These past few weeks, I have been asked some rather strange questions, and have some odd coments directed my way. A couple of them, and the answers:

Are there apples in America?
I of course, answered no. I had never seen an apple before I came to Bulgaria.

Are there chickens in America?
Again, no.

I wanted you for my daughter-in-law, but my son just got married two months ago. ( the same lady who told me this later asked me what my name was.)

Do you want this cat? He is very nice. (said of a cat that I know has been rooting around in the dumpster.)

You shouldn't kick that stone. You will fall down. (it was a pebble, and I was kicking it down the street. I did not fall down.)

That's about all that I can think of. The apple question cracked me up, for several days, though. It was definately a teaching moment.

Hi All.

Sorry that it took a whole month for this update. It's been pretty hectic, and I've been lazy.

So, Let's start with Valentine's day, the day my friend Kevin says that everyone catches VD. It's really rather sad.

But, with Meghan, Alyse, Margaret, and some other volunteers, I went to Plovdiv for a night of chalga and Bulgarian food. For those of you who do not know what chalga is, be thankful, and wait the day that I bring some home so that your eardrums are permenently scared.

It is a mixture of Bulgarian, Serbian, Greek and Turkish music. My current favorite is Malko po Malko, sung by Gorgiana, and it's translated refrain lyrics go something like this:

You didn't know how to wait,
Every night I cry,
It gets better, little by little.

Are you awed? Of course, it is sung with a lot of emotion, and my drama queen side comes out whenever I hear this song. It's quite a good bit of fun, really.

Anyways, the star of the VD dinner was a fat man named Azis. Now, it is quite possible that Azis is the only Roma Gay man to be accepted widely in Bulgaria. I would even go as far as to say that the fact that he is accepted, being in either one of those categories is amazing. He was quite good. He didn't sing so much, but man, could he ever shake his booty. Again, some choice lyrics: I love you, I want your heart.

The only down side of his performance was that he was not made up as much as he usually is. Not even sparkely eye liner. Considering that he has been photographed wearing more make up in one night than I believe I have ever worn, this was a cause for considerable sadness. If you want to see, you can check out: http://sunny-music.bulgariancds.com/cgi-bin/p.cgi/azis-shou-spektakyl.html which has an album cover of his on it. Scary, huh?

So that was Valentines day. It was fun, and I got to hang out with some great people. However, there was a drunk Englishman there (Well, we were kind of celebrating his birthday with him), and I danced with him. It was strange. I think that this might have been one of the top ten VD's ever.

I have some sad news.

Tobby, my cat has run away.

He was aidded in his escape by the stupid vet, who not only was not the correct person to actually look at my cat, did not close the door.

I have no love for this vet.

None.

Thank you for letting me rant.

have an odor problem.

For months, I have tried everything that I could think of. Opening the windows, burning candles, even resorting to cleaning my apartment. I tried deluding myself that it wasn't coming from my apartment, but rather from an evil wall.

It didn't work.

Finally, I thought to have people from the school come in and have a look at my radiator, whose function, like most radiators, was to give me heat. (Okay, maybe not me exactly, but someone. And I would like to think that if I were to ask, no radiator would deny me. But, I might just be cocky.)

Sure enough, after unscrewing the one screw that held the control panel together, and then connecting the wires that somehow, in the twenty-five odd years of its exsistance, had become unconnected. What a stunner!

After they reattached the wire, and then spent double the time trying to get the panel screwed in place, and the electricity came back on, not only did I have heat for the first time this winter, but I had no odor.

I was a very happy girl.

Until this Saturday. The windows were open, all day (I like this great, wonderful weather that wakes up all of the floaty water spiders and butterflies.), the heater most definately *wasn't* on, and yet, somehow, the smell was back. I had even taken a shower that morning, so I knew that it wasn't me.

Strange, but it seemed to be coming from a wall. The wall. The evil, strange wall that juts out into my living/bedroom. I sniffed it. A couple of times. Then I was grateful that I live with a cat, because, to Tobby, this is acceptable behavior.

My results? The wall definately did not smell good. Tobby agrees with me. And no, it did not smell bad in just one place, about Tobby-height. It smelled bad even from Megan-height.

My conclusion: It really is not a good thing to have a wall that houses a chimney in your house, especially if you do not have a fireplace yourself, and have to rely on sketchy power and loose connections in your ancient radiator. A really not so good thing.

But, on the bright side, I now have three TV programs in English, and I think that I have all of my bases covered. For the enrichment of my shouting skills at the TV, I have the Discovery Channel. For the cleansing of my emotions, it's the Hallmark Channel. And, for that all important, what's happening with Britney Spears, you've got it, MTV.

It almost makes up for my smelly wall.

This story is dedicated to Adam. I hope that you enjoy it.

Once upon a time, in a fishier world than ours, there lived an Orca. His name was Sal. Sal was rather strange looking. He didn't have the smooth lines of the other orcas, and this caused him some pain. Horrible, terrible pain. So much that he felt that the other orcas were constantly talking about him behind his fish-like fins.

And they were. Not out of meanness or spite, but rather out of amazement. They found it astonishing that Sal could swim and be hydro-dynamic with the odd protrusions all over his body, and that he could see with his blood red eyes, or even eat with his rather large teeth. They were also rather afraid of him. (It was those red eyes. It was rather frightening to wake up on a dark ocean night and see a red, glowing shape moving slowly towards you. ((Sal also had a problem closing his eyes, so he tended to sleep with both wide open))). Also he was rather puny. To prevent from being startled by said glowing eye, they keep a constant two, four, or sometimes even fifty eyes on him.

So everything that Sal did was reported around the pod. And actually this was true for everyone. It was a rather small pod, and as they were well fed and didn't have to worry about sharks due to the really good medical insurance, they tended to gossip horribly about other members of the pod, after catching up on the latest happenings of Real World Paris. Including Sal with his freaky two-eyed red glow.

Sal also had a penchenant for getting his whaley-self into all sorts of trouble, which is the real reason for this little tail. Most of the trouble he got himself into was in part due to his connection to the Underwater Surf Association's Pacific Caravans, and therefore top secret. Well, I can't type about it, at least. The whole pod knew what was going on. But, I can tell you about the story about how our orca hero swam against the flow and had his mural painted.

It all started out innocently enough. Sal was swimming one day next to his ole pal Sid the lantern fish. (He liked fish folk who had short names. Much easier to remember.) Suddenly, he had a crazy thought. What if he started swimming against the flow of the water? In those days of fishy-antiquity, this just simply wasn't done. So, Sal slowly swept his oh so-stateless scaly self directly into the opposing current. Sid gasped in astonishment, but as Sid was much smaller than Sal, he simply went with the flow.

As it turned out, it was a good thing that Sal decided to pick that day to buck the water way traditions of his people, er, whales. Although several Radar blips picked him up, the tickets were delayed after the pod learned of the awesome feat he did, or will have done, shortly. Swimming just a few meters (yes, the pod was in the metric system) behind Sid, was the Evil, talked only about in whispered whistles, hasn't-been-seen in two migrations, Invisible Eel fish, primed to add poor little Sid, and maybe even not so poor but still not large Sal to the collection of fish in his stomach. (Note: while Eel-Monsters are usually invisible, as per the earlier description, the hapless fish that it had consumed in the course of it's going with the flowness were clearly visible (duh!) in his stomach.)

But, due to Sal's choosing that moment to buck the current, he was able to look the Evil Monster that was the Eel straight in its (his? hers?) eyes. (The eyes are the window to the soul. An Eel’s soul is always visible, especially evil ones. Therefore, they can be seen.). As was noted earlier, Sal was wee but scary. In fact, due to the random movement of the waves, a stray moonbeam caught the red eye and reflected, causing the Monstrous Eel that was Invisible (except for the eyes) to promptly lose his lunch. Then his breakfast. Finally, out came his midnight snack and even his dinner from the day before. Then, as the final stage in his fright, he became visible and much less scary. In fact, he ran away and was never not seen again. (As a side note, one fish decided that he liked being inside the Evil Eel Monster who was no longer Evil or a Monster, but still very much an eel, that he stayed there. If you come across this once threatening Eel, look closely and you will see a fish inside that has health written all over him.)

It was gross, but would have been grosser, but all of the fish food was still alive. They were all rather shocked by the whole being eaten while still flapping around, then blinded by a strange light coming from a little wee orca. So they swam away, without even thanking ole Sal.

Understandably, Sal got a little huffy. After all, he found out he was being stalked by an Eel with a desire for a little Sal and Sid snack, then was blinded by the moon, and finally, got thrown up on, no matter that it was live vomit. Up chuck is still up chuck, and Evil Eel Fiend spit up is not pretty.

Then he realized that not everyone had swum away. Indeed, the most fairest of all oceany life, something that wasn't even echolocated about, something that was just hinted at in the USA-PC manual, something that not even his cable TV had informed him of: a real, live mermaid.

“Dearest Sal,” she breathed (No, I am not saying that female mermaids have breathy voices, getting thrown up is rather hard work on the lungs, or gills rather. Whatever. It was a short term thing.) “You saved me. I will have a wall commissioned to commemorate your kind service to me forever.” Then, having regained her breath, she swam away. Thankful she was, but Sal was scary.

However, Sal wasn’t stupid. “You better get a bad artist to draw me exactly as I am!” He whistled after her.

(Yet another note: Indeed, that was exactly what she did. She got a self admitted crappy artist to draw Sal, and got a variety of other artists to do the other portraitry for the other important fish, such as Sid, and the other onlookers to the fateful duel. Since the other fish were vainer, they got better artists. )

From the day that Sal got the Evil Eel from Monster to regurgitate, he had the respect of all of the other orcas. They still talked about him, (those eyes still freaked them out), but it was with awe and an outlook for the seal dinners they had just eaten.

And thus ends one tale of Sal the Orca, Defender of Oceanic Life and Rear Pacific Caravaner (or at least he will be in 5 more months.) More than this lone tale have yet to be released.

We had quite the drama here yesterday. The first couple of hours were fine, although there was a rather strange warning about a fire going to happen by one of my twelfth grade boys. As he regularly hangs out with a boy who greets me every class with "Miss, there is something I want to say you right away," and another who asks me the meanings of such words as "am" and "Alps" after more than seven years of English, I didn't take it as seriously as I should.

The fire happened right after fourth period, which is also Homeroom on Mondays. Since I don't have one, I hang out with the other teachers who don't have it either in a very smoky, rather chilly cafe that is close to school. As it came time to go back for fifth period, we saw that the office staff and some of the janitors were gathered out front, and that the bell was ringing. So, we walked to the courtyard with all of the students, just as we had done on Saturday for the fire drill then.

Standing in the cold was not fun, especially as the director and the Bulgarian version of the guidance councilors were trying to tell us something, which we could not hear. Eventually we started moving back up to the front of the building, which is what we had done on Saturday. But, instead of going back inside, we were led up a flight of stairs that went no where except to a field. I had always wondered why those steps had been built, and I'm still wondering.

So now we were waiting up on the grassy field, for what, I don't know. Then, I looked up and saw smoke. I thought that was unusual, because, like most other buildings built during the 1970s, it was pure concrete. Also, the smoke was yellow. Third, there was a blue-coated man up on the roof where the smoke was coming from, and I recognized him as a janitor. Okay, I thought, obviously we are going for realistic here. In order to have a fire drill seem real, we need a controlled fire on the roof. Seems logical.

And we waited some more.

Eventually the fire department got there. They made a huge production of unrolling hoses, sending ladders up to the second floor window, and charging in with their gas masks. Obviously, someone had told them it was a fake, because their hoses were all flat and stayed that way.

And we waited some more.

This time, after a while, the fireman seemingly had found some "victims", as one student was led out with his face masked up in gauze, and another had his arm in a sling. I wondered briefly why they had taken the time to wrap these victims up in the "burning" school, instead of waiting to give them medical treatment outside. Then I realized that the smoke had stopped.

But don't worry, it was restarted. But, it had black smoke, so I don't know if restarted is the correct word. Maybe a new fire was started. Trick blue-coated man.

Guess what we did then? That's right. We waited.

Then an ambulance came. They ran in with strechers, and after five minutes, came out with another student, lying prone on it. It was a bad day for students. Especially male students. Obviously, only males can get hurt in fake fires set by blue-coated men on school roofs.

Then we waited some more.

The fire went out again, and the blue coated man didn't restart it. I think he was worried because of the police sirens. Apparently after a half hour has passed is the proper time for the police to arrive. I feel very secure.

The brand new cruiser made a huge production of speeding up over the speed bumps, and turning sharply into the school drive. Real safe. Especially with all of the kids who weren't quite contained on the grassy field.

But those kids were quickly herded back up, and after, that's right, waiting some more, the police led out some more students, handcuffed, and put them in the car. It then sped away, breaking through the crime tape that they had put up themselves just five minutes earlier.

But the drama wasn't over just yet. Apparently smoke, victims, and arsonists weren't enough for them. And we hadn't waited enough.

So we did some more, until the finale finally came. The last perp ran down the street, dressed, not in the blue coat of the janitor, but instead in a long quilted number. I bet he was glad, because moments later a German shepherd came charging after him, doing what dogs, police and others, do. He stopped him. I felt bad for the kid. After all, he wasn't even the guy up on the roof, and he was bought down by dogs, in front of the whole school.

And that, was how the fire drill yesterday went. It took an hour, involved lots of waiting, and some really strange stunts.

Don't believe me?

I'm trying to get a copy of the video tape to prove it.

That's right. It was taped.

I've been back in Bulgaria for a week now, and although it has been super duper cold (so cold, in fact, that my carrots have been freezing in my refrigorator. Eating icy carrots is not fun, and I don't recommend it.) there have still been some interesting developements.

For example, I can now purchase pineapples in my bazaar. This might not seem so strange, but when you take in consideration that I was told not to teach my preschoolers the word for pineapple because they wouldn't know what it was in Bulgarian, it makes more sense. I don't think that anyone here even knows what to do with a pineapple. A very interesting develpoment, if I do say so myself.

Next, the week that I came back, the whole town was out of two very intersting things. One was cat litter. Poor Tobby the cat had to make due in some soil that I found. He was not appriciative. Luckily there was a new shipment on Thursday, and he has been frolicing happily in it ever since. The other was working photocopiers in general and toner in particular. I tried four different places that I had at one time had copies made. Two of those places had misplaced their copiers sometime between December 15 and January 6, and another one had broken. The forth one, which is where I usually get my copies done, had no toner. I still don't know if toner or the machines have been found. Hopefully they have, as I need a whole slew of worksheets/tests/texts to be made.

The final oddity occured when I went to mail some letters. I went in as usual, and lo and behold, there were socks at the post office. I don't mean the kind that people wear in between their foot and shoe, I mean the kind that is for sale. Right there in the post office window. So, if I magically misplace my socks in the five minute walk from my apartment to the post office, I can simply get a new pair there.

It's good to know that such a thing is possible.

Um, hello.

This is my excuse for not writing in such a long time. I was in Spain. Please forgive me.

So, now that my apology is over, I WAS IN SPAIN! And it truely was wonderful enough to warrent capitol letters. Not only was the weather great, the food wonderful (especially the Burger King and Ben and Jer... um, I mean the torillas and tapas. Okay. So I really mean all of the above. I hadn't had either of those American treats for a year and a half. I think that I was due.) and the places we stayed at great, but the people were smiley, wore sensible shoes, and, most importantly, I could hear English as I walked down the streets! Oh, to walk past someone and realize that I could understand everyword they said, without having to translate! Wonderful!

I made the trip with some other volunteers I had met in Bulgaria; Alyse, Meghan, and Kevin. The three of us felt a little bit sorry for Kevin, as he was the lone guy, but he hung in there bravely. Good job Kevin! We managed to get to Madrid, Zaragoza, Barcelona, Sevilla, and Corobia for a day. Yet oddly enough, we didn't really see anything that Spain is known for. No monkeys, no Alhambra, no bullfights (that was delibrate), and no flaminco. We did get to see the Prado Art Musuem in Madrid, but that was mainly because we swung by on a Sunday and got in free. Yeah for free!

Also in Madrid, we decided to do a little walking tour our guide book suggested. However, because we were lazy, or got distracted by something else, we didn't really start until about 7 pm. Now Madrid doesn't sleep. There were thongs of people everywhere in the center. I mean everywhere. The four of us had to resort to a human chain to break through the crowds without getting lost. Eventually, we bought day-glo wigs (at least the girls did. Kevin didn't want to spend the money to be wacky.) and it was much easier to keep track of each other. However, it was also easier for other people to take notice of use, espcially when we walked away from the center. As we were passing on corner bar, we stopped because we saw a wise man walk out. He was followed shortly by a camel. This seemed to be interesting, so we sat down on the conventiant steps and waited. Sure enough, the camel and her wise man were followed by a river, a sheep, and the rest of the nativity. Seems that they took a little break from their scence to grab some sangria. We were enjoying the craziness, when all of a sudden, they started heading right towards us. A shepard boy lagged behind, and when we were surrounded, they took our portrait with them. How many people can say that they were surrounded by a nativity mob, overtaken, and forced to submit to a through nuzzling by a sheep? Not many, I wager, who live to tell about it.

After that excitement, and having our picture taken by afro-headed elvises, we abandoned the tour mid-way through and went back to the hostel. Feeling that Madrid offered us too much excitement, we packed up and traveled to Zaragoza, which is about halfway between Madrid and Barcelona. Yet again, there was a Nativity scence, but this was stationary, and it was the largest non-live one that I've ever seen. We walked through it several times, although the later times were just to startle the pigeons. The main attractions there were a bacilica with a pillar, and a Moorish Castle. We walked around the castle in the moat, just for fun. We're crazy like that. But inside was beautiful. Especially the ceilings. I like ceilings. They keep the snow out. But these had all sorts of decorations in them. Fancy ceilings if you will. Very nice.

After Zaragoza, we got on yet another bus, this time to Barcelona. Barcelona was fun. Meghan and I walked up and down the main street and got honked at and whistled at like crazy. We ended up being there for Christmas, and went to a weird service that wasn't any of our religions, but had a lot of incence. A lot. We also saw a lot of Gaudi's work, which was rather amazing, in a weird, strange, fantastical kind of way. I liked it. We also saw (and paid for) a Picasso museum. It wasn't the best art museum I've been to, but Meghan tried to explain how to look at art. I don't think that I really got it, but it was still good.

Then the maddness truely began. Our plan had been to take a bus directly from Barcelona to Sevilla, which is on the other side of Spain. However, that would have taken 16 hours and cost 60 euros. Not within our price range. But, being the crafty planners Alyse and Meghan are, we found that if we were to take a bus to Madrid, and then to Sevilla, it would still take 16 hours, but it would only cost about 30 euros. You can guess what option we took.

We got to Sevilla, and I was definately crabby. But, after gorging myself on churros con chocolate, I felt a little bit better. That night, Kevin, Alyse and I went exploring, and found a nice little Mexican place that served awesome guacamole, tacos, and sangria. Then, we explored some more and found an Irish pub with the best nachos ever. I'm talking layers of chips and cheese. Yum, yum, yum.
Oh, and that is also where Christopher Colubus's supposed remains are. I didn't get to see them. The monstrous lunicy that is the cathedral in Sevilla wasn't open a lot, especially arround New Year's. Or, I was just to lazy to get myself up to go to mass so I could see it without paying the 6 euro fee.

We did go see the castle that was there, which was built first by the Moors then by the Christians. That was amazing. Every square inch of the Moorish part had some sort of plaster work done on it. I think that the Christians rebeled against this, as they had no plaster work, but everything was in bright peace and red. A very intersting contrast. Again, I liked it.

On New Year's Eve, the three girls decided to abandon Kevin to go see Cordoba, which has the oldest remaining synogoge in Spain. It was closed. We did get to walk around a lot, and found a great place to people watch. But when the loud firecrackers started going off, we decided to leave. We rejoined Kevin just in time to find a Hindu place that was still open, which had the strangest service ever. It was fun. Then we wandered to the city plaza, where a huge clock counted down to midnight. Lots of champange, graffitti, and for some reason, grapes. Odd.

So that was basically our trip. We took another overnight to Madrid, completed the rest of our tour in the dark (this time it was 6 am), got on the plane and returned to Bulgaria.

So here I am.

Sigh.

I fear that I may have gone a little bit over board in my canning this past summer/fall. But as last night I heard that a few years back, the lev got so inflated that all one check was able to buy was six loaves of bread, I think that to have too much canned goods is a good things. I recently did an inventory, and here are the results:


11 jars of tomatoes
9 jars of peaches
9 jars of jellies, assorted
7 jars of pickles
3 jars of babagunosh,
6 jars of pumpkin,
2 jars of applesauce

And keep in mind that "winter" has been here for a month already. Sometimes I think that the jars are multiplying under my table. They do have a lot of privacy down there, so I can never really tell.

As some of you may know, last year I had a guest that I really couldn't see. My apartment is infested with holes that have been cut for smoke pipes, but since I don't have a wood burning stove, they have been wallpapered over, or in the case of my kitchen, a cabniet has been put up to block it. I don't think that anything has been done to the outside portion of the pipe, because last winter, I had what I like to think of as a feral guineua pig. Of course, due to the cabniet blocking the entrance, he couldn't get out, I couldn't get at him, and we had about an inch to stare at each other in frustrated (at least on my part) stalemate. He blithely went being the neat beast he was. Unfortunetly, this meant that he cleaned his hole rather often. You can imagine what exactly needed cleaning in his hole. That ended up on my counter. Ew. I had by that time, explored the contents of my medical kit and found the answer to pretty much all problems here. Medical Tape. It sticks to walls, it sticks to people, it stuck to the bottom edge of the cabneit and the "droppings" stuck to it. Thankfully, I haven't had to apply that messure this year, yet. Hopefully the cat will make threatening enough noises that he will tremble in his little furless feet, and find another pipe to nest in. Or not. Either way, I'm ready for him.

I fear that I may have gone a little bit over board in my canning this past summer/fall. But as last night I heard that a few years back, the lev got so inflated that all one check was able to buy was six loaves of bread, I think that to have too much canned goods is a good things. I recently did an inventory, and here are the results:


11 jars of tomatoes
9 jars of peaches
9 jars of jellies, assorted
7 jars of pickles
3 jars of babagunosh,
6 jars of pumpkin,
2 jars of applesauce

And keep in mind that "winter" has been here for a month already. Sometimes I think that the jars are multiplying under my table. They do have a lot of privacy down there, so I can never really tell.

As some of you may know, last year I had a guest that I really couldn't see. My apartment is infested with holes that have been cut for smoke pipes, but since I don't have a wood burning stove, they have been wallpapered over, or in the case of my kitchen, a cabniet has been put up to block it. I don't think that anything has been done to the outside portion of the pipe, because last winter, I had what I like to think of as a feral guineua pig. Of course, due to the cabniet blocking the entrance, he couldn't get out, I couldn't get at him, and we had about an inch to stare at each other in frustrated (at least on my part) stalemate. He blithely went being the neat beast he was. Unfortunetly, this meant that he cleaned his hole rather often. You can imagine what exactly needed cleaning in his hole. That ended up on my counter. Ew. I had by that time, explored the contents of my medical kit and found the answer to pretty much all problems here. Medical Tape. It sticks to walls, it sticks to people, it stuck to the bottom edge of the cabneit and the "droppings" stuck to it. Thankfully, I haven't had to apply that messure this year, yet. Hopefully the cat will make threatening enough noises that he will tremble in his little furless feet, and find another pipe to nest in. Or not. Either way, I'm ready for him.

Today I took a walk.

Now, this may not seem too surprising, but considering the manner in which it was done, it is something truely remarkable.

To be more presice, I strolled.

Here's the story:

I went to Kurdjali, the nearest big town, which really isn't all that big. However, it does have an Office 1 superstore, so for all of you who think that I live in the sticks, it simply ain't true.

The weather was great. After a week of being able to see nothing of the sun except for fantastic sunsets, it was out all day, and actually made the weather warm instead of frigid.

On the bus was one of my colleagues, Erhan. Erhan was going to Kurdjali to spend the night before he went to Plovidiv to take a test the next day. We traveled together.

Once we got to Kurdjali, instead of splitting up, we decided to go get some coffee. Big surprise, I know. But, instead of walking quickly as I usually do, because of some weird thing that makes me go about life as quickly as possible, We strolled.

One step at a time. Then another. I had to fight against the leisurely pace at first, but then it became easier.

Strangely enough, when I slowed down, the town became more interesting. The people, who usually seemed really dour and not happy were all smiling. I felt like I was in a fairy tale.

It was fun.

I doubt that I will be able to walk like that again, just because I know that I'm usually in a rush, but today was good.

Enough with the sentiment, I know.

While all of you were eating Turkey and Sweet Potatoes this past weekend, I was off having the second part of my Thanksgiving Adventure. For those of you who missed it, it involved many, many hours of travel, on buses and trains, many bad or even wrong directions, a waitress/taxi driver, a broken phone, and sock coffee. While many of those things didn't happen this year, (sad. I was really looking forward to some coffee strained thru a sock. It's good. Alyse knows how to clean her socks and clean them well.)

So, in a short little thing, as I am exhausted from this weekend, here goes:

A lingually confused man who swore that Chicago was only 50 kilometers from Niagra Falls. Despite the instance of Meghan, who is from Chicago, that this was not true, he bet us a bottle of whiskey. We declined.

A parade of live chickens being carried down the street by their feet. It was just funny to me.

A side stepped water balloon.

A stalker dog. The dog followed Meghan and I from the center pretty much to Alyse's front door. Whenever we stopped to let it pass, he would go up ahead, then lurk behind a tree to get back behind us. Even when we ducked into a shop, he sat down and waited for us. Luckily, an old man came and chased him in circles until he ran away. It was freaky in a funny way.

A second water balloon. This was a surprise attack and the target was hit. Oops. Did I mention that it was cold here? It's cold here.

A day of cooking things and eating things. Our complete menu: A tofurkey, two lasangas, pumpkin soup, fruit stuffed pumpkin, cauliflower, spinach salad, walnut loaf, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce (Thank you Margret's Mom!) and bread. And about 7 bottles of wine between 12 people. Also, for desert, two apple pies, a pumpkin pie, and a cheese cake made with Happy Cow cream cheese. It was very happy.

The restaurant we ate all of this food at supplied a very strange singer. He had white hair, glasses, and sang selections from really random people. Kevin and I even waltzed.

A fish of a different sort. Alyse has a wall full of fish that people paint whenever they come over. Our friend Adam painted a really bad Orca. Our friend Kevin, as a joke, outlined a larger fish who was going to eat Adam's fish. Adam got huffy, and Kevin painted an egg instead. However, after both had left, Margaret painted the outline in. So now, there is a bad Orca about to be eaten by an invisible eel monster. The soap opera of Alyse's fish wall!

So that was pretty much my weekend. I spent a lot of time cooking, a lot of time traveling, a lot of time laughing with my friends, a lot of time cleaning, a lot of time and even more time eating. But, since it was a vegetarian Thanksgiving, it was a lot of veggies. That makes it all okay, right?

I believe that I'm the happiest person in Bulgaria at the moment. While I was walking to buy opera tickets today, I stumbled across a cafe. While anyone knows that the usual cafe/city block ratio in Sofia is about 25/1, this may not suprise you. But, this was an honest to goodness, almost Starbuckian type cafe. I mean, they had mochas, lattes, steamers, iced coffee, crosiants, muffians, brownies, and that was about all I noticed before I went into spasms of estacy. I, of course, got a mocha, and it was the best mocha, indeed the only mocha, that I've had since leaving the good old U.S. of A. I believe that the happiness will last at least until I go see the new Matrix movie, which I've heard mixed reviews on. Have a happy weekend!

I have a confession to make. I have an addiction. It is not something that I ever planned on becoming addicted to, and even as I type I'm aware of its grossness.

I do this habit mainly in my home, but I've been known to take it to the streets, especially as I'm walking to my counterpart's cafe. I haven't done it at school yet, but after school, I almost directly go for a hit.

I don't think that many people here have noticed. Well, obviously the ones that I do it in front of in the streets, but I doubt that they would comment on it, as they do it as frequently as I do. In fact, they like doing it in pairs or even more.

The habit has affected me physcially yet, although I do have to be careful of my nails, and sometimes it leaves spots on my teeth. Nothing that a quick swipe of my trusty toothbrush can't take care of.

Yes. It is true. I can hide it no longer. Every afternoon, after a long, stressful day of teaching Bulgarian children, I come to my apartment, feed the cat, and pour myself a bowl full of sunflower seeds.

Then, I sit and I crack them open with my teeth until they are no more.

I'll understand if this disgusts you. It disgusts me a little too. I can only hope that one day, I will be able to find someone to share this habit with. Sunflower seed addictions, once you've gott 'em, are tough to crack. Ha.

So, my friend Heidi wanted to respond to a previous message about her own experiances with strange things in her apartment:


Hey, I read your Blog about TC. Did I ever tell you my apartment when I first moved in had fleas? Yes, the apartment. A few days after moving in I had little red bites all over my lower legs, and boy do they itch like hell. If you looked close to the floor you could see them hopping around. This was before we got our two kittens. So we bought some flea bombs, evacuated the apt., and bombed the place out -- bam, no more fleas. The weird-little-inch-worm population were attracted to the bombs though, because when we came back there were hundreds of little dead inchworm thingies all over the floor around each of the bombs. Yick. Then we got our kittens, and guess what, they came with fleas, so we had to give them flea baths, and finally our experience with fleas was over. Now we don't have fleas or inchworms, but our basement is infested with clear, mutated spiders. They mutated from the flea bombs probably, a new, poison resistant species. They haven't taken over our apartment upstairs though, which is good, just beware if you go down to do laundry...

It truely is a day for celebrations. First, The Cat and I are somewhat at peace, and maybe even better, there is a real toliet at school! Yippie! That's right, no longer is there a porcilein hole in the ground. I can now relieve myself without fear of falling or other grossness that you probably don't want to hear about. I was very excited. I don't think that any of you can understand unless you've actually used a Turkish toliet, and the one that was at school was not a shining example of one.

Secondly, The Cat and I have finally had a break through in our relationship. Today, for the very first time, I was allowed to pet him, without prior hissing (on his part, of course) ON MY BED. That's right. We have breached the only-pet-me-on-the-refridgorator-truce we had reached, and I might, just might, now be able to pet him in two different places. This leaves me hope. Eventually, I hope to be able to walk into a room without him running and hiding. It's a big hope, but hey, shoot for the moon, right? I'm just happy about the cuddling we did. It was nice. Then, after I got mad at him for making noise during a migrane and had locked him in the (rather chilly) kitchen, he ran directly for my bed when I finally let him out. It made me feel a little bit better. Just a bit.

Other than that, it is pretty darn cold here. I can tell, not only by the themostate in the town center, but just by walking out of my living/sleeping area into the cooking/bathing area. It seriously drops twenty degrees (that'd be farinheit) between the two. I think that the previous paragraph was made possible by both TC and I trying to get as close to Bertha the heater as possible without singeing ourselves.

Consequently, I know if I'm dressed warm enough for school if I can stand being in the kitchen without running for more layers. It's just about right, especially in the morning. Layers are my savior at the moment. If I get warm teaching, I can take off a sweater or three, but I know that the moment I step out into the hallway, I'd better put them back on, because the same principle applies at school as my apartment. Where people spend most of their time is warm, otherwise you'd better have full parka gear going for you. BRRRR!

So that's pretty much all. I have a super fun weekend planned that involves winterizing my apartment, correcting half a semester worth of journals, and canning pumpkin. Mmmm. Pumpkin. It's so good! Definately going to be the best part of the weekend.

Let me take this opportunity of relitve calmness/nothing new in my life to tell you all a little bit about the BUlgarian school system. Other than the fact that there are teachers, and there are students, there is relatively little the same about the two.

Also, I feel the need to celebrate a little. We finally have a final schedule, in the eight week of school, and for the fourth time. I'll see how long it lasts. Another reason to celebrate is the arrival of the Dnevknitsi. These are the books that teachers use to record absentences, grades, and any other relavant information. It was a tough month without these.

First off, I do not have a classroom. In fact, no one does. This means that I have to find my students, where ever they may be. This is helped a little by the fact that, most of the time, the students do have their own classroom. However, it is the other 30 % of the time that is the problem. Then, I have to wander around the school, sometimes all four stories of it, to find a classroom that is free to take over for that period.

Second, let me explain how this class thing works. Each student, instead of just being in 10th grade, for example, is in instead asigned a parralell to be in. This means that there is 10A, 10B, and 10V. (the Bulgarian Alphabet runs a little differently than ours.) Each paralell has their own classroom. But, within each class, there are different tracks for second languages. Thus, half of 10A might be learning English as a first foriegn language, the other half French, and therein the need for an extra classroom. What makes matters worse is the requirement for a second forgein language as well. Ick.

Now for the faculty. Teachers are only required to be at school for those periods they teach and the fifteen minutes before. With the way my schedule works most days, this means that I get to have about five cups of expresso while I'm waiting for my classes. Can we say caffine overload, we sure can.

So, now for the school day. There are about 7 class periods a day. I say about, because each day has a different schedule, and I'm not just talking day A and Day B here. I mean every day of the week has a different schedule. Each teacher has an assigned number of classes to teach in the week. For example, I have to teach two groups of 11B class seven hours a week, but 12B is only gifted with my presence for 3 times a week. Now is the fun part. Remember how there are only 7 periods schedulded a day, and I have to teach 14 periods of English for 11B? (Two groups*Seven hours=fourteen hours) I have only seven hours, total, schedled for those groups. This means that I get to schedule seven hours outside of the school day to teach these classes. Some days, those poor, poor girls have to be in class from 7:45am to 4:00pm, STUDYING.

Are you ready for an example? Let's take today. (I'm writing this during my "lunch break".) I teach first period on Tuesdays. I get to school at 7:30, with my cup of coffee, and sit around the teacher's lounge. When the second bell rings, I grab the dnevnek, and walk upstairs to my 11B, group A class. (We are presently *just* opening doors, or buying stuff. Lots of fun.) The bell rings, and I go back to the teacher's lounge. I wait the ten minutes for the next class to begin, then I go get coffee with the other teachers who don't have second period. The discussion is about a teacher who just got a new car, and consiquently, paid for the coffee. After forty-five minutes of this, I head back to the teacher's room, and correct some tests. Third period, which starts at 9:35, I teach 12B. They are without a doubt, the most challenging class ever. Not because it is hard to teach them, they justl like to ask why and I need a reason for everything. The old, because I'm the teacher and you're a student excuse is running pretty thin. We learned about the phrasal verbs take and put. You try explaining what "to take for granted" means. It's tough.

After third period, it is big break time. This means that the students have twenty minutes to go buy lunch or breakfast, smoke if they are so inclined, and get rather chilly in this cold weather. Fourth and Fifth period are mine to do what I wish, and I wish to inform ya'll about my day. I'll go back for 6th period, at 12:30, to once again, *just* teach 11B, group A, this time for two hours in a row. Luckily, Tuesday is not a ten period day for them, so they get to go home, and I get to rush over to the daycare/preschool center for a half hour with some rambuncious 5 year olds. A half hour is pretty much all the energy that I have for them. I get them *just* after nap and snack, lucky me.

So, that is about all for me, this week. Next week, I get to start teaching adult English lessons, so that will be an extra hour twice a week. Do you understand why I only teach four days a week? I need the extra day on the weekend to get my energy back.

Oh yes. The Cat is still here, and still cranky. Somehow, all of the toys I give him end up in the bathroom drain. I just don't understand it.

Today, the mystery of the missing drawer was solved, most satisfactorily, if one wishes to know.

If you are wondering why I was so concerned about a silly drawer that had gotten itself lost somewhere, it is because I only “own” two. And one of those is only accessible from 7:30 to 5 everyday, so it is not the most convenient for the placement and storage of one’s index cards, walkman, GSM charger, and so on. The drawer that got itself lost was the only one in my apartment, so it was rather vital.

How does one go about losing one’s drawers? Well….let’s not get to much into that, and we’ll stick to how my drawer got stolen.

First, I better say that this drawer is a rather shoddy piece of craftsmanship that I managed to break by tugging on it gently, as on is wont to do with drawers. First, it blew its lid, or whatever the front part of a drawer is called, then, sadly, the bottom fell out. As space is limited in my apartment, and out of an unwillingness to separate the drawer from the rest of the desk, I propped it up next to it. Then, I merrily went about my way to Sofia to hang out with some friends.

Here’s where the plot thickens. Prepare to gasp in outrage. When I came back, it was gone!
*GASP*!

Of course, I didn’t really notice that it was missing until about a week afterwards. I’m busy, what can I say? I know I’m heartless for failing to notice the plight of one sickly little drawer, but I accept it, you should too.

I finally figured out what had happened last week. About the same weekend that the drawer went missing, I had some repairmen over from school to fix the door that had locked me in and my leaky toilet. (No, you don’t want to know. It’s that disgusting.) I reckon that while the repairmen were they, they somehow stole my drawer! The outrage of it all! Drawer thieves, in this time of drawer-need!

Anyways, I asked around at school, and today, Alena, the repairman manager (There’s a title in Bulgarian that just doesn’t translate. This is close enough.) bought me my drawer, newly, at least to me. (The thing was covered in dust. It had probably been lying forgotten in some corner while I was anxiously searching high and low. Or at least at school.)

Yippie! I was once again at my quota of two drawers in Bulgaria. However, the problem was now that both of them were at school. As much as I hated the idea, I was going to have to walk my drawer home. How embarrassing!

But, I survived, and my walkman, my stationary, and yes, even my cell phone charger are once again safe and sound in their rightful drawer.

The moral of the story is to protect your drawers. You never know when you will need them.

So, as I referred to in my previous entry, I now have a cat. Or, more acutretly, the cat lives in my apartment, and tries, but fails, to defend his territory against me.

I got this cat, not by going to a pet shop, or even to a humane society (the concept just doesn't exist here), but rather through a janitoress at school asking me if I wanted a kitten. When I said yes, she said she would deliver one at 4 on Monday, and then asked if I wanted a boy or a girl cat. Unsure of whether this was a joke or not, I said, boy cat. Much easier for a boy cat to become an it cat. Thus made, I made sure that I was indeed home at the appointed time, but just because.

So, 4 came, and sure enough, there was a knock on the door. But, because the apartment next door to me is undergoing some renovation involving knocking at odd hours of day and night, I ignored it at first. People here generally go for the doorbell first thing. This woman did not. Finally, I realize that my name is accompanying the knocking, and go to answer. There is an iron gate installed in front of my door, to prevent the rampant, wanton, non-existant robberies in my town from getting into my apartment. Rather than waiting for me to unlock this gate, the woman procedes to try to stuff this very frightened, very dirty male kitten through the bars. Naturally, the cat does not like this, and starts fighting. I run to get my keys, and actually get it unlocked, but the woman finds a different place to stuff the cat through, and I then had a very surly, very filthy, very scrawny kitten in my apartment.

Because I hadn't been completely certain that this woman was serious in her kitten giving, I didn't have a lot of kitten supplies on hand. I did however, have some cat food left over from my previous attempt at having a kitten (it jumped out the window, or got lost in some other, mysterious way, my second week of ownership), as well as flea shampoo, and some flea spray. I was really concerned about fleas. They really itch when one is bitten. I put the last two items to good use, and then I had a very scrawny, shaky, and skinny cat. I didn't know if he could handle solid food yet, so gave him a bowl full of milk and ran to get some real supplies.

Probably needless to say, the bath definatley did not help our relationship turn into a wonderful thing. He proceeded to hiss at me whenever our paths crossed. Since I live in a small apartment, this was often, or about whenever I went into the kitchen. In fact, after week 5 of our living together, he still does this. However, I would like to briefly touch upon some high, or at least interesting, points in our relationship.

*About a week after I got him, I managed to hang on to him long enough to rub his belly, which my friend Meghan swears will turn any cat into mush. After a while, he did, indeed, turn to mush, which meant that he started purring. After a moment or two of this, he starts hacking. I think that this was his first attempt at the business, and so he had to clear his throat. However, he still does this. Also, I find him in my plastic bag full of plastic bags. I think that I may have a thing for cats committing suicide in my apartment. It's rather sad.

*Week two: I came home from Sofia with a prize: A hunk of Swiss cheese. Divine. (There isn't even a word in Bulgarian for cheese. It's really sad. Swiss is a prize, worth defending.) Somehow, the cat got into this delightful treat, and ate about half of it. The cat then found itself thrown out of the apartment into the scary world of my breezeway. (And believe me, is it ever breezy!) He didn't seem to know what to do with his new found freedom, and began to cry. I relented, and gave him a stern talking to. He agreed not to eat my cheese, as long as I didn't leave it out.

*Week three: I ignore him. This worked really well. He started making other noises, besides the hissing. I was impressed that he was so vocal.

*Week four: We come to a truce. I can touch him only when he is sitting on top of the refrigorator. Although he hisses, he does not claw, bite or otherwise threaten personal harm. This turns into a nightly cuddle fest for about approximetly a half an hour, or until my bladder tells me it's time to move. As soon as I get up from my chair, he no longer recognizes me.

*Week five: I have trick or treating, which involves having people in my house. I think he's forgotten about it, but I'm still on the look out for Tigher-like consiquences. (Ask Katie if you don't understand that.)

Oh, and in case you were wondering, he is no longer bony, but still needs some beefing up. And his name for the moment is TC. As in "The Cat." I like being imaginative, don't you?

It is official. I have some of the sweetest students in the world. What, you require proof, you who do not believe? Well, here it is.

Being as this Friday was Halloween, I decided to fulfill one of the objectives of Peace Corps, and do some culture switiching. Bulgarians do not celebrate Halloween, but they have heard of it, due to the plethora of American Culture outlets, such as TRL and the whole "Halloween" series. I introduced my students to Trick or Treat.

I did this by bringing it up in class, going over some of your basic Halloween vocabulary, had a discussion about what is meant by "trick", as opposed to "treat", and invited them to practice their new found knowledge by their very own practice run, mainly my apartment, from 7 to 9 on Friday night. Although costumes were breifly mentioned in the discussion, I did not make them a requirement of my trick or treating.

So, I busily begin making preparations. Namely, making pumpkin cookies, hanging lame "Happy Halloween" signs on my door, and drawing a face on a baby pumpkin I had bought in the bazar. (The reason I didn't carve the pumpkin was that I did that last year. It took a week for the blisters to heal. Bulgarian pumpkins are tough to carve, especially little ones.) Then, I sat back in my chair with a good book, and awaited my very first, ever, trick or treaters.

I had to wait until quarter to 8, but it was worth it. Four of my girls from 11b class showed up, with one of their friends from another parallel. (More on that in a different entry; the school system here is rather different.) In all, I had a doctor, a geisha, a vampire, catwoman, and a gyspy (Yes, I know that it's not the most policially correct costume in the world, but we haven't gotten to the discrimination portion of the syllabus yet.), holding a CARVED jack-o-lantern, and a banner that read "Halloween". They also made me a very sweet card, and an original message inside. I was so impressed with them. They made me wipe a tear from my eye. They were even scary, at least according to my psycho cat, TC. They poliety ate a cookie, and took a piece of candy, and tried to drink the Kool-aid I made (I think that it wasn't sweet enough, they left about half a glass each behind). We chatted for a while, then, it was picture time. I kid you not. First I took one, then the gyspy, then catwoman, then the geisha, then the doctor, then the vampire. All of these were group pictures. Then, we moved over to the other side of the room, and began the process all over again. Then, we dragged my footstools over, and began another round. Finally, after about 15 pictures, the girls said, okay, now one with just you, the pumpkin, and the sign. Did I mention, we took pictures? Just a few.

After the photo session was over, I sat down and waited some more. After about 15 minutes, I could hear a herd of elephants tromping up the stairs. These elephants were so loud, I could tell that they were from my 12B class, otherwise known as Mariela, Gylnaz, Polia, Irena, George and Rasheed. I invited them inside, and they took off their shoes, and left them in the hallway. They were not in costume. The girls politely declined the cookies, and grabbed one piece of candy. George grabbed one piece of candy, and one cookie. Rasheed, on the other hand, had brought along a bag, and grabbed a handful of candy, and a cookie. I just wasn't selling those cookies, no matter what. I felt saddened. We chatted, and they left, to go about their merry, non-costumed, way.

And I was left with a mess, a jack-o-lantern, and a plateful of cookies.

Sometimes, it's hard to play trick or treat hostess. This wasn't one of them.

By the way, I haven't seen the cat since.

The Boiler Epic

First off, I simply must tell you all about my bathroom. It is one room, and when you hear about European water closets, I can’t imagine anything closer than this. It has a toilet, a shower head, a little sink (think cereal box big. Or small. Your choice.), and a boiler, all crammed into a room smaller than the size of a bathroom stall at school. Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. Make that the size of the smallest handicapped stall you’ve ever been in. There you go. Now you are properly prepared for the following tale of woe.

Way, way back in April, I had a slight problem with my boiler. Mainly, it had a hole in its lining that caused it to leak everywhere, making a waterfall that was waist high, and under many rusty pipes. It wasn’t very convenient for showering, so I made do with water heated on my two burner stove. Since April here was still rather cold, it was a cold and smelly couple of weeks. Finally, after much reminding, broken appointments, a used boiler that mysteriously kept getting further and further away from my town was installed in my tiny bathroom. Of course, judging by number of dents, smears of stuff, and rust stains, I believe that it was dragged behind a donkey cart through the tobacco fields and down the cobblestone center of town. It doesn’t add much to my already disgusting bathroom.

So, pretty much everything was great for several weeks. I no longer competed with my students for the B.O. award, and I could have warm hands while washing my dishes. Of course, when the janitors from school had installed the boiler, they hadn’t quite tightened one of the pipes all the way. This resulted in a slight drip that went away when the heater wasn’t actually turned on, but made the floor rather wet at night. I solved this problem by placing an empty yogurt container under it. But, as time went on, this wasn’t enough. I still ended up getting my feet wet before the shower was actually turned on. Then, it started leaking during the day, when the boiler was off, as well. My response to this latest onset was to turn the water off during the day as well. Eventually, I got another visit from my friendly neighborhood janitor, and the problem went back to the yogurt cup. Every half hour. Now, in addition to the drip, there was a little version of Old Faithful, right in my bathroom. Needless to say, I did not consider myself lucky. Instead, I was rather wet, and in my pajamas. Once again, my weird problem solving skills went into effect, and with the help of a laundry bucket and a shoe string, I tamed the spurt. I also let my vice director know about the problem, again. Hopefully, this means that she will get tired of my constant complaints about the “running river in my bathroom”. Of course, this sounds much sillier in my Bulgarian.

Luckily, there is a new manager of the repairman at school, who happens to be the girlfriend of the director’s nephew, but also a close friend of my counterpart. This means that I know who to complain to and get faster results. I only had to wait two more days. Alana, (that’s the manager’s name), and one of the repairman came, only to discover that they had bought a pipe that had “male parts,” whereas my boiler required piping with “female parts”. It involved quite a discussion, and believe me, I was pretty close to giggling, because it sounded silly as well as risqué. Anyways, Alana was dispatched to purchase a “female” piece of pipe, and I went to make coffee, which with my two burner stove is quite a process. And, wouldn’t you know it, but the boiler was done before the coffee was even warm. But, even though they left a huge, rusty mess in the middle of my bathroom floor, and I had to scrape coffee grounds out of my china cups, I now am back to the one yogurt cup a week drip. I can live with that. Maybe.