing what one she'd use every day and always hiding them underneath bedding and towels. That didn't help, either, and inevitably they'd find these peripherals and then use them when she wasn't home. Finally she just started to bring the mouse and keyboard with her to school. It was the solution she had been dreaming of! Divine retribution at last! Freedom from quarreling children always! I mean, it's a bit cumbersome having to carry a full size keyboard and a mouse in her purse day in and day out, but if it saves her a headache or twelve per week it's totally worth it.

So there I was a few weeks ago, sitting on the couch in the petchie room, reading my book. My host brother had just thrown a fit about not being able to use the computer, and stomped out of the room, leaving only my host mom and me. She waits a moment. We hear the bathroom door close, and then she hurriedly comes over to where I am and motions for me to stand up. I look at her curiously, but comply and stand by the door. "Watch for Goga," she whispers as she lifts up the cushions and pulls out the keyboard and mouse from the empty space underneath the collapsable couch bed. Of course I start busting up, because this women just pulled computer accessories out from a sofa with the same caution that someone might have when revealing the location of the hidden rebel base to a confidant. 

And that's the current resting location of the peripherals. Right under my butt as I type this up. My host siblings have yet to discover it, that's how unASSuming (RIMSHOT) it is. I've started to run interference on the kids, keeping them out of the room and occupied so my mom can safely extract the secret devices. The suspense of having the keyboard and mouse magically appear is starting to drive my host siblings insane. They keep asking me if I know where it is, but I always just play dumb and lie. Their incessant fighting makes me want to strangle both of them, and I am pretty sure my host mom is in the same boat as I am, considering she always sighs and yells that she will abandon them and come back to America with me if they keep fighting. So if they want to pull their hair out in wonder as to where the accessories are, let them!

Besides, I've got my own computer, and my own Internet, and I can do shit like this.

Since you need a nice view in order to just look at pictures of cats, right?

Stuff and Things

So I've been trying for the last half hour to suss out exactly why Blogger is being a buttmunch, but to no avail. This whole post was going to be all focused around telling you what a hard weekend I had sitting on a beach drinking wine and laughing with friends, with pictures to prove it! There was even a hilarious shot of a gypsy kid attacking my friend Jourdan that I would wittily caption, as well as a photo of my newly acquired tattoo.1

But you don't get any of that. Because Blogger isn't letting me upload pictures for whatever reason. They show up as being present in HTML, but don't actually ever load. I'm confused, and too overly caffeinated to properly problem shoot. So I don't know what's wrong!

Probably just normal buttmunchery.

Anyway. Apologies for the lack of updates lately! It's not that I've been particularly busy, or that nothing is happening - I'm currently in the middle of a brain void. I have all these ideas for posts, or even drawings, and for some reason as soon as I sit down to write or paint my brain just goes blargle and nothing comes out.  The only things I seem capable of making are lists. My notebook has seven of them now:

• Things Doctor Who Has Made Me Scared Of
• Things That Make Chris Ridiculously Uncomfortable
• Georgian Words I Keep Using Incorrectly And Hilariously
• Reasons My Teachers Drink At School
• Confusing Social Scenarios Between My Teachers
• All The Reasons I Love Coffee, But Why Tea Is Actually Superior For A Broke Ass Like Myself
• MAKE ALL OF THE THINGS

So that's about the extent of my creativity lately. Hopefully, now you understand why this blog hasn't really had any new content in about two weeks. Because lists.

I'm going to try to make my stupid brain get back in the program in the next few days. We'll see how that goes!

1. All of the questions that are rushing through your head concerning the hygiene of getting a tattoo here were already asked by me. I went to an actual tattoo parlor where a bunch of other volunteers have gotten theirs from, saw the guy sterilize the machine and pull out brand new needles from sealed packages. It wasn't done with a pen and gross needle down an alleyway, so you guys can all just calm the hell down. MOM.