Have you ever peed on a bee? And other tales of a Georgian summer.

Aaaand it's like a week later again and I never finished my blog post.  But I think that's an accurate representation of what I've been feeling lately: bits and pieces cobbled together, seeing how long I can hold out before going to the bazari again for a 40 tetri screw (since I'm missing a few of those) to make me last for a few more weeks.

So it goes.

Speaking of which, went to a samdzimare (wake) this month for the 10th grade homeroom teacher's husband.  He was only like 60.  I also helped with food prep for the neighbor guy who died a week later, former friend of my host grandpa and grandpa one of my 5th graders (and probably one of my 4th graders?)

To clarify: when I say I got robbed at the Nike store, I'm referring to the criminally high price.  No actual forceful taking of money by guns has happened to me.

The "job shadowing" last weekend went okay.  I feel like I really live up to being called "Mas" after Friday: 5% CP support
+ 0% CP informing on where students are in book ever
+ 30% concrete followed lesson plan
+ 100+° F weather.

You can imagine how much learning went on.  The one redeemable thing from the lesson, which featured an attempted future-with-will fortune-teller roleplay:
6th grade boy: "Will I be womens' liker?"

Good things from the visit include:

• pizza, brownies, and ice cream cake.  For breakfast.
• wine tasting.
• chillin' and morale talk on Ilia's Gora (hill).
• Polish horseshoes in the Kwa park.

Not Desirable Things Ever include:

• Truth or Dare
• Bustin' a move with the seniors on their banqeti (banquet) on Friday and hurtin' my left foot.  It's hurt for about a week and a half.  Daily ibuprophen, muscle gel, and an ankle brace later, I think I'm finally ready to run again.

In other news:

The students of this village are incredibly talented, dramawise.  4th graders had a "zeimi" (event) for their graduation today, which was cute.  And we had a "kaveini", sort of like a variety show, in Kvareli a couple Thursdays ago.  Bless the 10th graders' hearts, they don't study English worth a damn, but their comedic timing is amazing.  The first schools' piece was also better than Kvareli me-2 skola and Shilda, which was mainly a couple-kid-spotlight with the rest just there.  Which goes to show how things go down here:  One or two star pupils, who know all the answers in two seconds, are encouraged and participate in the lesson, and to hell with the rest of them.  The strong get stronger, the weak get weaker, and the teachers wonder why they're cursed with stupid children.  Betcha can't resolve that apparent discrepancy.

Sorry, I'm starting to try to study for the GRE.  Can ya tell?  I'm thinking maybe linguistics, something about how we use different language for stories, aka we have some kind of a "storytelling mode."  You can tell when someone's gonna launch into a long-winded anecdote.  Usually even if you don't know the language they're speaking.  I think that's cool.  So I wonder if there's something universal to it; tribes used to have master storytellers and stuff.  And today there are still people in every neck of the woods who haz l33t yarn-spinnin' 5killz (and those who don't).  Hmm.

Also, health translator sounds like something I could get into.  That or maybe Fulbright.  Or maybe going back to school for nursing.  Or maybe going to school for computer things.  Or maybe just being a student for life.

I'm interested in health, but I'm kind of feeling sickly all over.  Gimp ankle, sore throat, digestive things, mosquito bites complementing my tattoo and everywhere, and just a general feeling of blah.  I think it's the I've-just-spent-a-whole-year-in-Georgia-and-what-am-I-gonna-do-this-summer blues.

Speaking of which, I've finally let it slip to my host mom and counterpart teacher that I've got a tattoo.  Responses varied from "People have those in the capital and not here, but don't worry about hiding it," to "Hah!  And the older teachers think you have ankle problems because you always wear socks or tights."

I'm gonna keep wearing socks to school because it's a professional setting (relatively speaking) and you can't show off tattoos in the states in professional settings, either, generally.  But walking around the village is fair game.

Speaking of which, I'm pretty much done being cordial to everyone I meet.  Whoops.  While at first conversations like the following are charming:

Georgian: Are you Georgian?

Me: No. I'm American

Georgian: Do you understand Georgian?

Me: A little.  I'm learning.

Georgian: Maladets (Good job, in Russian.)  Why are you going to Akhalsopeli?

Me: I live there.  I work as a volunteer; I teach English to children.

Georgian: Wow.  How much is your salary?

Me: I get a stipend, for my host family.

Georgian: You should get married and stay here.

etc....

Now, they go more like this:

Georgian: Are you Georgian?

Me: No.

Georgian: Do you understand Georgian?

Me: (NO. I CLEARLY AM NOT RESPONDING TO YOU RIGHT NOW.) Yes, I know what's necessary.

Georgian: Maladets.  Where are you from?

Me: The U.S.

Georgian: Ah.  You should marry a Georgian.

Me: (Because that's the only goal one should have in life.  Especially foreign women here.) Nope, not interested.

Georgian: You don't like Georgian men?

Me: (I LOVE misogynist drunkards who can't pour a glass of water for themselves.) I'm not interested.

Georgian: (clearly offended) Oh, be careful what you say!

Me: (WHY are you offended?) I'm not interested in Georgian OR American men.

Georgian: (astonished) Well, how old are you?

Me: 22.  I have plenty of time.

Georgian: Oh, how small! (Her clock is a-tickin'.  She'd better get on that before her childbearing years are over.)

Why are you going to Akhalsopeli?

Me: I'm going home.

Georgian: You live in Akhalsopeli?!

Me: Yep.

Georgian: What do you do?  Teach?

Me: Yeah, English, to children. (When they show up.  With one out of two partner teachers.)

Georgian: What's your sal-?

Me: (REALLY?) I'm a volunteer.

Georgian: -ary. But you have to have money.  How much do you get?

Me: (PLEASE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!)

You get the picture.  I'd like to be a good diplomat, but unlike Cara, who has the patience of a rock, I just don't have it in me anymore.  So maybe a future in foreign relations isn't for me.  Fair enough.

I know I'm leaving you with a novel, but I have one more item of disgust to be discussed--  the title of this post.

I do not want to find out what happens if you pee on a bee, but I am scared to death that I will be privy to this knowledge by the time the summer's over.  Seriously, guys, what is so tantalizing about our outhouse that you have to be buzzing around from early in the morning 'til the sun don't shine, filling me with fears of stings in the place of the same?  I am trying my best to not upset you, so please don't get riled up if I make a mistake.  I'm not perfect.

Love, Paula.