No Sex and the City

SherLOCKED--Please Join the Club

2012-01-28T03:22:00.000-08:00

You know how sometimes you fall in love with the character of a film or a book and you get excited and then the mere fact that you are excited about it excites you even more? How you then research the character, research the actor, discover some hidden jewels along the way, even secretly try to imagine different plotlines, endings? That’s where I am now.
For some reason, last several years have been productive in terms of good-quality TV and some series tackled the challenge of being short, engaging, well…serial, but still retain the eminence of a film and pack a lot of character and story development in a short period of one episode.
Recently, I was pleasantly surprised by BBC’s “Sherlock”; last year, when my hubby offered to watch a modern British adaptation of Sir Conan Doyle’s work, I was reluctant; I could not imagine this project done tastefully. We started watching the first episode and though I instantly loved Dr. Watson, an image of young Sherlock was harder to stomach (though his age is exactly the same as in the books; we have been fed an old Sherlock in other adaptations). The plot was excellent, with so much nerdy references to the original that it got hubby and me squeaking with delight. Each episode is 90 minutes long, so we could not just watch it tired, after work, thus it took us a while to watch all three episodes of the season 1. By the end, I was completely hooked and could not imagine any other Sherlock. As a result, I started appreciating the story again--after all, I’ve read “Sherlock Holmes” sometime in 6th grade and seldom went back to it.
Very short review: I value this fresh duo of John and Sherlock, the fact that the former has some personality and is not just a dumb story-writer, and the depth given to the characters of Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft and, most importantly, Moriarty. Actually, Moriarty deserves a separate post...The creators of the film have stated, that they aim to show Sherlock as he was perceived in his age—innovative, using modern technologies, intelligent, but at the same time, very classical and Byron-esque—not hidden under the set of Victorian decorations, outdated, a creature of the past.
Along came the season two, and if season one succeeded in building this super-human, super-intelligent, I would say Aspergerish Sherlock, season two exposed a human, fallible side of his character and accomplished the impossible—proved to be better than the first season! Of course, the importance of human emotion on Sherlock’s usually grim face would never be appreciated without the first season, but watching the second season is twice, thrice as satisfying! All, absolutely all of the actors perform so well, watching them is a treat.
Back to my exited self: This whole week I have been reading “Sherlock” press reviews from all over the world; watching interviews with the actors and creators of the film; reading history of Sherlock Holmes and Conan Doyle; reading reviews of theatre work that Benedict Cumberbatch—the actor who plays Sherlock—performs well and consequently, collects awards; watching some of his films; and learning how to pronounce his name (sounds like BATCH of cuCUMBERs). I have gathered a ton of information about film, theatre, British actors in general and of course, all things Sherlock. I’ve written two posts on this theme (one will soon appear on my other blog), and spent some time looking through Cumberbatch’s pics (let’s hope my hubby won’t read this post). Hence, I can proudly declare that I have found something exiting to get excited about and I have been absolutely and irrevocably SherLOCKED. And maybe (just maybe) I am the first official Georgian Cumberbitch—a slightly disturbing twitter term describing quickly-spreading Cumberbatch fan hysteria.
Come on, watch it, get hooked!!! What else do you have to do this weekend?!
P.S. I have not taken this pic (I wish!!), I’ve copied it from : http://www.notzombies.com/tv/the-bbcs-sherlock-review/

winter survival

2012-01-22T11:14:00.000-08:00

This week is going to be cold. Here are some tips on staying warm. Depending on how warm your house is, you can choose ones you like. Regardless, it is always a good idea to insulate your house and save energy.
1. If you have older, wooden windows, insulate them with special tape you can stick to the outside of the windows
2. Put blankets on chairs and couches—you’ll have them handy when you sit down and feel colder.
3. Invest into a down blanket, ‘’Dutch house’’ has nice ones. Down blankets are fluffy, light and retain warmth very well.
4. Wear socks to bed. Why torture yourself at night, sticking your feet into frozen sheets?
5. Pour hot water into a glass bottle (but put a spoon or knife in it first or it might crack. plastic bottles deform from hot water). Important--Make sure that the cap is screwed on tightly. Go to bed with warm bottle—will fall asleep comfortably.
6. Warm your bed with a hair drier—be careful, don’t overheat the device (don’t use it over half a minute if you cover it). My bedroom is pretty warm, but I still warm my bed with a hair drier, cause getting into a bed that is warmer than the room is very soothing. Alternatively, you can iron the sheets and pillowcase (not the down blanket!)
7. Get a living, warm-blooded creature into your bed: a cat, a husband, etc. you will have a symbiotic relationship, giving heat to each other.
8. Take a hot shower, before you get into a warmed-up bed.
9. Warm up PJ’s by ironing them or by hanging them by a heating device
10. Eat spicy food, stews
11. Drink hot tea in bed
12. Boost your immune system with tea with honey and lemon; eat mandarins and oranges—the citrus season is here!
13. Take vitamins
14. If your house is very cold, put on a bathing robe over clothes. It is like a coat, thick and insulating, but you avoid wearing a coat in the house—cause that’s depressing,
15. Wear leggings under pants
Most of this is common sense, but for some reason I keep forgetting to put socks on, and if I do put them on, I wake up with one sock lost somewhere in the debris of the bed. I will ruin my hair drier by the end of the winter, cause it is extremely relaxing to get into a warmed-up bed, I do it every night.
All in all, staying warm is easier then cooling down in the hot summer. Last summer, in Batumi, I could not sleep because of the heat plus humidity. I tossed and tossed and then I thought—if I can get bottle of hot water with me in the winter, I should do the same in the heat, with cold water. There was a 24 hour populi by my hotel, so I got up, bought cold water and hugged it. Unfortunately, it got warm in 30 minutes, and then I remembered how solids retain temperature longer than the liquids, so I got up again and bought two packs of frozen margarine in the middle of the night. I put one by my wrist and one by my temple—close to the blood circulation spot. I did wrap the packs in several plastic bags—I did not want to wake up covered in smashed margarine. Anyway, it did help, so next night I bought more frozen margarine.
Sorry for the random association. What I was trying to say is that at least when it’s cold, you can layer up. So find a cat, hug hot water in a tightly-screwed bottle and iron your nighties. Good luck
p.s.this is my cat getting warm in a blancket.

Another Journey to Alternate Reality

2012-01-08T12:11:00.000-08:00

January 3d. Time flies in a weird fashion. It goes slow and then it speeds up. I haven’t slept most of the night (late flight) and here I am at my work desk. I am sitting quietly, thankful for the fact that I can skip working for several minutes. But I shrivel at the thought that I still have to do something today.
I need to sleep, I need to sleep now, I need to put my head on a pillow and sleep. I am drowsy, I walk into furniture, I am not fine. I feel like I have a fever or something. Maybe I am sick.
This work, this stuff to do has accumulated during my week of vacation. I can’t, I can’t.
My body is slowly morphing into a chair. I am becoming a chair. I am a blue rotating chair. My head is on my desk. I am a desk. I am a brown rectangular desk. My particles mingle with the desk particles and I become brown too.
I want to be in bed and damn it, damn it, I have to pretend to work for 5 more hours. Or even worse, I might even work for 5 hours. I need to take a break, but I can’t get up.
Oh, these meaningless days after the holidays, when no one really wants to work and no one is doing anything, but there is stuff to do, so we are drifting in the air, we are pretending to do something, but no one is in the mood and everyone is sleepy.
Help me, help me, somebody help me.
Help.
I spent last week in Netherlands. I was standing in Amsterdam on New Year’s Eve, in Museum district, watching incredible fireworks. The day before I was in Belgium: Brussels and Bruges. Oh Bruges, Bruges, a medieval town in Belgium, where one walks around re-stating the phrase: “I know I'm awake but it feels like I'm in a dream, I know I'm awake but it feels like I'm in a dream”, the famous phrase from that cool film about Bruges. I know I'm awake but it feels like I'm in a dream. 1000 year-old buildings, old churches, old streets.
And Brussels, this little cute Brussels, with little pissing boy sculpture, with little chocolate shops all over the centre, mousetraps for tourists, huge Christmas tree on a main square surrounded by gothic buildings. Oh, I know I'm awake but it feels like I'm in a dream. And waffles, the Belgian waffles for 1 Euro, kill me, kill me now.
Netherlands, Netherlands!!!The land of freedom, a hippie country in Europe. How many times today I have pictured your canals, your flower markets, your special shops with special brownies. The trains that are always on time, the buildings adapted for everyone, costumes at the airport actually friendly (the only place in the world where customs smiled at me), oh Netherlands, I miss you so much!
How the three of us, my hubby, his brother and I, wandered around the Holland, from one town to another, from one canal to other, catching the on-time trains, so comfortable, so clean, so civilized. The cities and towns we have visited, hey Rotterdam, Amsterdam, Hague, Delpht, Uhtrecht, hey! I miss you, I miss your little streets, your cobble stones, your van Gogh museums, your free air and your acceptance. I miss your laid back attitude and happy people and most of all, I miss having extra time and extra money, being in control, deciding what I want to do today.

Oh, Netherlands. I will take my lunch break now and try to fight this dizziness. Or maybe not. Cause even now, I know I'm awake but it feels like I'm in a dream.

The pic: Bruges, Belgium. My hubby took it.

Under Rugs Swept: Unseen World of Prostitution

2011-12-26T01:25:00.000-08:00

Dear friends,
please check out my PIK blog this week!
here is the intro:
"Here I am, writing from the land of freedom, liberty and acceptance—and not in Tbilisi, of course. Just to be clear, it is not USA either. I am seating in the student dorm in Hague, Netherlands, attempting to finish this post while I’m still lucid. It’s December 25th, we have turned on the Christmas music, bought a miniature tree and hang mistletoe I ripped off a mistletoe bush somewhere by the peace palace in downtown Hague.
Being in Hague is interesting, as this country is implementing many practices that I preach in theory. Netherlands and Georgia are located on different planets in terms of how they approach many subjects, and I’ve been involved in one of them lately. December 17th was the day to end violence against sex workers and several events took place that day."
for more, see http://pik.tv/en/experts/story/26837-under-the-rugs-swept-unseen-world-of-prostitution/

Merry 2 Christmases and 2 New Years to You!

2011-12-23T10:42:00.000-08:00

So,
it's the time when Georgians celebrate two Christmases-regular and Christian Orthodox- and two New Years--again, secular and religious.
Long story short, Russian empire used a different calender century ago, then it switched to the one everyone else is using, but our Orthodox Church still follows the old one (of course it does. how can it modernize?). Let me note that out of all the Eastern Orthodox Churches we and Russians are the only one who are playing this game. Talk about the influences...oh those damn Russians :-)
But, it gives us occasion two celebrate everything twice, so what the hell, it's all good.
It is customary among bloggers to summarize their year in the post, around this time.
I don't know how that's interesting, but some bored-to-death people wander in to read my scattered thoughts, so I will bore them even more by presenting Cliffsnotes of my blog (Cliffsnotes is summary of famous books in form of pamphlets for those too lazy to read the whole book).
This year I:
-Got a job and stopped feeling useless
-Realized how useless I was at my job
-Did not get pregnant (angry face)
-Had new windows and doors installed
-Met several interesting TLG aliens through the blog
-Went to Thailand
-Went to Turkey
-Went to Budapest
-Bragged about travelling :-)
-Bought only three pairs of shoes
-Acquired THE NOOK (an E-reader)
-Participated in some street walks
-Cut my hair very short, twice
-Saw Enrique live
-Criticized everything that moves
-Lost my religion
-Met tonns of new people
-Gained few pounds that all went straight to my...let's skip this part
-Spend last year soaked in the rain in Georgian fucking Barcelona (Batumi)

Thanx for being with me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I wish you happy Christmases and happy New Years!! As for me, I will be spending these Holidays somewhere more exiting than Batumi...
P.S. Me and hubby in our Christmas PJ's and Christmas hats by our Christmas tree feeling Chistmasy :-) pic taken by my friend.
P.P.S. We are very cheesy. We own special Christmas PJ's :-)

A Lot of Awarness

2011-12-04T12:15:00.000-08:00

It seems like all of the awarness days were shoved into Decemeber--you know, before the year is over. This week we rememebered AIDS victims and honored people with disabilities.
For AIDS awarness day an NGO LGBT Georgia organised an event that I joined at the last part. I brought some intertnational flare to the event--cool American and Scottish boys (plus an Indian guy joined us and asked what country did the rainbow flag represent).
NGO representatives raised the rainbow flag with black ribbon, arranged red candles in form of a ribbon and lit red Chinese lanterns. There was music and lots of frozen faces.
My friend and I were supposed to give away condomns and fliers,and we were joined by my girlfriends and the foreign aid (the above-mentioned boys). I was suprised by how energetically my girls forced people to actually take condomns. We even went to bars on Perovi street and gave those out.
Here are my observations:
1. Boys laugh but take the rubber
2. Some cooler boys are actually happy about it
3. Girls either refuse to take it, or are confused--think it is a gum, etc.
4. Couples absolutely refuse to take a condomn--hence admitting they have sex
5. Street kids are really fun and supportive
6. People will freeze but still raise flags, light candles and pursue passerbys to ensure safe sex in the country
7. When asked politely, police takes condomns from pretty girls

December 3d is disability awarness day. Unfortunately, I did not do anything on this day, though it is my field of work. Instead, I administerred SAT's at 7 A.M., cleaned the house and went to a birthday party in the evening. I did attend a boring conference on the subject the day before.
The conference had NGOs, Ministry of Health and Ministry of Education representatives and lasted for dreadful 3 hours. Here are my observations:
1. High-ranking officials from Ministries react painfully to any critisizm
2. NGO's and other people in the field are never heard, so they do not let go of microphone and try to voice all of the concerns accumulated since last Decemeber.
3. High-ranking officials from Ministries act like High-ranking officials from Ministries
4. No one in the room--neither side--realizes that reseach should precede action (high officials randomely agreed to implement some of the proposed ideas, based on momentary decisions)
5. Nothing will ever change in this country until we teach kids in schools basic problem-solving skills. Otherwise, they will grow up into ambitious ignorant pricks
6. High-ranking officials congratulated us with the date several times. It sounded something like: "and again, we wish you a happy disability day", like it was a holiday

In that manner, my dear friends, happy AIDS and disability awarness days to you, may we all use condomns while having sex with strangers, may we read the info fliers and defend our rights at the conferences, may our shirts get full of different-colored ribbons and our minds--of ever-expanding awarness and may the next year this time we have 3 times more AIDS awarness activists (that would be 180) and 3 times less bitter participants at the conferences (no number, sorry). Merry December awarness days to you, friends!
P.S. After comments on the last post, I have to clarify that last passage was written with sarcasm and I don't really mean to congratulate people.
P.P.S. the pics: AIDS and disability awarness ribbons.

Needs, Wants and Rights: Occupy Grocery Stores

2011-11-27T07:32:00.000-08:00

Dear readers,
This week I am inviting you to read my second blog. Thank you!
Here is the beginning:
“You can’t always get what you want”, cries the stereo and I am thinking that all I want at 6 A.M is a comfortable bed; instead I’m on the road, going to visit regions. Singing along, I am thinking, can I get what I want, or at least what I need in this country?
Wants, needs and rights have been on my mind recently. Absence of such. And silence on this subject. That is the biggest problem: not that someone violates your rights—an eternal problem everywhere--but that there is nowhere to report and defend yourself. So, you either conform or stay bitter.
Being different in the frames of the norm is an advantage, but being different outside those frames sucks—we’ve all been to high school. Being stuck in perpetual teenage bliss, Georgia, a collectivistic country, has these frames very tight around a person’s neck."

For the rest, please copy and paste this link:

http://pik.tv/en/experts/story/24241-needs-wants-and-rights-occupy-grocery-stores/

Georgian Manual on Proper Use of Wife, Husband, Whores and Mistress

2011-11-20T11:05:00.000-08:00

It is not a surprise for me that Georgian men cheat on their wives and it is considered normal. However, recently my very close friend encountered this problem and it became personal for the first time.
I will generalize once again and make hasty conclusions!
So, how do we operate?
On one hand we have a girl. Let’s say, Article #1. A WIFE MATERIAL.
Operation manual: marry and impregnate. Description: nice, tender, pleasant, pretty, feminine. Beware of the false product with the following labels: feisty, sexy, strong, opinionated, independent. Warrantee: virgin till marriage or return for free, minus the marriage costs. Maintenance: food, shelter. If necessary, give pocket money for girly stuff like clothing. No sexual satisfaction of wife material needed. Alert: if wife material tries to satisfy your perverted sexual fantasies—because any sexual activity without procreation is a sin—she is a whore. Return for free, minus the marriage and living costs.
Results: cleaning, cooking, children. Side effects: whining and nagging. Could be treated by ignoring or by gifts. Do not operate heavy machinery under the influence of nagging. Health hazard: her tears may cause discomfort; try avoiding them.
Article # 2.A HUSBAND MATERIAL. Operation manual: use as a money machine. Description: strong, manly, hard-working, protective. Guaranteed: some sexual experience before marriage. Experience gained most likely in a bordello--group visit with friends, or under wise guidance of an older cousin or uncle (not father). Maintenance: requires food, taking care of, clean and pressed clothes, babying, and providing sexual pleasure upon request. Alert: if a boy declines to go to prostitutes with his friends, washes dishes at home and does not wear black coat, he could be gay. Discard into the nearest trash bin immediately. Might be contagious.
Results: providing for the family, building a shelter, occasional emotional support, guarantees girl’s status of a married woman. Side effects: none and closed to discussion. Health hazards: brings venereal diseases from the prostitutes.
Article # 3. CHEAP WHORE. Operation manual: give money and fuck. Description: old, smelly, looks like one’s grandmother, has no soul, emotions or feelings (like any prostitute). Guaranteed: gives boy an opportunity to claim that he is sexually active. Maintenance: single-serve, no maintenance required. Results: worse-case scenario, feeling disgusted with oneself but bragging lies to friends. Best-case scenario: ejaculation and still bragging lies to friends (I made her do…). Side effects: Feeling of disgust. Bad taste in one’s mouth. Heath hazards: venereal diseases.
Article # 4. EXPENSIVE WHORE. Operation manual: give lot of money and fuck. Description: Slavic-looking, pretty, has no soul, emotions or feelings (like any prostitute). Guaranteed: actual pleasure from a sexual act. Maintenance: single-serve, no maintenance required. Results: ejaculation and bragging to friends about incredible stuff she did (I made her do…). Side effects: Feeling of disgust (maybe). Heath hazards: venereal diseases.
Article # 5. MISTRESS. Operation manual: give fake promises and fuck. Description: nice, sexy, obedient. Guaranteed: actual pleasure from a sexual act. Maintenance: one needs to make promises to leave one’s wife; providing occasional vacation trips. Results: sexual and emotional satisfaction. Side effects: if one is not creative, one can easily get lost in all the lies one tells the wife and the mistress. Requires too much conspiracy. Is more costly than a prostitute. Health hazards: might impregnate a mistress.

Warning: any deviance from the rules of the operation manual may lead to condemnation and consequent isolation from the mainstream Georgian society. The society is not responsible for any damage caused by improper use of the above-mentioned articles. Proceed at your own risk.
The pic: I asked my hubby to take a pic of underwear and this is what he came up with.

HR Interrupted

2011-11-08T12:37:00.000-08:00

Like a swirl of fresh air, like a shower of clear water, Budapest swept me into its golden-leafed arms and injected me with addictive doses of HR. Now I am suffering from a hangover.
I attended a study session on social inclusion in Hungary—title to long to print out.
Prior to the session, HR always meant Human Resources for me. From now and forever, HR is Human Rights and I--endlessly confused person, labyrinthing in concepts, schools of thought, remembering my college essays on cultural relativism, switching from defending western perspectives to that’s-all-just-power-games, trying to come up with a smart-ass definition of HR for this post and getting tangled in all the bullshit.
So yes, I was born with rights like calling my next-door neighbor moron and she has an intrinsical right to complain about every single thing I do, but it gets complicated on a bigger scale.
The time of concept-heavy, argumentative judgments is over for me. I left that with wide-open-eyed, 20-year-old Lika reading Kant in her philosophy class, an uncompromising warrior and contributor to the tree decline and paper industry-enhancer—oh those 12-page papers on abortion and capital punishment…I have raped my brain to the point that it can’t cognitively tell right from wrong and always gives safe answers like: it’s never black or white—just grey, depending on a context and such. Those vague blabbers of nothing at all.
From now on I am just a human. Granted, my frontal lobe is still intact, but I know that brain research is still guesswork—I am a neuropsychologist after all—so I just go with my feelings.
And you know what? Some things are just not fair! Like when my distant cousin can believe in Orthodox Christian God and get praised for it and my brother would get ridiculed for his Buddhist ways; or that my brother is happy with his girlfriend and the whole family supports him, but my friend can’t admit she has a girlfriend; or that my aunt works two jobs and gets less than my co-worker who is very successful in re-addressing letters to higher-placed people and avoiding any responsibility. This is why I think that religious intolerance, homophobia and ageism are bad—they hurt.
And maybe some people claim that life is pain (bloody Judeo-Christian philosophy), but I believe that I was born to be happy and I will do everything I can do to be happy and to be surrounded by happy people.
Also, I came back from the session stronger and a lot more confident.
So, my dear next-door neighbor, if you think that I am spreading the dirt in the hallway (I am installing new door) and refusing to clean the mess before it’s all done because I am:
Impolite
Un-neighborly
Rude
Irresponsible like my generation
I can advise you several ways how to go **** ********!!! Without hurting yourself, of course.
The pic: Budapest at night

Budapest

2011-10-30T16:51:00.000-07:00

I am in Budapest on a study session on social inclusion and though I plan to write a post, I don't have much free time, so sorry dear readers, I will produce something soon!

Batumi to Bodrum: from Sea to Shiny Sea

2011-10-23T12:53:00.001-07:00

Dear friends,
this week, instead of writing a new post here, I want to share my new post on my PIK TV blog. It is Called Batumi to Bodrum: from Sea to Shiny Sea.
Here is the opening paragraph:
"Batumi will never be a good sea resort. Achara is the rainiest part of Georgia, Black sea is called black for a reason (it’s dirty), the service is never up to par, the beach territory is small, and the infrastructure is like a Crumple-Horned Snorkack—it does not exist.

No matter how hard we try, no matter how many shiny buildings we build, how many blooming palms we import, and how many Enriques we give out for free, if it rains on you in your bikini, you won’t be happy."
For more, please check out other blog:
http://pik.tv/en/experts/story/21972-batumi-to-bodrum-from-sea-to-shiny-sea/
And thank you, last month I got 425 previews on my PIK post: The Curse of the Ancestors: Thou Shalt Die of Boredom and Supras! I am sure you contributed to many of those previews!

Food for Thought

2011-10-18T10:47:00.000-07:00

The fall colors and yellow leaves in the streets brushed some sweet melancholia on me and yesterday I caught myself in love with Tbilisi. I was just sitting in marshrutka, taking in the fall and smiling.
Well, for one, yesterday I was able to do something I wouldn’t be able to do several years ago—I went on a car ride to my country house and I got coffee and a chocolate croissant to go. There is nothing better than sitting in a warm car with hot coffee and tasty pastry, looking outside at the yellow fields and raindrops chasing each other on the car window.
Several years ago, McDonald’s was the only place offering coffee to go. In fact, that was almost the only option for eating non-Georgian meal. Now, slow culinary progress is tiptoeing in Tbilisi, sprinkling its goodies here and there.
Let’s see, there is your average American pizza in Ronny’s, with real mozzarella on it (Ronny’s pretty expensive, around 20 lari on average for a pie), there is Pasta and Pizza Fantastico (Regular prices 10-15 Lari), recommended by my Peace Corp friends, serving thin-crust pizza, it’s fine, once you get over cafe's pink interior. Preggo pretty much serves the same average pizza it served all these years when it was the only acceptable pizzeria in Tbilisi; I won’t refuse Preggo pizza if I’m hungry, but I won’t go looking for it.
We also have bunch of very nice restaurants on Barnovi street, still out of reach for us mere mortals ( except for anniversaries and an occasional dessert), but they do serve much better versions of foreign entrees than regular, mayonnaise-happy places. So, if you have 30-60 (or more, depending on wine, desert, etc)Lari to spend on a dinner, try Buffet (Italian), Vong (Asian Fusion), Belle de Jour (French), and Sakura (Japanese). They are located side by side and serve what seems wonderful to my starved, khinhali-filled palette. The fact that we have such thing as “Asian fusion” is a success indicator for me. Also, cafe Tartine offers tasty baked tartines and home-made lemonade (actual lemons,not tarragon!). That’s not all Barnovi restoraunts, of course, but I haven’t been to other restaurants there yet—didn’t have time or money; some, in case of “Kanape”, are standard Georgian café pretending to be something else.
I’ve noticed a Thai restaurant behind opera, definitely interested to try.
As for Chinese, I don’t really see any difference between several of them, though I tend to visit “Two” by the old City Hall (the one behind St. George on a horse), which serves Italian and Chinese cuisine.
I am absolutely in love with “Little India”on Kandelaki! They have spicy lamb dishes!
If I crave a burger, Elvis is the best option.
And finally, no matter where I go, I end up having tea and pastry at Entrée and though it is not the best bakery I’ve seen, it one of its kind in Tbilisi (meaning no other bakeries/coffee shops exist here) and being addicted to baked goods, I can’t see myself surviving without a decent Danish.
All in all, Tbilisi restaurant scene is definitely more diverse now, though most of my favorite places are either very expensive or insanely expensive, so most of the time, I either have to eat Georgian food, or cook myself.
Pic: I wanted really small dish with huge utensils, but couldn't find anything smaller in my house :-(

The Sea, Sand and Sun

2011-10-08T10:50:00.000-07:00

Every time I’m flying back to Georgia, I become unusually anti-social, I sit outside the gate and pretend I am not Georgian. Last weekend, when I was flying from Turkey, I realized that I am unfair to my fellow passengers—they are as loud and as obnoxious, as any other travelers. I just resent coming back and they are part of home that I try to ignore, prolonging my last minutes abroad.
I like my life in Tbilisi and I am pretty fortunate to have a nice home, hubby and cat. But when I get out, I get used to little things that we lack here. Of course, I go as a tourist, I see the best of the country, I relax, I eat good food and do fun stuff and thus returning would be hard anyway, no matter where I’d live. But it is harder, when a country has so little to offer to comfort you.
I just spend a week on Aegean shore. I lived in a clean room, with white towels and comfortable beds, shower and a bathroom––with lukewarm water, but whatever. We had a spectacular view. We had an open buffet breakfast, lunch and dinner. Our all--inclusive hotel provided free drinks. And it did not cost much. In fact, if you take away travelling expanses, it is cheaper to stay in Turkey than in Batumi.
Anyway, usually we skipped the pool and went to the sea, blue, clear, transparent sea! And Bodrum is not Batumi, so we got a free beach bed, I starfished on it, put my face in the sun and listened to the waves… and among the idyllic surroundings… breasts. Elderly German and English ladies sunbathed topless and my hubby declared: “some things you can’t un-see” .He was haunted by their sight most of our beach time.
People were very nice, service was excellent, we got lots of deals. Tourism in Turkey is thriving, tourist agencies compete with each other, they try to offer costumers better deals. For example, we purchased a trip to Pamukkale (beautiful place with natural white pools of blue water and ancient city with ruins) and the travel agency sent us to Turkish bath for free and gave us a free pass to a club “Catamaran”.
Now that is a story on its own. Club “Catamaran” is a big boat with bars, lasers, good DJ, half-naked go-go girls and boys, clubbing/dancing/lounging necessities and even a transparent dance floor—you can see the sea when you dance. It takes off 1 A.M. sails into the open sea. We partied until 5 A.m. It was the coolest, craziest night of our stay there.
Our vacation was just wonderful. We were treated very well. And this is why it is double hard to return to reality. I don’t hate my country. But I don’t feel like a valued person here. Yesterday, I went up Marjanishvili Street, where lots of cake bakeries are located. Around 10 of them, side to side. I went into one of the shops and could not get information about the cakes, because this stupid woman was talking on the phone, explaining how to make some boiled meat dish and not paying any attention to her costumer. Finally, after I said that I will leave and walk into any of the surrounding bakeries to get similar cake, she put her phone aside and assisted me with “I am so annoyed” face.
So yes, I would rather be on a vacation in a nice hotel with a sea view than spend my time working and taking crap from cake sellers.
P.S. town of Gumbet and the gulf, where we stayed.

PIK blog

2011-09-18T11:15:00.000-07:00

Hey Friends!
I have started another blog about nothing on the PIK (First Informational Caucasus channel) website. It is kinda big deal for me, so I will appreciate your support, please visit and read. I will post there twice a month. I really like other PIK blogs as well, way better than my blabbering.
Anyway, that is an official web-site of an official news channel, so I am happy :-)
I don't know if I can write two meaningless blogs at the same time, but i don;t want to re-post stuff from here to there. Plus, I can't swear there.
Thanx!!
check it out: http://pik.tv/en/experts/story/19117-the-curse-of-the-ancestors-thou-shalt-die-of-boredom-and-supras/

No Bamba for the Young Girl

2011-09-18T07:19:00.000-07:00

Tbilisi is getting way too fashion forward for me, I don’t know what to do; maybe I should move somewhere more appropriate for my taste level? Apparently I am not good enough for this city, maybe I should change my style and start wearing outdated leggings and sparkly shirts of last season to fit in?
Bitter much?
Yes, I am bitter because some asshole at Bamba Room decided that I was not worthy of entering the holy ground of that lounge! Here’s the story: bunch of us decided to go dancing, we couldn’t think of somewhere else to go, I was reluctant to go to Bamba—coz it sucks!—but I decided to follow the majority and I even changed into a clubbing outfit before I left. My hubby wore cool shirt with a DJ Yoda on it, Yoda with headphones and huge glasses and I opted for nice silk floral shirt, Sella accessories and Gap jeans. Why am I naming brands? Cause I was wearing the good-quality-but-not-too-expensive-young-and-not-overdressed ensemble, which is what, in my humble opinion kids should wear to a place like Bamba. I don’t own a Channel dress, but if I had one, I would never wear it to Bamba Room, cause the place is outdated, hosts bunch of drunken teenagers and is has lost its freshness and trendiness for some time now. Furthermore, when I go dancing Saturday night, I don’t want to wear something too nice, because it might get burned by a cigarette or stained by a drink, and I have already ruined pair of excellent shoes from Italy, when I was dancing in high heels last summer.
Anyway, apparently leggings is a must to enter this lounge, or you can substitute it with a cheap glittery dress, but people in denim are deemed offensive. What drove me absolutely crazy is that other people with jeans passed face control, so apparently it was not the jeans, but me. I was not drunk, I was causing no trouble, my hair was combed, my nails-done, so what the fuck satisfies their criteria is unknown. My hubby tried to pass face control just for fun, but he was turned down too.
We left the place and walked to New Gallery which is on the street I forgot…it is very easy to find, once you pass “Garderobe” and “Khareba Winery” on the Macdonald’s end of the Rustaveli Av., there is a turn that leads to Art Academy, the lounge is on the second floor, you can see people dancing even from Rustaveli. It is a cool place, with very good DJ’s. We were met by bunch of experienced clubbers who made fun of us not passing the face control and saying it serves us right for going to Bamba.
My hubby made fun of me for making such a big deal of it, but it hurt on some weird level to be rejected by a place you regard as crappy. Something along the lines of:”if even places like Bamba turn me down, I should really suck”.
So I decided to use this blog post as a cheap revenge. Know all that if you go to Bamba Room, you might not make it in for unknown reasons, hence avoid it.
P.S. the outfit not approved by the fashion police in Bamba Room. Silk is tricky to photograph, the shirt has flowers on it in real life :-)

German Tourists in Georgia: Homophobia in Its Grandeur

2011-09-11T10:28:00.000-07:00

Once again news fail to cover an important incident, though everybody is savoring rumors. Two gay German toursists were thrown into the river.
Rumor has it, that two tourists explored mountains and met some Georgians from Tbilisi, who rushed to prove our famed hospitality and made a big “supra” for them. They drank together for several hours, finally approaching the love toast to which the tourists responded with a kiss. Seeing this, hosts sprang to their feet, beat the couple, tied them up and threw them into the river. Poor Germans were finally fished out by locals down the river. They left the country immediately and this case was not reported to the police.
I want to scream and shout, but so far everyone I talk to keeps saying the same thing: didn’t these tourists see it coming?
Let’s put aside the fact whether or not it is justified to drown gays who know they shouldn’t kiss in public and still do so, the mountain culture has its traditions and David the Builder and so on, and let’s discuss the following question: didn’t they see it coming? And somehow, I think that the answer is “no”—otherwise these two willingly embarked on a suicide mission.
May I state that this indecisive stance is the worst problem in Georgia? This hypocrisy, falsehood, double and triple standards?
Let’s decide who we want to be, what our values are, let’s finally draft our moral code and create a corresponding legislature! Let’s stop lying to ourselves!
How where those guys supposed to know that their kissing would result in Lynching unless they already had friends in Georgia? Is our legislature prohibiting gay relations in Georgia? Does it claim that Georgia discriminates against basic human right and that those who violate them will be punished? Is any information available about Georgians’ views on homosexuality? Which tourist website gives any relevant informative about how to be culturally sensitive in Georgia? That you should not sneeze without covering your mouth, that you shouldn’t make moves on your friend’s sister, that you should not flirt in bars with unknown men? Is there any document anywhere on the web that would explain Georgian culture beyond our “hospitality”, “respect for the guests”, “beautiful nature” and “good food and wine”? How long can we force feed these Soviet-originated myths to the world?
People have been arguing that by using common sense, these men could’ve figured out the rules of conduct in a conservative chirstian country. One might argue that Italy is also a christian country, but two months ago my friend attened huge gay pride in Rome and this month his is flying to the biggest LGBT event of this year in Milan – so, sorry, but country’s religious background is not enough to make assumptions about the everyday culture.
There should be some information available on what is offensive and with the exception of one-year old TLG blogs, there is none on the web!
Let’s stop this once and for all. Why do we have a kinda liberal legislature, the majority of the population is conservative? We are striving towards EU and NATO cause we believe that’s the way to economic prosperity. Why isn’t anybody explaining to us, to the society, that EU and NATO integration means not only change of legislature but also change in attitudes, a new set of values?
I am sick and tired of this dichotomy. Either have the balls to declare: yes, we are homophobic, xenophobic, patriarchal, theologian society and stick to it, defend your values and have corresponding legislature, or install democratic values through law enforcement, education and gradual change of attitudes. And stop lying! Georgia is not a democratic country and Georgians are not democratic people! Democratic people do not throw tourists in the river no matter how offended they feel! And maybe, if we say the truth for change, if we stopped pretending, maybe those tourists will choose to go somewhere else and 1. Georgians will keep on driniking un-offended 2. German tourists will avoid getting drown in the river.
Damn it, they deserve to know where they are going and we deserve to know where we are living!
P.S. Tired of arguing with people, I tried finding info by googling “gay-friendly tbilisi” and “homophobia in tbilisi” to see red flags. Unfortunately, it takes a long a nd rigid search to make any sense of the info, cause many web-sites keep siting Georgian legislature and openess comapred to the rest of the region. You can find negative info, but you really have to look. Generally, there is just absence of info, negative or positive.
P.S.S. Phallic symbols in Tbilisi. Stole my hubby’s pic.

Racha My Love

2011-09-03T13:36:00.000-07:00

Last week I went to Racha for the second time. Visiting Racha is way more exiting than sitting by the comp all day and I tried to squeeze small hikes between work meetings.
If you have 3 free days, I would definitely recommend going to Oni in Racha. The nature there is spectacular, you can go on seven-hour hikes or you can walk around on paved road and look at the mountains from the distance—it is still breathtaking.
The second reason to visit Racha is the place where I stayed—guest house called "Gallery" or "Artist's House". I loved everything about it, the hostess is a graduate of Tbilisi Art Academy and the host carves wood. Everything in their house is handmade—all the furniture, including beds, tables, windows, doors, balcony ornaments are carved by the host and all the pictures, lampshades, cool decorations are created by the hostess.
Also, they are the only pair of entrepreneurs I have seen in Georgia. In a true sense of the word. They took a loan, built the hotel (most of it is built by the host and his son, they did not have money to hire workers), and equipped it with stuff like sun batteries and showers in every room, which, for anyone who’s been to a Georgian village sounds like revolutionary renovations. The hostess only cooks organic food and does not use anything produced chemically (she even makes own spices from herbs she grows in her garden, not even buying store vanilla).
Oni still has Georgian village vibe in it, people are not yet spoiled by the tourists, when you walk down the street everybody greets you, the whole town knows each other, people are friendly in a little-Georgian-town kind of a way.
Another interesting fact is that Oni used to shelter many Jewish families that have now moved to Israel (they still keep in touch with the locals and often visit) and there is 18-th century synagogue, which contains old books, you take them, you open them and you marvel…
The hotel hosts know a lot about Racha, they can tell you the history, show you the map, show some unique things they have found in the mountains—1,000 year-old arrowheads, million-year old fossil prints, minerals, gold…they can take you to a deep, never-explored cave, where you can look for these treasures yourself.
The roads are recently reconstructed and once you pass Terjola, the scenic views are breathtaking.
Racha is also homeland of the most famous Georgian wine in the Soviet Union—Khvanchkara.
The only negative side of Racha travel is marshrutka availability. There is only one marshrutka going to or from Oni and it leaves at 8 A.M. And you have to get to the station earlier or you won’t find a seat. Marshrutka leaves from Okriba station in Didube in Tbilisi and at the central “plaza” in Oni—not that it matters, cause anything in Oni is in 10 minutes walking distance.
Now that I have written a little tourist advertisement, you just have to pack your stuff and check the place out, especially if you have never been there!
P.S. For those who don’t know: “Racha my Love” is a famous Georgian musicale
P.S.S. the pics: The mountains--what Racha looks like; the room where we ate at the hotel—everything you see in created by the hosts.

Fear of Falling

2011-08-19T11:08:00.000-07:00

We bought a bicycle. My hubby rides it up and down the Kavtaradze and even plans to replace marshrutkas with this new machine—his work in not too far from our house. I, on the other hand, first rode a bike 4 years ago. First time, My brother showed me how to do it, but forgot to mention brakes. So I deliberately ran into our neighbors’ bushes—I had to stop somehow. Neighbors were not happy, nor was the bike…
Afterwards, I would ride the bike down the hill in my neighborhood in Denver (first I would walk up), trying not to turn left or right, cause turning meant falling. Quiet suburbia, no cars, straight nice road…
Then Giga forced me to ride a bike in Budapest. We had to get somewhere and we did not have money, but we had borrowed bikes. First, it was O.K., we followed bike lanes. Then, the bike lane vanished and Giga started peddling on the sidewalk. Imagine, a sidewalk in Budapest, full of tourists, people walking around, me not being able to turn…but the worst part: the cafes on the sidewalks…waiters with plates…I ended up screaming and riding as fast as I could through that café segment, and all the waiters just jumped aside. For the first time I rode in the open, I even managed to avoid hitting people; I became more confident, gained some speed and ran into a tree. I quickly got back into the saddle, and hid this fact from Giga.
Sunday, I rode our new bike (after 3 years of bike abstinence).We found interesting space by the Maglivi bridge—circles and lines, figures on the pavement, painted probably for a driving school, where I can practice turning and not falling off . To get there I either have to ride on a sidewalk, or go with the cars. Irrationally, I find it safer to ride with the cars (you should hear them honking and swearing at me), cause sidewalk scares me to death—I think that I won’t be able to ride in the narrow space and that I will slide off into the traffic. So I prefer to ride with the traffic. Go figure.
I was riding there quietly yesterday, minding my own business, drawing number 8 with my bike for a 100th time, when two dudes with flashlights appeared. They looked like security guards, only what could they be guarding there--the bridge?! As a result of our latest addiction, AMC series Breaking Bad, Giga proposed that they protected a meth lab... Either way, I finally got tired of them watching my butt on the bike and tried riding around house, until I ran over a bump successfully—then it hit me, on no, I ran over a bump!—and lost control and went flying off the bike.
We’ll see what the future holds for me, I am annoyed that I can’t do this thing, I miss younger me, who was much more daring and climbed trees and roofs of abandoned buildings. Plus, we are moving to a new territory…stay tuned to hear more…
p.s. Our new bike and me

Bailamos for Free

2011-08-08T12:38:00.000-07:00

“I just wanted to see free boobies. But there is no such thing as free boobies, is there, IS THERE?!”-asks the guy who invested some money in amateur porno movie, in the film “Zack and Miri Make a Porno”. I guess I just wanted to see Enriques Iglesias perform, but there is no such thing as a free concert…
So, one way or another, I made it to Batumi on the 2nd. My poor husband accompanied me to protect me from being squeezed to death. We arrived at 5, stood “in line” for two hours and got pretty close to the stage. Frontier was densely packed and I soon found myself between one person’s armpit and another person’s belly. Amongst all the yelling and pushing and a week-old sweat, I was soaked in bodily fluids and rain, hit, squeezed and poked. Yelling swearwords at the organizers of all free concerts (I mean could it be at least 10 Lari to sort out all the people who care less and show up just because it costs nothing?), I asked Giga to take me out of there. I felt like I left part of my dignity there…
We moved away a bit, thus forever loosing opportunity to touch Enrique’s divine legs. Situation towards the center was pretty interesting. I stood by a middle-aged woman who would not let her “children” (four grown-ass girls) attend the concert alone; we saw an older man wrapped in American flag (!); another mother tried to protect her “children” from the immoralities of the concert in front of us. The smell remained, but at least we were not touched.
At 8:30 the concert started. I had to endure Georgian “singers” till 10:30 or so. I have seen better stage presence in my high school drama class! I guess Pop music does not require strong vocals, but shouldn’t they at least move seductively or have memorably beat or something? SOMETHING?
DJ played for 30 minutes while stage was set up for the next performer (that happened three times). Actually, DJ was really nice, but I couldn’t dance, cause every time I put my arms around my husband, the “children’s” mother threw indignant glances in our direction.
I have to note that Georgian Rock band “Eldrine” was like a breath of fresh air, way to go guys!
So finally,
After 5 hours (and 10 years) of waiting,
HE took the stage! I have not listened to Enrique for at least 8 years now. I was not familiar with 3 of his latest albums and I had to look new videos on YouTube to catch up. I found them too sexy (some of it is plain porn!), him too cheesy, his voice over-computerized and I laughed at my teenage self so desperately in love with this dude. But, when he came on that stage, I was screaming like all the sixteen-year old girls around me! He controlled us and manipulated us and did whatever he wanted with us! The moment he heard our screaming levels go down, he would do something to raise them back up—he took one of his shirts off, he talked in Georgian, he struck a pose, he let people touch him, he took photos with his fans, he looked in our eyes!
Damn it, when he took that girl on the stage, I looked around and everyone was crying… every girl felt like she was the one on the stage…and then he kissed her…as my hubby put it “ I have witnessed a collective orgasm”.
The girl got her 15 minutes of fame. She already appeared on TV several times. People made such a big deal out of it. Blogs exploded with comments like “how could he kiss her? No one is going to marry her now!”.
I was sore for a week after that concert. I swore it was the last free concert in my life. And then I thought of my post about Sting…and how I wrote that the audience was boring…and I laughed. What the hell do I want anyway? Why am I always complaining?
So this is what we have: either haute couture celebrities not clapping, or hydrophobic teenagers screaming. First is more pleasant, second is more exiting. As for me, next time I am trying one of those concert tours to Armenia or Turkey, where bunch of friends rent a marshrutka, stay in a cheap hotel and do touristy things in addition to the concert.
P.S. I will post pics in a day or two, my comp is having hard times...

Happy Birthday, dear blog

2011-07-23T02:47:00.000-07:00

Today,
It has been a year since my 1st post.
So, I will re-post it, along with some statistics...

the very first post
Make no mistake about it, this blog is a mental masturbation. A place to complain and whine and satisfy oneself. A place to write and feel good about yourself. To feel fulfillment. Accomplishment. Like what you do (write) matters.
Maybe a few lost souls will wander in and leave their spiteful comments, along the way. Please do. No censorship of any kind allowed on my territory.
I apologize for all the negativity I might pour in here. In real life, I am quite a happy person. But again, mental masturbation is not a public matter. It’s what one does in private behind the lock doors and closed curtains.
How do I even do this thing? I am a person with no facebook account and obsession for correct spelling. Not a typical blogger.
How the hell do I get a tag cloud? Can I get Sex and the City banner instead of these books on the background? How long is a readable post? will my husband feel offended when I write about us? Hello…is anybody listening?
And most important, how do I make people read this? I need some voyeurs!

This are my most popular blog posts:
Homo: Phobia and Sexuality or How Do We React When...

Sep 29, 2010, 47 comments 655 Pageviews

Why Do We Stink?

Apr 16, 2011, 5 comments 241 Pageviews

a damsel in distress

Jul 28, 2010, 1 comment 241 Pageviews

About Japan and about Faith

Mar 17, 2011, 8 comments 206 Pageviews

Touching Girls

May 21, 2011, 14 comments 186 Pageviews

Blog statistics
Pageviews today
2

Pageviews yesterday
15

Pageviews last month
938

Pageviews all time history
9,806

And this is my favorite: search keywords—the most frequent ones. Note the one about deda-shvili!

pasumonok 15

pasumonok.blogspot.com 14

no sex and the city tbilisi 11

sex in tbilisi 5

why are georgians 5

deda shvilis sexi 4

tbilisi sex 4

asaval dasavali 3

drcaa 3

sex and the city

all in all, i have 30 followers and around 50 readers a week. i am happy :-) that means I have readers who don't know me personally :-)
I am not overly ambitious, I just like to scribble some stuff and I am always exited about comments.
Thanx for reading!!!

Undecided decisions

2011-07-18T09:09:00.001-07:00

Have you ever encountered vague situations, where you are supposed to figure it out, but you would much rather have a straight answer? Right now, my common sense does not tell me anything and I am lost.
For example, I have recommended a family hotel to my foreign friend. I called the owner, booked a room and asked how much they charge for tours (their son knows English and takes foreigners hiking). The owner answered: “I don’t know. They usually give him money as a gift”. I insisted, but still could not get a price. How much does “a gift” constitute? I thought maybe 10 Lari, but my hubby said 10 is not enough. Is it 20? Does it depend on a hike difficulty? Does it depend on a foreigner (wealthier—bigger tip)?
Or this situation: legally we can take 21 business days for vacation, we can’t leave for more than 2 weeks—“They” won’t let us. Also, we can’t have one official day off—thus, all of one-day vacations are favors from my boss and my supervisor. I have asked for plenty of those favors lately and I realize that the limit is up. However, I really want to split my two-week vacation (thus I get more days. 2 weekends on the 1st week and later 2 weekends on the 2nd week). Also, my first love, my first sexual fantasy, my first male attachment-- Enrique Iglesias—is going to perform in Batumi. I had dreamed, prayed for and imagined him perform live for significant portion of my teenage years. That is all over of course, but I owe it to my childhood to see him 
Thus, I have to ask for another favor. I need to summon my courage and ask for a 3-day official vacation (which I know is a bureaucratic hassle and problem on its own) so that I can see my first love live. Obviously, I can’t just ask for another unofficial day off—so I am forced to take a longer holiday.
I have been up all morning, nervous about this decision. Is it fine if I ask to split my vacation? Will I seem like ungrateful pig?
It would be so much easier, if we had defined vacation days, if I could count how many days I have used, if no one would do me favors, but give what is due to me, if life was concise and defined…
I was so unwilling to ask for any more goodwill (I feel like there is only so much of it left and I am drying it up), that I had decided not to attend this concert. But, last night I dreamed of Enrique. I woke up at 7 and could not go back to sleep. Somehow, this stupid concert gained huge importance and I got melancholy sprinkled on me.
If only we could know, how much the tours cost…maybe we wouldn’t be worried about paying less.
My friend decided to hike alone. Should I skip the concert?
p.s. sad lika. took the pic with my feet

Sting Sting

2011-07-13T12:12:00.000-07:00

Unexpectedly and surprisingly, I found myself on a Sting concert, wearing someone else's fancy summer dress and new-bought shoes…
Several days before, my friend called and told me that she knew people who could help us get in for free.
Next, I spent all Saturday cleaning my house for a guest that was supposed to arrive on Monday (and never did), woke up after 3 hours of sleep at 6 A.M. on Sunday and took the first marshrutka to Batumi.
Of course we ate and ate in the “Privet iz Batuma”…
And then I spent two hours swimming.
When I came back to out apartment, I found my friend dressed in an evening gown she bought in NY. I thought that since this was a Batumi concert and since we had to stand, and since it was Sting and not symphonic orchestra, I could get away with nice shirt and jeans. To my horror, my friend informed me that D & G index would be pretty high that evening.
She gave me her summer dress, but I had no shoes. I had flip flops and sandals that looked like they came straight from Ancient Rome. So, we raided local Bata and bought some nice-enough shoes.
We were picked up by one of those obnoxious security guard enormous jeeps that annoy the hell out of mere mortals by blocking their way, violating all the rules and acting like Lords of Road. I cannot reveal any more information...
Finally, we found ourselves among crème de la crème of Georgian society. And let me tell you that crème is very sour. They clapped politely and just sat there, afraid to ruin their posture. Not only that, but they looked at us with judgment, when we yelled and screamed and jumped and clapped and sang along "Desert Rose".
The second part of the concert, we were pressed against each other by the security, cause our president decided to walk down to the people and listen to Sting amongst them (us). Thus, the second part was not as pleasant, as I was squeezed by two mammoth bodyguards. I continued screaming and one poor bodyguard was forced to remove his earpiece and put it in the opposite ear, away from me. After all, these guys were working.
Several celebrities walked by in their ruffled dresses, perfect tan and un-smiley faces…
People kept staring at Misha instead of the stage…
All I wanted was free water that was included with 400 Lari tickets and lay all over the place and under the seats, on the other side of the fence, where the elite sat-- according to a Georgian saying--with quills up their asses. I guess drinking water was against make-up rules.
Finally, Sting sang “My Funny Valentine” and it was one of the best performances I have seen in my life!
After the concert, we took some pretty pictures, ate mandatory Acharuli Khachapuri and I went through another night with 3 hours of sleep. But it was so worth it!
P.S. who the hell designed that ticket? Botti has color of Zombie and there is what looks like Sting's passport photo...

Taking a little break

2011-07-10T05:16:00.002-07:00

Hey everybody!
I haven't written for two weeks and I will probably take a little break, since real life interfered and took all of my free time.
I will write next week!!!

To Kiss or Not to Kiss

2011-06-25T07:23:00.000-07:00

Last Monday I took a refuge at a little park by Marjanishvili bridge. As I was sitting down, I saw two girls and a boy on a bench. The boy was kissing one girl and the second girl was staring somewhere beyond the horizon. I thought, aha, this is a perfect example of a girl not going on a date without her friend, dragging her everywhere (seriously, we had a party once, tickets were sold out, one of our friends asked the organizer to sell him reserved tickets. so she was like fine, show up and will let you in. Then he asked if he could bring his gf. He was told yes. And then he added that he needs a third spot too, because his gf does not go anywhere without her buffer friend). After eating my sandwich, I got up and was surprised: the same guy was kissing the other girl! It was 2 P.M. at a very busy place! I was so surprised, I did not know what to think, other than, go boy, congrats for convincing these girls to kiss you!
The same week, I came across an article describing new regulations that forbid kissing in the parks. As a response to that , a kissing protest was going to be held this Saturday, in the new "park" by the new bridge.
Now, I understand that making-out in public places may bother some people, especially nannies and grandmas who walk little children there. another reason why I find it problematic, is that I have often noticed a pervert in the bushes, doing...yes, you've guessed it right, while looking at some innocent couple kissing on a bench. Also, it just makes people feel awkward, they run through the park, trying not to look left or right, but catching the scene in the corner of their eyes.
On the other hand, being through the whole park thing myself, i understand these couples. I mean where else should they go?! They don't have own apartment or a car, they can't kiss at home, there are no special kissing spots that you could rent hourly :-) and furthermore, many of them are afraid to be left alone in the room, cause they are proper Georgian kids, waiting to get married and then have some alone bedroom time. What, should they just stop kissing? They will find other spots, do we want them to flood our hallways (padiezdi)? Coz that's the other fav. spot, only it is darker, smellier and you are always at risk to be discovered by your neighbors (at least I was...)
Yesterday, a girl in marshrutka was telling her friend about the kissing protest. 600 people registered for it on FB. 100 came. Out of this 100, 4 pairs kissed and others watched.
So, in the end, no one dared to protest. No FB revolution for us.
Damn it kids, you are supposed to do all this teenage, I-am -against-the -world things! Stop smoking and spitting, swearing and fighting, gossiping and bullying, listening and obeying and start the upheaval! Find someone, kiss someone, do something!
You are wasting your time!
As for the park security regulations: ***********************! **************************!
p.s. the pic: hubby and me KISSING IN THE PARK!

Tbilisi Open Air

2011-06-19T01:01:00.000-07:00

We’re getting old. This Tbilisi Open Air was boring.
It is still good to have such events, many people have opportunity to express themselves without being hit in the head, they can prance around with piercing and tattoo, yell, show off “Nirvana” shirts and mess up their long hair.
Once, I went on a blind date with this rocker dude and while we were walking in the streets, somebody threw a stick at us…
Nice boy. He gave me two cute hamsters on our second date. The thing didn’t work out, hamsters eventually escaped and set a fort under my aunt’s bed (she hates, hates rodents), but our acquaintance was valuable, cause it was the first time I realized that people in Tbilisi throw stuff at other people in Tbilisi.
Being fairly “normal” girl I have never experienced sticks thrown in my direction. Nasty comments, yes, but objects—no.
Somewhere after seventeen, I began gradually morphing into what I am now, starting with replacing the love of my life, Enrique, with classic Rock. I discovered a whole subculture of weird, long-haired, pierced, chain-wearing people with black nails, some guitar skills and big protest against this mainstream Vake-Saburtalo crowd.
I used to stop and listen to them play in the underground passages. I wrote a story about them (something like: breaking free from the oppressive regime of Tbilisi by packing canned food and escaping to the mountains with guitars and nothing else). I wanted to know them better but I did not have a contact person.
Surprisingly, the one that introduced me this world and took me to my first Goth party, where men wore make-up and torn jeans (how scandalous!), the person known as Voland (devil charcter from Master and Margarita), one of the first members of TB Rock, was no other than my bf (now my hubby)! Who could’ve thought that after looking for a friend rocker in the underground passages, I would find one in Giga, this nice guy, who went to ESM, wore ironed shirts and pants, worked for Pepsi and charmed my family!
This is the same person who went wild on the 1st Tbilisi Open Air and played an air guitar, gathering a circle of amused spectators. Oh, the first Open Air…the bands were cooler, the crowd was larger, the weather was nicer and it was such a new thing, like our own little Woodstock… right here, on the hippodrome.
This year, we yawned a lot and walked around to take pictures. Once or twice we tried jumping up and down, but it did not really work out. We dutifully went both days, missed the band we liked (Green Mama) and met many people we haven’t seen for years. My American friend was approached by two boys who offered “special service”, no doubt for money. They insisted on translation and made us feel like pimps. My other friend engaged in a weird, stupid tradition of smashing each other, while some wanna-be-hard-rocker dude screamed on the stage…now I understand the film Fight Club. I have to admit, it was interesting to wacth.
Thus, this Tbilisi Open Air was not that much fun, but still…no one threw sticks at us.

On the Benefit of Breathing

2011-06-12T02:01:00.000-07:00

All aerobic creatures need oxygen; mammals cannot survive without it; after four minutes of no oxygen, human brain suffers irreplaceable damage.
In a process called photosynthesis, plants convert carbon dioxide into oxygen and provide us with breathable air.
Trees are plants.
Tress produces oxygen.
We breathe oxygen.
See the connection here?
Not yet?
Trees do not grow in the cities, unless specially planted and maintained. And usually, it is more cost effective and more productive (oxygen-wise) to have a multitude of trees in one area. Those areas are called parks.
Parks, my friends, are usually located in the middle of the city, where weary citizens can sit on the benches, listen to urban birds, feed fish, squirrels or other critters, walk their dogs, make-out with their partners, eat and spit sunflower seeds, or in case of my friends, drink beer and talk about complicated matters. Parks, my friends contain trees, tress produce oxygen, oxygen we need, and so on…
Why am I writing for a three-year-old? Cause these simple truths do not make it all the way up to our city planners. They probably have their own backyards, with own, private oxygen, I don’t know. But they are sure that rest of the population can breathe what our cactus produces on the window sills.
Take the hippodrome for example. Happy hippos, I mean horses, pranced around here. There were stables, my father used to race here. It is unusually green, with hills from one side and trees from other, blocking the buildings. It is the only big park in Saburtalo.
So hurry, hurry, come see the hippodrome. Cause soon, it will be all covered with ugly apartment buildings. And horses? Well, horses got moved to a better location. And trees? Well, trees apparently carry no value. Cause once the building get there, the trees will disappear.
I understand that horses need more suitable place. They shouldn’t be in the middle of Saburtalo (and neither should be our pathetic zoo, I hope it gets moved soon). But why can’t we have a nice park on that territory? I mean, it is already there, you don’t need to plant trees, build trails, grow grass, anything, just some benches and garbage cans. That place already has athletes jogging, children playing, dogs pooping, couples kissing and grandpas reading newspapers. It supplies us with oxygen and there is no other green spot on this side of the hill!
To whom it may concern: please, please don’t take the hippodrome away, if you don’t understand why we need it, I am ready to explain it all over again:
All aerobic creatures need oxygen; mammals cannot survive without it; after four minutes of no oxygen, human brain suffers irreplaceable damage.
In a process called photosynthesis, plants convert carbon dioxide into oxygen and provide us with breathable air.
Trees are plants.
Tress produces oxygen.
We breathe oxygen.
p.s. pic of daisy i took in Racha

Fight or Flight and This Stupid Demonstrations

2011-06-01T23:12:00.000-07:00

When stressed, we have a flight or fight response. I always fancied myself as being a fighter, but twice in my life, I chose to run and hide and deal with the problem later.
During the August war, hubby, brother-in-law and I went to Tskenti, to hide in our relative’s school. After being worried for several days, wondering about the fate of my brother-in-law, who was in a reserve, finally re-united, we just ran the hell out of Tbilisi. Now that I think of it, it was more of a flight from the stress than finding shelter from survival. After all, how was Tskneti safer than Tbilisi?
During those three days, I refused to watch TV or talk about the issue. I read wonderful book by Anatol France, walked in the forest and breathed fresh air. I was ready to deal with what happened after we came back home.
These protests have stirred similar feelings in me. I don’t watch TV anyway, and I haven’t turned it on yet. I guess I should keep away from FB, people keep posting videos. I escaped to Racha and tried to ignore Tbilisi for a weekend. I came back and found that all of the posts, FB statuses and other sources of fun have exploded with discussions. Magazine “Liberali” provides the best overview of the events. I am being sucked back into this.
So, thoughts? Emotions? What can I say, I hate being in a country, where opposition is comprised of people who made dirty money all the way back from the Soviet times, have been in the government, have supported it, have praised police for dealing with the demonstrations in the past and now gather a crowd to present unreal, unjustified and stupid requests. They are not ignorant, thus the reason for such behavior could be: 1. there is someone backing them up 2. they want us to pay attention to them and forget about the real issues.
On the other hand, people have been beaten in the forest, have been arrested and denied medical help and their rights have been violated. Of course, the meeting on the night of 25th was illegal, but if the aim was to prevent the meeting, then why the hell were protestors even allowed to get to the freedom square? They were let in and the then the gates were put around them, making a cage. Couldn’t those gates block the people from coming in instead of going out?
It is horrible to watch how several men beat one person, who has his hands in the air and surrenders. Who should we blame, those that brought that person to the “freedom square” or those who were beating them? Of course, we should also blame the person, but he admitted defeat, asked for mercy, shouldn’t that be enough? Why, why are we going through this again? Can’t we learn anything?
I’ll tell you why. Because every time this happens, no one is held responsible. Several years ago we witnessed some conspiracy theories about the opposition, but those people still roam free. If they truly were spies, why are they out? And on the other side, in November 2007, I saw with my own eyes how 5 men hit one protestor in the head. 5 of them hitting this man’s head! All caught on tape! No consequences for them either!
My friend recently wrote a post, claiming that our generation does not deserve this. Truly, we’re not participants of this theatre! She also wished that an atomic bomb could destroy us. Congratulations, once again we got reminded that all of this around us is just a façade, that we’re in deep shit and we’re sinking even deeper.

Touching Girls

2011-05-21T13:47:00.000-07:00

This post is a response to comments on various blogs, claiming that there is no sexual harassment in Georgia.

Hey you, yes you, the one who writes that Georgian men respect women, the one who claims that perverts do not exist here, that streets are safe and that it is women’s fault if they get touched! I am going to be very honest with you and tell you little stories that happened to me or my friends…

Stuff like that does not happen to me anymore, but when I was a teenager, all sorts of creepy men took advantage of my vulnerable situation.

Once, my very conservative friend was sitting in marshrutka and she saw a guy petting something in the corner. She thought he had a puppy or a bird. Turned out, it was a not a bird. My friend was so ashamed, she did not dare to say anything.

Often, in a crowded bus, I felt men standing behind me. I used to calm myself by thinking that it was probably a briefcase or an umbrella, because there was nowhere to move and I couldn’t allow myself to imagine anything else. Needless to say, many times it was not an umbrella.

My first year in university, a man with his pants down used to scream out offensive stuff just by our university, on the Varazis khevi hill, by the zoo. He stood there, with dick in his hand, everyday. How he did not catch cold is beyond me. My friend complained that since there are no houses on that hill, no local boys could protect their territory from this man. Everyday, I pretended that I did not notice how he called me slut and exposed himself. During our daily complaining session (truth to be told, this pantless man provided us with stuff to talk about), one of the girls told us: “oh that guy! When I pass him, I throw rocks at him and he hides in the bushes!”. That’s how I learned that most of those sick men would disappear at the slightest confrontation.

I can tell you many stories like that. So what? You would say that those men are just sick people and that every county has them? But that is only half of the problem isn’t it? The worst thing is that teenage girls get so lost during this encounters, they either become mute or try to convince themselves that nothing happened. And no one ever tells them or teaches them what to do in such situation.

I mean really, imagine you are this Georgian virgin girl, who maybe hasn’t even kissed a boy and the first penis you see in your life is this gross penis of a gross man in a gross underground passage! One might develop penis phobia…I probably shouldn’t go there…

Everybody knows what I am talking about, but mo one dares to admit that they have been exposed to other men’s penises, cause they feel guilty!

And you, you big-bellied, hairy-shouldered, cheating-with-the-prostitutes but drinking-for-respecting-women guy, you claim that there is no sexual harassment in this country! I hope one day you’ll have to take a bus and when you look around, you will see that the umbrella that has been poking you for 15 minutes, is really not an umbrella at all!

the pic: our gray umbrella.

Another Brick in the F...n Wall

2011-05-15T05:55:00.000-07:00

When I look out of the window at work, I see brick wall. It is discouraging. I look out to get distracted and can’t find anything to see.

Very often I feel like I am surrounded by brick walls. I get angry, I get upset, but I can’t change anything.

I am gradually loosing skills that I have listed in CV. It is getting harder to analyze, I am less passionate about my work, my leadership abilities are gone out of the window. Most of the days I focus on finishing short-term tasks and feel lucky if I cross items on a to-do list and at the same time, eat lunch and go home on time. Most of the days, five-minute tea is a luxury and an hour-long lunch—fantasy.

I can’t deal with ignorance, ambiguity, disrespect, total apathy. I can’t anymore. I feel that I am becoming ignorant, ambiguous, apathetic. Like this post--unfocused and all over the place.

Collaboration, partnership, those terms are unknown to us, at work and at home. I am lucky to have a safe refuge at home. I am very lucky.

Brick walls are everywhere and no one wants to help, no one cares. Everybody strictly does what they have to; they are busy, they are afraid. And if they cared, wanted, needed, now they just try to get through the day.

What? Am I exaggerating? When was the last time you felt thrilled, when you felt like you have accomplished something important?

I have discovered that for a while now, I care less about the issue that I am working to improve. I became used to it. I see the whole picture now and I have two choices: either I stop worrying about it and care less or I ruin my cardiovascular system.

So, you keep on going with no results. And the only thing you can see from your window is a brick wall.

Can this post get more pathetic? Oh, but it can! Check out the view from my window on the pic!

My Vice: Reality of the Reality Shows

2011-05-02T09:52:00.000-07:00

We are behind in many things, but one of them is of imperative importance: we could never have Real Housewives of Tbilisi! For those of you who don’t know what I am talking about, it is one of those shows that nobody admits watching. There are multiple franchises of this reality show, including real housewives of Orange County, Beverly Hills, New Jersey, New York, Atlanta and Miami. They feature a bunch of rich, usually mindless women, spending lots of money and quarelling with each other. It makes me endlessly happy to watch them fight; every time I want to buy something ridiculous and I can’t, it gives me comfort, knowing that they can buy everything they want, but they are still stupid. Plus, they all look like aliens, with fake boobs and botoxed foreheads.

One could ask why couldn’t we film Real Housewives of Tbilisi, is it because Tbilisi doesn’t have its own collection of dumb, rich ladies? No, my friends, but I can’t imagine some businessman allowing his wife to flaunt her spending habits like that. That would guarantee Big Brother inspecting your accounts.

Reality shows feed my soul. They provide everything I need. Real Housewives make me feel good about myself; my recent addiction, 11 seasons of The Apprentice, inspires me. Oh, to watch a hair-challenged Donald Trump, giving contestants business tasks and firing loosers... Last night, I caught myself thinking: if they can pull this off, surely I can pesture my boss for that signature! I will not give up, Mr. Trump, please don’t fire me! I have so much strength and dedication!

We had something like that here, but it turned out to be lame. Cause really, nothing trumps Trump (sorry I had to make this joke).

Reality shows educate me. For 5 years now, I’ve been devouring every season of Heide Klum’s “Project Runway”. Jokes aside, it is really a good show. 12 desingners make interesting outfits and tasks are usually exiting and challenging. I've seen people design cocktail dresses from candy wraps, I’ve seen avangarde fashion and drag queen costumes, I now know that Michael Cors, the guest judge, likes to look like an orange…he tans a lot. The final three contestants show their collections on NY fashion week.

Why couldn't we have this show here? Maybe because Lali Totikashvili (who is a sweet lady) is not Haide Klum. Because neither Georgian, nor Tbilisi Fashion week is the NY fashion week. Because we wouldn’t have enough aspiring designers for more than one season. And because Avto Tskvitinidze, no matter his success, is not as orange as Michael Cors.

My fav. Reality show, Top Chef, introduced me to food I would never try before. I know what Foie gras looks (and spells) like. I know that ceviche is fish that gets cooked in acid, with no heat needed. This show inspires me to make risotto the right way. Also... it makes me very hungry.

We wouldn’t have Top Chef in Georgia…well, because we don’t have chefs here. I can’t imagine Khinkali-themed Top Chef.

So basically, we suck. Cause all we can do is sing and dance and all of our reality shows are about that. And it gets repetitive!

P.S. I am breaking tradition of posting only the pics that I (and giga) take to share this beautiful man with the humanity... this is Curtis Stone, a celebrity chef. Has been on The Celebrity Apprentice and hosts Top Chef Masters. He is all I love about reality show contestant--has some skill, is hot, is confident, and I don't normally like him. Really, I hate smug blond guys with blues eyes and gel-spiked hair. But there is something about this one...

1. the pic belongs to: http://images.search.yahoo.com/images/view?back=http%3A%2F%2Fimages.search.yahoo.com%2Fsearch%2Fimages%3Fp%3Dpics%2Bof%2Bcurtis%2Bstone%26b%3D22%26ni%3D21%26ei%3DUTF-8%26xargs%3D0%26pstart%3D1%26fr%3Dyfp-t-701%26fr2%3Dtab-web&w=650&h=488&imgurl=cdn.vogue.com.au%2Fmedia%2Farticles%2F1%2F0%2F5%2F0%2F10507-1_l.jpg&rurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.gq.com.au%2Flife%2Fpeople%2Fcurtis%2Bstone%2C10507&size=38KB&name=Curtis+Stone+-+G...&p=pics+of+curtis+stone&oid=c3674a753eb65708805c129fd97011ef&fr2=tab-web&no=37&tt=65100&b=22&ni=21&sigr=11j6jnbhm&sigi=11lahktpq&sigb=141afnc1v&.crumb=tm8rojzMXwQ#FCar=5d656d1f1c78b496d7257eaf86749e0a

The Easter Tales

2011-04-25T09:47:00.001-07:00

This Easter was full of many surprises, good and bad. Here’s what happened:

Wednesday evening they told us that Thursday was a holiday. Naturally, I still had to work, since no one bothered to let is know beforehand, you know, so that we could make plans…

I read a hilarious article in the magazine “Tabula”. People asked priests if they were allowed to take showers this Friday and if throwing away colored eggs’ skins was a sin. This was followed by a long discussion on FB, where my friend argued that questions like these indicate brain atrophy and his opponent kept posting arguments with lots of exclamation points. In the end, the other guy just deleted all of his comments. Thus, my friend looked like he was arguing with himself. Very mature.

My hubby and I went to the Church on Easter. It was nice. We got wet though. I guess rain is my destiny for this year.

Keeping up with the theme, hubby and I watched Pasolini’s “Gospel by Matthew” and really enjoyed it.

By the power of karma, I was denied shower privileges for about a week. 1^st, there was no hot water, due to no gas. Then, the weather was windy (I can’t turn on the gas heater in the wind). Later, the water stopped running. And this is why I became one of those stinky marshrutka riders I described in my previous post.

Yesterday, I discovered that I can eat three whole medium Paskas in one day.

That might be the reason why I woke up in the middle of the night with abdominal pain and cried until Giga got me medicine. I can’t stand any physical pain and that is not good. I was lucky to escape major injuries, surgeries and toothaches till now, but who knows what the future holds for me.

I spent lots of time with my family.

I slept during daytime twice, also not good.

I worked a bit, though I had planned to work more. I still have stuff to do tonight.

I’ve got to reach my ultimate goal for these holidays—washing all the laundry. Interestingly, that has sparked a whole housewify discussion on FB as well.

Apparently, I spent lots of time on FB.

Dreadful things happened on “The Celebrity Apprentice”.

Hubby and I started watching the second season of “Community”. So far, it is not as funny as the first one.

And finally,

Just right now I watched an interview of Georgian men, ridiculing Georgian laws that allow fathers to take a leave when their babies are born. Answers like: “that is a maternity leave! Women take it!” and “there is a Georgian saying: a grandma by the cradle, a grandpa with another woman (rhymes in Georgian)” were uttered not only by our fellow stupid men in the street, but also by our non-fellow stupid politicians, not in the streets, but in the parliament, a place where likes of them actually approved this leave.

On this “positive” note, Happy Easter everybody, whether Easter means a colored egg, a fluffy bunny or a Paska to you!

Abusing bunnies is a sin!

P.S. pic: eggs that I colored.

Why Do We Stink?

2011-04-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

The sun is back. I can finally wear my super cool, white Armani Express coat. I am not that obsessed with brands, but this thing really looks like Armani and I wish I had more time to wear it in Spring/Fall season. Alas, the sun will burn us before we know it and soon we will get glued to marshrutka seats and smart kids like me will seek a refuge in subway.

The problem is that no matter what transport you choose, you will encounter stinky riders. I guess the aroma is present all year long, but in summer it gets bigger than life. Let’ ask: why do we (o.k. they, not me) smell?

When I was in school, I had this horrible soviet biology book. Hygiene chapter gave following advice: do not grow long nails, since bacteria like to nest there (made me mad, I already had long nails), wash your hair once a week, washing your hair too often dries it out, washing your skin often dries up your epidermis…

Was it that Soviets made rough, primitive products that really did destroy human’s outer shell? Was it that the Union did not make enough soaps and shampoos and discouraged people from using it? What’s up with these standards?

Of course, now we have all the soap we can afford, from cheap Turkish stuff to fancy Yves Rocher bars, priced more than an I-pod. We have hot water. We are bombarded with soap/shampoo ads. Is it that the habits of not washing-- since we had no water/gas/electricity in 1990s-- are hard to overcome? Kinda like people that lived through great depression and kept diluting milk with water even in better times?

Is it education? That we don’t have health classes that would stress the importance of being bacteriafree, hence pleasant to smell?

Are we too lazy to take a shower? Especially, if some of us live in countryside and spend all day working and sweating on land. Maybe such person does not see any point in getting a shower if he has to go back to sweat and dirt the next morning? And keeps ignoring water and soap, unless a special occasion?

Or maybe we just don’t think that smelling nice is a priority?

These reasons would make sense, if all of us stank. But usually, it’s one or two people in marshrutka. The rest of us are bothered by it. So what, why?

I have a list of things I would change, if I had a magic wand. Some issues are really important and sound like interview answers of a beauty pageant contestant: no more street children, no more homeless animals, peace in our country…but along those grand, never-to-be-fulfilled dreams, I have these small dreametts…like being able to sit in a marshrutka in summer, without being forced to stick my head out of the window and consequently walking around with a hairdo of a small lion meets Cyndi Lauper.

I wanna breathe free!

P.S. the pic: my very nice-smelling hubby.

Could Enrique Iglesias Beat Up Justin Bieber?

2011-04-10T06:19:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, one of my friends asked me to show her a Justin Bieber video, since she hasn’t seen one yet (how is that possible?). We laughed and giggled and suddenly I felt like an old grandma, judging the young generation and claiming that Beatles need haircut, lamenting about the woeful time and loss of taste. Was the pop music of my generation that much better?

When I was a teenager, I was in love with Enrique Iglesias; I knew all of his songs by heart! He was the reason why I understood words like “love”, “tears”, “loneliness” and “hope” in Spanish (amor, lagrimas, soledad and esperanza). My whole room was covered in posters of Enrique. I had a box full of magazine articles about him. I would hunt for headlines that mentioned him. I would pay for Internet café to join fan pages and write to fellow Enrique fans around the world, and I really mean around the world: one was from Mexico, one was form U.S. and one was from Malaysia (!).

At some point I grew up and let him go. Plus, dating a real boy was better than dreaming of Enrique, no matter how sexy he was.

Accordingly, I do understand why people go crazy about likes of Justin Bieber. Nevertheless, I still feel like the product quality went down. First of all, the age of the performers is lot lower and it bothers me to see Miley Cyrus in her reveling shirt, on her bed, singing something stupid about “who owns my heart, is it love or is it art...I can't tell if it is beat or sparks?”— (really? Art? Art?!?!?!). Second, I truly think that lyrics are deteriorating year after year. Yes, pop song does not require a Shakespeare sonnet, but something along the lines of “Today is Friday, tomorrow is Saturday, then comes Sunday” belongs in a Sesame Street song not on MTV! And lastly, it all just seems…cheap? Low-quality? Underdone?

It is hard to judge pop music in general, since all of it seems like crap to me, but even compared to my first love, Enrique Iglesias…oh the casual but sexy outfits…the trembling voice “Follow on the wings of desire, now the rhythm is taking you higher, no one can stop us from havin' it all, You are my heart......you are my soul…”, I used to rewind that part from the “Rhythm Divine” over and over on my cassette player…the manly shoulders, the backdrop decorations, the stare, the pose, the voice, the videos with some scenario…definitely better. At least it was a song. Good or bad, very, very cheesy, but a song. Compare to young Justine here: “Baby, baby, baby…And there really are no words in this song except…baby, baby, baby…and again…baby, baby, baby”.

Hey, let’s all turn on some ridiculous songs we loved when we were teenagers and listen to them. Lets’ see if we still like them!

P.S.I just did that. I watched Rhythm Divine. You know what?! Yes, Enrique is ridiculous and cheesy and corny but God, does he look hot in those old videos! At least he is not wearing diapers and drinking milk from the baby bottle!

P.S. the pic: my cat Gaia is in shock: "What?! this shit on my TV again?". Bieber is in the background.

Snobby Traveling

2011-03-26T10:23:00.000-07:00

It is an Earth day today. We were asked to turn off the lights and I am using this dark hour to make fun of the travelling Georgians.

Two weeks ago, I was going to Gudauri. A woman climbed up and tried to secure marshrutka seats for herself and her “children”. Loudly, she demanded “lots of space. I have many bags, BECAUSE I AM GOING TO STAY IN GUDAURI—which, as you all know, is insanely expensive, hint, hint”. She mentioned: “I am travelling with 3 children” 5 times. I bit my nails, imagining a three-hour trip with small kids, when I saw a grown-ass teenage girls elbowing their way to the seats.

We got caught in the snow and we were forced to endure 1. Crappy, angry driver 2. The same 3 songs by “Blue” that the driver played for 5 hours 3. The “svetski” woman and her “svetski” “children”. During the whole trip, I rolled my eyes so much that I almost saw my cerebellum.

And how fun it is to travel with Georgians that are flying home! Once, they thought my friend was a foreigner and held the following conversation in front of him: “When we go back to Tbilisi, let’s say we stayed in a very nice hotel”, “Yes, let’s say that it was a 4 star, not a 2 star hotel!” “Let’s say we had caviar for lunch!” “Let’s say we had a Jacuzzi in our suite!” Then, they saw my friend’s Georgian passport…

Last year, I got stuck in the air/airport for more than 70 hours. I tried to hang out with my American and German co-flyers. Why?

--at the Trabzon airport, I sat down on the floor and got lectured about my ovaries

--at the Istanbul airport, bunch of overdressed ladies complained about “horrible service” and “awful airport”. Being completely satisfied with both (especially compared to Tbilisi Airport) I asked the ladies where were they flying from. They answered “Monaco” and put their noses up. I moved back to my German friend.

--at the Munich airport, a Georgian-looking group of girls in high heels and black dresses wandered aimlessly, until I explained to them how to register for flight. Then, one of them asked me “an intimate question”. She wanted to know if there is a bathroom in the airport. I told her that signs with a man and a woman on them usually signify a bathroom. She disappeared in one of them to put more lipstick on.

Georgian travelers are stuck-up, snobby, disrespectful and just intolerable. You’ll see men spending their last money on worthless duty-free items, just to buy more than their friend did; you’ll see women in fancy evening attire; you’ll see Ministers’ mothers coming back from Monaco; you’ll see drinking, yelling, loud men; you’ll see people criticizing everyone and everybody around them. But if you’re like me, if you do not blend in with the Georgian crowd, cause of your looks, your outfit, your manners, you can take your laptop, watch “the apprentice” and freeze your ovaries off on the cold floors of the airport…and snootily feel superior...

Hour’s up! Time to use electricity again!

pic: me in a Bangkok airport

About Japan and about Faith

2011-03-17T11:22:00.001-07:00

I woke up determined to write a fun post. But as I scanned through news, I just lost it. I am at work, all alone; I came early to do some catching up. It is actually very weird, how silent it is here.

Japan is facing nuclear crisis. At the same time, those amazing people remain civilized, remain human. There is no rape, no stolen TVs, no fighting for food and water. It was reported that a queue was formed for governmental aid, right by a supermarket with shattered windows. Japanese stood in line, patiently waiting for the food from the government, and none of them, none of them thought of taking supplies from the unguarded supermarket!

Truly, that culture is fascinating and sometimes puzzling for me. How can people stay so well-mannered in time of crises? I couldn’t.

Direct opposite of “civilized” happened in Tbilisi. Some orthodox priest preached about angry and almighty God that punishes people for evil. You know, the God of Old Testament, who supposedly sits on a cloud and kills people he dislikes—because he is merciful like that. Who sends earthquakes in Japan, where, as the priest said, girls are selling their bodies to save money for marriage—because he is merciful like that. Who creates big waves of water to kill those perverted men and women that sunbathe naked--because he is merciful like that! And he will keep punishing everyone around us, except us, because we don’t have prostitutes, because we are saints, because we are bearers of great culture, because we are St. Mary’s country, because we never sin and perhaps, because we don’t live in an active seismic zone!

Something very deep broke inside me. I know that you shouldn’t judge the whole community just by one member. I know that all those brainwashed people that commented positively on that preacher’s speech do not represent every orthodox Christian in Georgia. But the fact that nobody reprimanded that priest, that he is still leading a church, affects me very much. This sermon is a lot more serious matter than stuff like priests attacking Halloween and banning Harry Potter. Cause this time, it is not about ignorance. It concerns people. It is about compassion.

This was the last straw. If being Orthodox Christian means saying that Japan got what it deserved, than I am not Orthodox anymore.

My co-workers start coming. I need to stop typing now.

pic: White is symbol of grief in Japan.

Conformity and Silence

2011-03-10T12:10:00.000-08:00

I like to be liked and that’s a problem. Cause at the same time I am stubborn, opinionated and honest. Even if I didn’t believe that people should defend their values, I am too impulsive to shut up.

Today, I found myself torn between these two thoughts: should I behave like an average Georgian conformist or should I speak up and anger my boss? The case is, I was blamed for some minor thing—the other party lied—and when I tried to defend myself, my very important boss told me: “and you, you don’t say anything. I don’t like when people contradict me”. She left the room. I sat in shock. My coworkers stared at me. After conferring with my supervisor (who, as I found out, had already discussed the issue with our boss and confirmed my side of the story, but couldn’t reason with her either), I decided to let it go.

I really do not want stressful work setting. I don’t like conflicts. Generally, I find people to be reasonable, so why fight? I do engage in numerous debates and confrontations, because people usually are capable of talking with you without hating you!

My supervisor claims that if I bring up the issues, my boss will start yelling and will personally insult me. This could lead me to two options: 1. be yelled at and feel humiliated 2. Defend my self-esteem, swear at my boss and leave the job.

Have I mentioned that the girl before me resigned to save her dignity?

Further in my day, I got another proof that my rational explanation would be fruitless.

The result: I remain falsely accused; I feel sad, helpless and mad at myself. My boss is convinced that I am dishonest and possibly dumb. On the other hand, she’d think that no matter what I said.

Let’s see, what can I do? I know, I can complain on my blog and achieve nothing. Except maybe bore the readers. Oh well, now you can like me less. Cause I am a coward .

P.S. this really does not matter that much. But now I understand why most people in Georgia remain silent. Just…it never feels right to be like the most people in Georgia…

pic: me hiding and thinking

Disappointment

2011-03-01T05:38:00.000-08:00

How can it be that every month, every single month, every 28th day of my cycle, I discover that I haven’t been drinking, have been eating healthy, have been fucking writing down my ovulation days on a cute calendar with kittens, to no avail?!
Why is that some woman get pregnant while being on pills, while using condoms, after having sex just once and I can’t get pregnant for 6 months?!
Planned parenthood my ass.
As you can see, I am mad.
Actually, I was going to write about marshrutkas, but I’ll just pout for a day or two and get back to you.

Cheating Justified?

2011-02-22T11:00:00.000-08:00

I wonder, if after reading this post my husband will wonder: “hmmm, why did she decide to write this?”

I want to challenge the notion of monogamy in general, especially in Georgia.

Let’s say the situation is standard Georgiana—she’s a virgin before she marries and he only has sex with older women he pays for. Or, if he has more money, Ukrainian girls he pays for. Either way, there is no steady sexual experience—you know, with one partner, when you get to learn and explore and discover new layers of decadence. Neither can you sleep around and search for your sexual identity—whatever that means. You finally pair up with a spouse, spend some time getting used to each other, start listening to your body, open up and…discover that you haven’t done this earlier, that you haven’t “experimented in college”, haven’t kissed the same sex person, haven’t had one night stands; you have never been stupid, never been “I can’t believe I slept with him”, “I don’t remember last night”, “did we really…?”

I already know of several instances when the partner opened up wife/husband and then he/she discovered dormant feelings, went ahead and tried “to find oneself”. This is extremely unfair to the partner that pointed out the forbidden fruit to the spouse, even described the delicious crunch of biting into it. Families fall apart, both parties feel treated unfair, chaos descends upon Tbilisi.

Where do I stand? Is it more justified to cheat here than in the countries where you can play around all you want until you consciously agree to commit? Do we really give an informed consent when we marry so early?

Life is about trading. For example, I exchange my time for my salary, my silence for social acceptance, my pain for waxed legs. I exchange my freedom for stability, my inner slut for reassurance that I will always have someone I can rely on, who respects me, who accepts me, who puts me first. On the scale of importance, on the scale of what matters more, playing around is less important than all the warmth I get in my relationship. I shudder from the thought of being without him. If I were alone, would I be happy? Not anymore.

Hence, for me, it is just not worth it. I am not even discussing pain, the burden of lie, the misplaced trust. That is another topic, it is a very serious topic and I am not sure I can put emotional aspect of it in words. I am not even sure how would I react to hubby cheating. I don’t know, cause there is nothing like that in my empirical experience. I can’t even hypothesize. I might get up and leave, I might jump out of the balcony, I might forgive, I don’t know.

The moral is: cheating is impulsive, bringing short-term satisfaction. Marriage, relationship, fulfilling monogamy gives you strength maybe even for a lifetime. It weighs more.

pic: Thai swans

Do we need valentine’s day?

2011-02-17T11:44:00.000-08:00

Do you know that St. Valentine actually died on February 14^th? That we have been eating chocolates and exchanging cards to commemorate his hanging?

Do you know how many overprized cards, useless toys and chocolate is bought this day? How many girls are upset cause their boys couldn’t plan anything decent, how many pairs go to the noisy restaurants, where they can’t even hold a decent conversation?

How many stupid romantic comedies are released for this day? How many poor guys have to endure them without vomiting?

So I will sing along with Cher—IS IT WORTH IT?

What did I do for this Valentine’s Day? Hubby and I were in Kiev (in transit from Thailand), saw frozen Dnepr river, drank coffee in the cutest place and he got me beautiful flowers the next day (when we got back home). We held hands and rubbed our noses together. We were disgusting. :-)

When you are caught in a routine, when you prefer to watch Dr. House on a couch instead of clubbing in a sexy outfit, when much of your conversations revolve around your cat, when if he makes dinner you do the dishes and vice versa, you need a shaking up day!

Who cares if it is completely fabricated, if it is commercialized, if some companies get rich by selling us cards and bears?! It gives us the push, the kick in a butt to stand up and do something!

You know what? This collectualistic, ritualistic celebrations are all that we have left from the olden days when our ancestors used to dance around the fire and hoped that the smoke would reach the spirits in the sky. We need days to get us closer, both to each other and to the community. And though some sarcastic, leftist people will make fun of me, I am a part of this world, I am part of humankind, I have no desire to stand aside and live separately from my tribe. Yes, I like to be different, but also, I like the tribal connection. On February 14^th, I like seeing pairs holding hands and to be one myself.

The hubby and I have all kinds of rituals. For example, when he comes home from work, I get our cat and he hugs me and the cat. We also celebrate the day of our 1^st kiss, every month. Some anniversaries even have special names, like the Penguin day. We don’t need a special day to celebrate each other, but having one ensures that at least that day can’t be turned into a mundane we-love-couch. Sometimes I anticipate our kiss day for a week. Cause I know for sure, we won’t ruin it by commonplace practices.

Hence, after all, why shouldn’t we give each other flowers, if we really do like flowers? We don’t need special day to do it, but why can’t we do it on special day too? Sometimes we really do need to have mandatory fun. Otherwise, we won’t have any.

the pic: the postcard pic of hubby and me in thailand, 2 days before the valentine's. expect an exiting update post on that.

The Battle of the Stalingrad

2011-02-03T05:01:00.000-08:00

Last Friday I saw a play worth seeing. I recommend it to everyone, including my non-Georgian friends: it is subtitled.

I don't know, what should I call Rezo Gabriadze's piece. I never thought that puppet theatre could accomplish so much. I couldn't imagine puppets as emotional mediums...

Rezo Gabriadze is a very famous Georgian screen-writer, director and production designer. He is a man of big wit, humor, depth and taste. Recently, he designed a cute little tower by the puppet theatre on 26 Shavteli St. Every hour a little angel comes out and strikes a bell. Really, it's very awwwwww.

After seeing the angel, you should check out the play. Each puppet is handcrafted by Gabriadze and is an art piece. The beginning is especially impressive: we saw a faceless soldier digging out his war past from the sand. The first images stayed in our minds because we were not yet used to these artful puppets and every one of them surprised us. For example, a train made out of an iron bucket.

After a while, we got used to the beauty on the stage and we started taking in the story. It is very minimal. I would even say pretty conventional, story about war, disjointed images, longing, missing, death, love...however, puppets give it a new life, new breath, fresh meaining.

What will you see?

You will see series of images and mini-stories. You will see horses falling in low and ants talking with angels. You will see cars in the dark, humming and helmets marshing and marshing. Your eyes will feast on different artful puppets, some heavy, some light.

I admit that I became centimental. It was just another story about the war, love and death, but it still made me sad.

Or, maybe it was not just another story about the war, love and death...

P.S. pic is stolen from this website: http://vvoice.vo.llnwd.net/e12/a-war-on-love.1932885.40.jpg. God help my camera leave the state of coma, please!

Of Work and Other Things

2011-01-25T01:28:00.000-08:00

Well, what can I say? This post is pretty late, sorry, real life took over me. From now on, I won't have enough time to write the post one day, edit it on the second day and spend much time on the pictures. And, by the way, my camera broke down, so we'll have series of picturless posts for several weeks. I usually publish pics that I take, but if the camera isn't resurected, I will start stealing them from the net.
So, this is an amorphous post, concerning all the stuff happening around me. No order, no spell check, no common sense.
Worse of times, definetely worse of times. Cause things just happen around me. And I only have 15 minutes to list them.
Well, like the internally dispalced people chased away from their homes. That is just plain ugly. One women even set herself on fire. Massive hysteria.
What else? Oh, the vetarans prostest meeting by the Abkhazia war memorial. Meeting was broken up, shall we say, not gently?
What else? Trying to figure out how to do house chores when I get home at 7. Not that I do that much at work that I am exhausted (well, not yet), but being somewhere, doing something from 9:30 till 6:30 makes you want to spend your free time watching trashy reality TV, not do the dishes.
And what about nails, hair, shaving my legs? What about picking up outfits and ironing clothes?
When are women doing that?Respect to you, working women with nice nails!
You know how I always claim that being a housewive is lame? Well, it is certainly a lot more relaxing.
Let's see...TLG teachers being fired when they thougth they're gone on a vacation...imagine, you leave your things here, go visit your family in the States, you haven't said good-byes, you haven't written down e-mails and phone numbers, you haven't brought souvenier wine...if anyone still wants our wine...and they let you know that you can't come back anymore. This is how American teachers got fired--while being on vacation, without any prior notice. Great! Let's spread the tales of our hospitality across the oceans!
Oh, and my break is over.
Truly, this is an exceptional country!

The Old Carpet

2011-01-14T12:51:00.003-08:00

The carpet is made of tiny strings, and all of them splash red, orange, brown multitude of colors. The pomegranate is red, and it bleeds. The lace can be white or it can be black. The lace can hide face, can hide eyes, can reveal feelings. The carpet can be colorful, can hang on the wall, can lie on the ground, can be covered with the pomegranates. And people can remember and people can forget, but some do remember.

Today, the carpet woke up in a dusty room. It was brought out. It was spread. It was covered with many, many pomegranates. The carpet was humble, and it minded the cameras. The carpet was humble, but it held many, many pomegranates.

Six years ago I decided that the more strings I weave, the more colorful carpet I’ll get. So, along with the university, I started taking lessons in Spanish, volunteered for the FLEX activities, continued my creative writing and debates, went to a modeling school and took some photography classes. One day, our photography teacher took us to watch how he was shooting a film. During the breaks, for the first time, he started discussing film and film photography with us. He said, Parajanov is genius, what he does in one shot, he only shows Chiaureli’s face with the white lace and it is the most beautiful shot in the film history.

This week, it was Parajanov's birthday. The day before, I watched “the Color of the Pomegranates”. Next day, I spent almost 30 minutes picking out the perfect pomegranate. I bought three different ones in three different markets. I wore red. I wore black gloves. I was no Chiaureli, but still, I wanted to feel special. I wanted to buy lace and wrap my pomegranate in it, but I spent so much time selecting the fruit that I couldn't. I had to hurry. 6 P.M., Bambis rigi, Parajanov’s monument.

There are people in this world that care about things. No, not me. People that actually do something. Those people want to have Parajanov's street in Tbilisi. They want to have a museum. They asked us to gather by his monument that evening and bring a pomegranate. They provided his pictures. They screened a film. They cared.

And then, TV cameras danced their little dance and the journalists mentioned everyone important. You know, the ministries and such.

The carpet was humble, and it minded the cameras. The carpet was humble, but it held many, many pomegranates. And after it was over, they took away the pomegranates and the carpet was put back in the dusty room. It was just an old rug, nothing fancy.

Rain Man…and Boys and Girls

2011-01-07T13:37:00.000-08:00

The only place where you don’t want to see any rain is the rainiest place in whole Georgia. The irony of life has never been so obvious.

Last New Year’s Eve we spent in NY; this January the 31^st, we were conquering new heights, the Georgian Barcelona: Batumi.

We arrived at 7 A.M., --IT WAS RAINING—and were showed a seemingly decent “hotel”. My husband had hypoglycemia, dehydration, acetaldehyde intoxication, and glutamine rebound—more commonly known as a hangover. So he spent most of the day sleeping and rest of the day arguing with a waitress—he craved soup. “No Soup”, she declared. “Beer?” he hoped. “We don’t import beer on holidays (?!?!!?!?!)”, she answered, determined to deny any attempts of money coming into her restaurant. “Tea with lemon”, asked my desperate husband. “We don’t make tea”, was her answer. IT WAS RAINING.

After getting some warmth and alcohol, we went to the free concert, with Bocelli, Cirque Du Soleil and other fun stuff. Or so I was told. Cause I’d be damned, if I saw anything. Sandwiched between somebody’s armpits and chests, I longed to catch a glimpse of the concert. I couldn’t hear a note cause some stupid girls kept screaming behind me “oh I don’t like operas, oh, I think I broke my heels, oh…” I take this opportunity to say: I hate you, screaming girls who come to free concerts without even knowing who Bocelli is! Let the all of your heels be broken from now on! AND DID I MENTION THAT IT STILL KEPT RAINING?

At 11:50 we decide that this is lame and spend the next ten minutes sprinting towards the sea. We don’t make it; instead, we jump into the fountain (at this point we are so wet, we don’t care), pose for a pic with champagne. It was supposed to burst out, joyfully splashing us with bubbles. It absolutely refused to do so, no matter how much we shook it and even banged it against the concrete. Then, we wanted to light the cheap Chinese excuse for fireworks, but instead of exploding, the little balls of fire kinda limped through the air, with the saddest sound. Finally, we went up to the sea and decided to fire a rocket thingy. The lighter broke down. AND, ALL THIS TIME, IT IS STILL RAINING.

We went home. Four of our friends were not with us during this whole getting- into- the- fountain- on- 12 o’clock adventure. We thought that they just stayed to watch the concert. Two of them did. In fact, those two people were the only ones, out of all twelve of us, who saw the concert. However, the other two had an unforgettable experience. When we ran to the fountains, they ran to the “hotel”, only to discover that we locked all the doors. Wet and angry, they tried getting into cafes—but were turned down, due to no reservations. Finally, they were admitted to some smelly restaurant, full of men, no females whatsoever. All the food was already served to men and a waitress, feeling sorry for the two wet girls, brought them whatever she found in the kitchen—two pieces of bread and two pieces of cheese! Battling the drunken men who tried to dance with them and munching on stale bread, they greeted the year 2011. AND OF COURSE IT WAS STILL RAINING.

I won’t bore you, how the lights went off in our hotel, leaving us heatless, how we wore each others relatively dry clothes, shoes and socks, how we had an argument with the “hotel” owner and how many empty bottles we left behind—this post is too long already. When we finally got on the train, the night of the January 1^st, we discovered that a lady at the train station back in Tbilisi sold us the wrong tickets. We were in fact, proud holders of tickets route Tbilisi-Batumi, not the return tickets Batumi-Tbilisi. My name was yelled out several times “ Pasumonok, get off the train now!”, while my husband tried to obtain relevant tickets.

And you know what? When the train started leaving Batumi, THE RAIN STOPPED! Only, now we did not care.

the pics: us trying to open the damn champagne. Us trying to launch the rocket thingy

Queer Theory

2010-12-27T12:31:00.000-08:00

Last Friday I attended a discussion on the queer theory, in DRCAA (DRCCA?DDRCA? This name contains way too many letters).

I learned that the queer theory claims that norms, categorization, even the term LGBT are sources of discrimination. “We’re normal too”—is really validating the existence of an accepted norm and a desire to be a part of it, when in reality, there is no “normal sexuality”.

As I sat there, I've noticed was how different it felt to be in the LGBT community in Tbilisi. I sensed something unusual (queer?) in the air, dare I say conspiracy? Secret? Boldness? Thrill?

I remember, back in the States, my friend took me to a birthday party of her “gay husband”. Somehow, being the only girl among three dozens of gay men was more relaxing than being in DRCAA. I don’t mean to say that I was nervous or scared or something ridiculous like that. I was more…emotional? Exited? Unsettled? This shows how the whole social setting affects the way we perceive people, society and ourselves.

I took notes during the lecture, I was going to write more about the theory, but no, if anyone is interested, Internet is full of the relevant info. Personally, I believe that it is fundamentally right, but like any theory that sprang as an opposition to an established order, it falls into extremes. However, I took home something more important then the theory…

Conspiracy? Maybe. Boldness and thrill…admiration and respect. Because have you, my dear reader, ever had to oppose the whole world, when everyone screamed that you are, in your essence, in your core, either sick, perverted or dysfunctional? The last time I’ve experienced such admiration was during the disability awareness project, when I saw people fighting for basic rights, denying pity.

What can say? Do I have a right to say anything? I am white, I am straight, I am well-educated, I am girl ( well, at least I can complain about gender issues J), I went to a private school, I had a very accepting family, I love my husband. No matter what I say or write, no matter my empathy, no matter my indignation, I can never ache the pain of the people assembled at DRCAA that night. Boldness, in the air? You bet!

I am a disgustingly lucky, privileged SOB (Daughter Of B?). Nevertheless, I refuse to live in the country of hate, in the country of injustice, in the country of Pharisees and false prophets!

And if you think that all this hate is bypassing you because you happened to fit in—beware of the day you fall out of favor.

I don’t know what to do, how to help, how to be there for anyone who needs me (does anyone need me?). Everything is way too complicated in Tbilisi. But I refuse to live in this filth, in this hypocrisy, in this "don’t ask, don’t tell, if you tell, we will beat" you environment.

We all deserve better.

Georgian Liberal?

2010-12-20T06:26:00.000-08:00

There is a kind of dualism in Tbilisi, the sense of you’re either with us or against us...

It has been increasingly hard to find my place. I’ve been searching for my group and I haven’t found it. I feel like a teenager again. You know, confused, trying to figure basic morals.

The more time passes, the more I understand what I’m against. Collectively, no one is against everything that I’m against. I guess we all have to compromise different things with the different groups of people.

I don’t know, parties, drinking, pot, singing, swearing, that’s fine, I like that deviant attitude. But, after a while, you realize that it is kinda fake. All things are kinda fake, so that’s not a tragedy. However, being pretty flexible, one still has some inner core morals, otherwise, it would be impossible to navigate the world. So what should I do, when the so-called liberal society clashes with that core?

My first problem is that I do believe in God. Lately, I found that if I say it aloud, many “friends” look at me exactly as traditional Georgian guys look at me when I say that I have no problem with gays. I guess acceptance is the problem on both sides; it is just that it happened that my view coincides with one of them.

The second thing is that I see childish, teenage rebellion, which is too late for anyone who is not 15. I see lies and cheating (I am not against free sex. I am not against open relationships. But I am against dishonesty), displaying intimate info on Skype and that kinda stuff. All this shit makes me feel mature and damn it, I hate to feel mature when I am only 25! I want to feel younger, not older, smarter and preachyer! I find myself in a position of a know-it-all, giving advices and shaming people.

There’s stuff in my new life that I don’t want my old friends to know. But, after I’ve met so many new people last year, I realize that despite our differences (some got married, some are employed, some are home, some are conservative, some are environmentalist..), that is the group of people that I feel most comfortable in. I might keep some of my ideas to myself, but whenever I am with them, I feel safe.

Thus, I don’t know. Maybe there is no my place in this country of change. Maybe my only place is my home. Maybe I need to accept everyone as they are: sexist, racist, cheating, orthodox, atheist, fun, boring, intelligent, snobby…

Dochanashvili wrote: “we all have our city, sometimes we just don’t know about it”.

I can’t find my city.

pics: a cozy lamp art I saw in Kiev this fall.

Our Trip to Istanbul Part 2

2010-12-13T05:01:00.000-08:00

If you go to Istanbul for less than a week, expect to run around like chicken with no head. This post is about stuff to see in this city.

The Stuff Featured on History Channel. God! The carpet store with an underground cistern was right by our hotel! The hippodrome that the History Channel dude explored! The giant aqueduct! We saw the underground water reservoir! With a head of medusa at the base of the column!!! Ah, the Cities of the Underworld and the thrill of diving under the concrete to discover layers upon layers of history!

The Touristy Stuff. Visiting Istanbul and not seeing Hagia Sophia is going to get you on a “you suck” list for the rest of your life. The enormous historical value of this Byzantine monument needs a bigger document than my blog, so let me just say that, “famous in particular for its massive dome, it is considered the epitome of Byzantine architecture and is said to have "changed the history of architecture”[1] .It was built by 360 A.D. It has a monetary value too: entry fee was the most we’ve paid for any museum—20 Liras.

Facing the Hagia Sophia is the Blue Mosque. As in every mosque, you are supposed to take your shoes off before entering (picture me struggling to take off my thigh high boots and wondering about the structural integrity of my socks—a.k.a. holes). It impressed me so much, every tile done in a unique way, people actually praying, the sense of presence... Avoid butting in during the prayer times.

The Palaces. Topkapi and Dolmabahçe. Make sure you pay additional fee and see the harem. Topkapi is where the Turkish rulers used to live before the 19^th century and Dolmabahçe is more of a we-are-trying-to-be-European-over-the-top-baroque. Dolmabahçe palace has a beautiful garden and we were lucky to have the most amazing guide ever! He concluded the tour in the impressive ballroom, with the world's largest, Bohemian crystal, 4.5 ton chandelier. As we stood there, speechless, he said: “I just got married last month and I asked if there is any chance of me having a ceremony here. They told me, you can’t, because you’re not a sultan”. He was so serious when he said it too!

The Stuff in Bosporus. So, you navigate best you can past the people who try to sell you 50 Lira Bosporus tours, approach the last ferry on the dock and take a 10 Lira tour. You look around and you realize, wow, you could spend 3 days just walking and observing the streets that you see from the ferry. Including churches, mosques, city walls, castles and houses!

The Stuff We Discovered. Pier Lotti hill. So, this writer dude comes to Istanbul and decides to settle away from the city, on a hill with the view of the Golden Horn and the Constantinople. Of course, that hill is part of Istanbul now, and there’s a cute café with Turkish tea and spectacular view!

The Fancy Stuff. Finally, the Taksim Square and İstiklal Caddesi, the “Shardeni” street of Istanbul. Place to get Turkish coffee, wet burger, chain department stores, the cutest little cinemas (we saw Harry Potter there) and a crowd of tourists. Very busy during night—kinda cool, since the old city dies out after sunset. Looks like lot of other walking streets in other big cities, but with a Turkish flavor. Pretty hip!

Final Note: try to see more than one place; for example, don’t spend all of your time in the old city, and the Bosporus tour is a must!

pics: Giga took wonderful postcardish pics! Here you see: the view from the Bosporus Tour, Me by the Blue Mosque entrance, Hagia Sophia at night.

[1] en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hagia_Sophia

Our Trip to Istanbul--Part 1

2010-12-08T09:58:00.000-08:00

What can I say about Istanbul? Three words come to mind: breathtaking, historical and expensive.

Visiting Istanbul has been my dream since I saw “The Cities of the Underworld” on the History Channel. Unlike many other places, people and stuff in general, my high expectations were fully met and even exceed. This includes transportation, food and accommodation, the topic of this post.

Transportation. Let’s start from the beginning—the Sabiha Gokcen Airport. It is a newly built thing, lot further than the Ataturk Airport, but comfortable and nice-looking. Discount airlines land there. It took us two hours to get from the airport on the Asian side to our hotel, but it was fine, because when else would we travel through that part of Istanbul? To get to the historical city, we took a bus, a ferry (crossing Bosporus from Asia to Europe) and a 20 minute walk. We could’ve taken a tram from the ferry, but the overwhelming presence of the city at 8 a.m. made us jump up and down, despite the luggage.

Transportation in Istanbul includes ferries across Bosporus, trams, buses and a subway. There is no subway in the historic part—I guess it makes sense, given that there are Byzantium antiques lying everywhere you dig. Mostly, we walked around, cause when you’re in Istanbul for 7 days, you don’t want to spend time looking at it from the tram window.

Accommodation. I was afraid that our hotel room would look different than its ad picture—happens all the time. However, it was exactly the same. We requested a room with a balcony that overlooked the courtyard, but got something lot better—a courtyard itself! And, there was an option of having a room with the view of the Marmara Sea, for additional 10 Euros, but we decided to save the money and were right: all of the balconies were facing the sea, including our first floor, so we saw it perfectly. I guess the more expensive room was on the highest floor and had a better perspective, but I bet it did not have A SWING AND A LITTLE GARDEN!

You can get any kind of accommodations you want—from a 10Euro hostel to a 160 overlooking-the-sea suite. Breakfast is included. Receptionists everywhere are extra sweet and speak around 4 languages. Breakfasts are usually same everyday, but ours included so much stuff that we could eat different food for a week—and even the shittiest breakfast offers 5 varieties of olives and cheeses, which is like amazing!

Food. Foodwise, we went to Istanbul prepared. We watched my favorite TV chef’s Antony Bourdain’s “No Reservations” in Istanbul and marked the places and the food we wanted to eat. Among them were: a whole lamb cooked in a stone pit, a delicious, calorie-packed wet burger and a lamb wrap with an unbelievable lavash.

Food in the historic part of the city (which is where you’ll end up being anyway) is 10 times more expensive then where the normal people live, so we just skipped lunch or dinner and ate once a day (well, after having like 5 courses for breakfast) and munched on bread, fruit and cheese we bought in the discount supermarket.

The hotel provided two bottles of water and that was wonderful, because you can’t drink tap water and there are no drinking fountains. For water, try discount supermarket, because its prices triple (literally) in the touristy places.

And as an endnote: almost every restaurant and hotel has a rooftop terrace. It is absolutely the best idea ever, so please don’t visit Istanbul in the winter, you’ll miss the terrace experience!

pics: the rooftop terrace in our hotel (can you see the sea?), the Bambi Cafe (poor Bambi, do they serve venison?), and I am passed by a historic tram (modern ones cruise the rest of the city).

The 50s in Georgia

2010-12-03T04:42:00.000-08:00

My stepfather once told me: “I understand why you want to go back to Georgia. It is like 50s in the states”. Now, he meant the good stuff about the 50s: family values, small grocery stores, neighbors being friends, sense of community.

As Giga and I got obsessed with the AMC’s series Mad Men, we both realized how true that is. It is the 50’s here, not only with all the good, but the crappy stuff too. For some reason, it makes me very glad that before the 70s, American people behaved much like Georgians do today: smoked all day, drank at work, objectified women, fired homosexuals from work, threw garbage in the park, had pretty housewives and promiscuous husbands. I was glad because: 1. aha, they had flaws too! 2. If they could change, we can change.

There is one thing in the 50s (or at least in Mad Men) that is unquestionably better than it is today: style! This is why Giga and me decided to have a 50s theme for our second wedding…wait what?!

As you know (or not), Georgian weddings have three parts: a church ceremony, a legal ceremony and a restaurant. 3 years ago, we didn’t have time, nor did we feel compelled to perform a legal ceremony and sign a marriage license. We just did the church thing, where Giga almost set the priest on fire and my maid of honor fainted in the middle of the bible-reading. Oh, and the drinking-eating-Georgian dances-drinking-eating-Georgian dances thing.

Now that we are thinking of producing little Gigas and Pasumonoks (this is where you go awwwwwwwwwwwwww), we decided to put our names on that paper.

We already had the restaurant and all that Georgian wedding festivity, so we came up with an inexpensive, American wedding: lots of flowers and no food. We even used paper plates!!! We did have alcohol though. Wine—not Georgian! As mentioned, for the first time in Georgia (to my knowledge), we also had a theme and kudos to my girlfriends, most of them showed up with 50s hair and dresses.

You can compare the pics from our first (real) wedding to this thing. Changes are apparent. That is the same man by my side, though.

And you know what? If we are half a century behind, we should at least have fun with it! Down with Justin Beiber, I want Marilyn Monroe!

P.S. and get this, we also had a second honeymoon! This time something exiting, not Borjomi, that we did the first time. Wait for the Istanbul in the next post.

Hot Girls

2010-11-20T11:20:00.000-08:00

When I started this blog, I thought of doing sarcastic posts from a girl’s perspective. I’ve lost that somewhere between the sex ed and the infamous phalloimitators. Plus, I am extra busy this week, so I’ll post something that doesn’t require too much editing.

So, being married has lots of pluses. One of them is having male friends. I could never have boys that are friends, because our honest talks and midnight giggling on the phone always ended up with the dreaded “you have beautiful eyes” dialogue. Great, now I sound like I am bragging.

Being off-limits opens a new demographic for me: boys. Especially, husband’s friends. They are 100% harmless. One time, in Batumi my husbands friends and I discussed girls for 3 days. And finally found out what guys are thinking. At least those ones.

Also, I highly recommend Neil Strauss’ The Game (especially if you are a boy and you can’t get girls). Made me emphasize with the male population.

So, those guys in particular wanted nice-looking girls. Not great-looking (aha! Are they intimidated?) nice and, as they say in Georgia, “movlili”. Meaning, she’s taking care of herself. Meaning she goes to salon, waxes her eyebrows, spends evenings chatting with a nail lady and knows what looks good on her.

Two years ago, I told my hubby that new generation of Geo girls look hot. We were observing them in a Batumi park. He answered: “ No. They just learned how to take care of themselves”.

I’d like to add: they can take care of themselves, because they finally have jobs. They can afford to spend money on their Gucci’s. And this is where my liberal-minded readers sigh and tell me: “you too Brutus?! We thought you were above that petty, bourgeois, shoe-buying attitude!”

I object to female objectification. But is it wrong to improve physically, to try and look better? I mean, we have no problem when a person tries to improve intellectually, so why can’t he/she progress physically?

This dualism is bullshit. I want to reach perfection in every aspect of my life. A priori, I know that I won’t. But trying enhances me. Is this vanity or is this harmony with own self, own body?

Observe this chain: if girl is “movlili”, she is confident, if she is confident, she’s called a bitch. Or people think that she’s stuck up. But nobody thinks that a confident man is a bitchy slut. No! He’s a go getter and a an achiever. He has a competitive nature. Blah!

In the end, I refuse to be forced in categories. Nerdy smart or dumb beautiful. I am neither very smart, nor exceptionally beautiful. But just as I am reading --- (insert something pretentious-sounding), so I am prancing around in heels and a short skirt.

Girls are hot! Deal with it!

What The Hell Are We Building?

2010-11-15T01:07:00.001-08:00

Imagine, you hear the airplanes, you look up but you can’t see them. You are haunted by that sound. You go into the basement, you hide under the car, you run, but it does not matter where you go, when the bomb gets dropped on you. So, you squeeze on a tractor with ten other people. And you leave it all. You are an IDP and this is August 2008.

Imagine that your home was burned. Just like that, burned. And everything in it was burned. Everything you bought, collected, valued.

Imagine that you've spent 4 months in the kindergarten, sleeping on a mattress, on a desk. They promise you a house. So, you get a little cabin, most of the necessities. You’re getting money and produce at first. Flour, pasta. They even give you a TV.

And then…you find out that the roof is leaking, that the walls are perpetually wet and that the floor has holes in it. You get pneumonia. Almost everyone in your family gets pneumonia. They give you a plot of land, but you can’t work on it, cause you’re sick. It sounds like a crappy melodrama, but you’re an IDP and this is January 2009.

And then, time passes, the walls get wetter, the holes get bigger, the food stops coming. PTSD catches up. Nobody cares about you, all the journalists, media, foreign help, NGO’s, everything is gone. The war is not interesting anymore. You’re an IDP and this is November 2010.

And then, you turn on TV and see this:

Flickering video. The track is a song written 7 years ago, during the rose revolution. Words go like this: “if we sing the same song together, we will build a house”.

The video goes on, and they show all the new shit erected in Georgia, mainly in Tbilisi, all the new, expensive, useless, worthless shit and the song, the song by a folk-rock-kinda singer that I liked, this song pours out of my TV, out of your TV, out of TVs the IDPs that watch it in their one-bedroom house! How could you, all the revolutionary, undergroundy artists, how could you sell yourselves?! Are you guys just getting old? Is that it? You were lying to us, you were lying to us, when you stood along those people, the people who promised us gold, but built us shiny, glittery bridges! How long can we stand this fakeness? Why doesn’t anyone mention that right now, people are living in card houses? One storm and those cabins will fall apart!

Oh, they will pay suitcases of Euros to famous singers, for a free concert in Batumi, they will spend a fortune on their own residencies, hotels and bridges, they will force everyone in the country to sing the same song and they will build, we will build, damn it, we will built all together, using our money, and finally, when all is sang and built, there won’t be anyone left to live in the house!

HOW TO USE THE PHALLOIMITATOR

2010-11-08T07:55:00.000-08:00

This post is an answer to the recent “Asaval-Dasavali” article which claimed that TLG teacher Thomas Fletcher came to Georgia solely to teach Georgian children how to put dildoes in their mouths.

As I have recently learned from a very respectable newspaper, “Asaval-Dasavali”, the sole reason of foreign English teachers in Georgia is to draft our children in sects and teach them “lessons in homosexuality”[1]. Furthermore, the article said that after a while children will start holding “phalloimitators” (meaning dildoes) instead of pens and pencils in their tiny hands![2]

So, Georgians, wake up! The article is predicting future! We are not included in this new kind of knowledge! “The aim of this government is evolution of new kind of generation”[3], the one that knows how to use phalloimitators! Do you know how to utilize them? That’s awful! Neither do I!

I look in my crystal ball and I see Georgia in 20 years. A potential employee comes to a job interview. Instead of asking whether he knows English and Computer (Duh, everybody knows that shit now!), an employer asks him if he knows how to use a phalloimitator!

I see another picture. My boss approaches my office slowly, with an evil grin on his face. “Pasumonok”, he says, “Do you know how to operate an average phalloimitator and what is your experience in sects and homosexuality?” Desperately, I try to mumble something in my defense: “I’ve been to a gay Georgian’s birthday party once!”, but my boss does not buy it. Fired, I gather my things, stumble outside and jump into the Mtkvari River.

Alas, I’ve never had a phalloimitator and I am out of school, so TLGs won’t teach me “lessons in homosexuality”! Does this mean that I won’t be able to blend in with the “generation with no values or morals”[4] of tomorrow?

I propose we invade LGBT fond “Inclusive” and steal their phalloimitators! Because it is an established fact that gay people have those things laying all over their homes and offices. Even their dogs have one!

I propose we hire private tutors in homosexuality and phalloimitatorism, just like we hire tutors for every subject we study in school! The degradation of Georgian nation has already started and only the people who are smart enough to get the necessary skills and abilities will survive in this battle of the fittest!

I propose we start learning now, before it is too late, and indeed, it might be too late, just look at all the TV shows and newspaper articles of the previous week, full of one word and one word only: “THE PHALLOIMITATOR”!

[1] Should He Teach Georgian To Our Children? http://asavali.ge/asdas1_2006/2010-44/1-20.PDF

[2] All of the references are from the same article

[3] All of the references are from the same article

[4] All of the references are from the same article

Why Are Georgian Husbands Pigs?

2010-11-01T09:27:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows that if a boy “got…mind set on you”, than it’s “ gonna take money, a whole lot of spending money…and it’s gonna take time, to do it, to do it, t do it”[1].

One of my male friends wouldn’t get a girlfriend because: “I don’t have money right now and I don’t feel like spending all of my evenings in the Acid Bar”. That was a place to take a girl back then. Tbilisi has fancier places than the Acid Bar now. Ever been to one of those lounge bars where you have to spend 200 Lari to be seated at a table?

The algorithm: she has something that he wants (ranging from a platonic relationship to matrimony) and he needs to spend money, patience and emotional resources in order to get it.

Following are the two general reactions for receiving offerings from the suitors: 1.“Conservative”: a girl receives gifts (phone calls, flowers, dinners, etc…) only from the boy she wants to date. Receiving means giving boy a hope. Such girls usually marry their first boyfriend 2. “Liberal”: beautiful girl is entitled to attention and she can go on multiple dates with multiple boys and boys have to earn the grace of her presence. Such girls usually have fun (does not necessary mean sex) in their teenage years and later they either a. marry an older rich guy b. drive one of the suitors so crazy that he does something desperate, like kidnapping.

The post is not about the girls though. The point is that no matter what girl’s response is, everybody agrees that boys have to work for their girl. That sounds romantic, right? But combined with those horrible teenage years, when self-esteem is in a negative correlation with the number of pimples on your nose, and the number of bras you open directly correlates to the money your daddy paid for your car, it eventually results in a swine-like husbands. If the girl in question was not locked up in her room by an angry muscular brother, she probably had several of such suitors. It is likely that she preferred some boys to others: she had to choose. Hence, some teenage boys were left empty-handed, bitter and humiliated.

And of course, the more suitors one girl has, the more she will attract. Thus, what you, an average pimple-covered orangutan want the most, is always hardest to get.

So, when finally, after all the fancy offerings, she is your wife, your property, what do you do to her? You make her feel miserable to repay for all the degradation she has caused you. If she does not become your wife, what do you do? You marry someone “of a second sort” and you hate her for not being that long-legged dainty thing that never paid any attention to you.

IS THE ALGORITHM FAILING?!

P.S. This is a stereotype and there are happy exceptions (see my previous post). However, I believe this is symptomatic.

[1] George Harrison, “Got My Mind Set On You”

Soft and Fluffy LOVE

2010-10-28T06:09:00.000-07:00

Hey there everybody, tell me, have you ever been in love?! Can't hear you! I said in love!!!

This is the seventh time I am typing a sentence. I keep typing and deleting. typing and deleting. I don't want to write a Hallmark post. But dammit, I am going to write about love and I don't care if it sounds cheesy!

So, you, in love, remember? SMS-ing all night? Coming up with clever things to say... dressing up carefully (I want to look nice, but I don't want him to think that I put an effort into it). Love letters, love poems, dates, kisses, hugs, more kisses, movies, walking, walking, walking.

Two things we did most: we walked and we drank juice/coffee/tea. Because what else can you do on a date, in Tbilisi, without paying a fortune? I mean sure, we did stuff like sneaking into the zoo at night, we watched sleeping zebra roll around in the sand, we picked spring flowers in the forest and he even serenaded me with a guitar (neighbors were amused), but very , very often we: drank juice/coffee/tea in cafe, we kissed in the park, or we walked and walked and walked. and talked and talked and talked.

Do you remember that time? Look outside! Do you see them walking? Do you see them holding hands? Are they happy? They have to be happy! Everybody has to be happy! You have to be happy, because it is there! I swear it is there and I know it! Love is there and it is soft and fluffy, like my husband.

...And so it happened that exactly 6 years and 6 months ago he kissed me for the first time and we've been doing that (well, not only that) since then!

Have you noticed that I haven't written about him on this blog? Because this is a complaining blog! He is left out by default!

How about joy for a change? Are you people with me? Let's laugh and love and feel sentimental!

Giga!!!!!!!!!!!

I always kept wondering when will this go away, what's the expiration date? People say 5 years of dating...others say 2 years of marriage...others say it's not possible altogether. But darn it, we've passed those expiration dates and you still look/taste/smell fresh! Sure, I've got cellulites now and you've gained a belly, but we also have our own home, we've paid off the credit for our bed and we've acquired a cat along the way!

Hey, everyone, the whole world! It is there, I swear, I swear, it is there, the love, the Love, Love, Love, Love, Love, it is there and it is soft and fluffy like my Giga!

On Comments and Language

2010-10-25T08:43:00.000-07:00

People have complained…hmm... answered my complains about them not commenting...that it is impossible to leave comments to my posts. I’ll sketch a short tutorial on commenting. I bless you to debate and swear at each other on this blog, cause now, roughly 1 out of 8 visitors comments here. And out of the 7 that don’t, 5 can’t figure out how to do it. Because Blogspot sucks!

Follow me!

So, when you read the post, you click on comments, and voila, you see all the comments! Then, write your thing and click on “comment as” button.

You will encounter next options:

GoogleAccount

LiveJournal

WordPress

TypePad

AIM

Open ID

Name/URL

Anonymous

Obviously, if you have LiveJournal or other blog accounts, you know how to comment using your blog account. If you don’t have a blog account, you might still have a Google account. You might be using it for your mail (Gmail), for example. So choose GoogleAccount and proceed to sign in with your Google account and your name will appear next to your comment.

If you don’t have a Google account, try using other electronic accounts. For example, I tried using my Yahoo! account and it worked. Choose Open ID and proceed to sign in.

Finally, Name/URL option allows you to sign in from your Facebook.

If you don’t want to be known, just choose Anonymous and that’s it. I don’t moderate the comments and never will. If I hate what you’re saying, I’ll yell back at you right here on the blog J

And lastly, should I quit blogging in English and switch to Georgian? Do I come across as pretentious because of my English blog?

Is Climate change a MUTH?

2010-10-23T14:38:00.000-07:00

For the first day of climate change week in Tbilisi, we were asked by my friend to march from Philarmonia to Parliament. She said that lots of people are coming and that we would stop the cars and make a statement. That everyone will see us marching and realize how polluted our air is. That Georgians will start recycling, stop using so much plastic bags, will start riding bikes and throw away their cigarettes. O.K. she did not say that but all of these statements have one thing in common—they are utopic!

We arrived at ten in the morning, sleepy and complaining. We expected a crowd—nobody showed up. Apparently, there is a new trend amongst Georgian people: promising to come and leaving you waiting in vain.

We were supposed to rally with the kids on bikes. They passed by, without stopping. So, we courageously started marching in the middle of the street, with cars honking at us angrily. Some environmentalists gave us booklets made of cut-down trees. Last time they gave us water in plastic bottles.

We carried a poster, stating: “Travel Smarter, Live Better”. It was confusing to the spectators and they probably thought that this was a demonstration of marshrutka drivers.

I noticed that many of the environmentalist girls rallied in high heels. It is beyond me how people can’t understand what counts as an appropriate attire for such occasions. It is a freakin environmentalist march! We are walking! And holding flags! And drinking water out of the plastic bottles! And giving out paper booklets! Put on some bio-degradable fabrics dammit!

Some important foreign guy walked along with us. Had something to do with integrating us in NATO or EU. In your dreams, Tbilisi!

Our dear mayor was waiting at the parliament. He said several sweet words about how important environment is and rode a bike afterwards. I missed that part because husband and I got tired of his talk and sprinted to the café Entree, where we sipped our coffees and ate our croissants, and lied to ourselves that we’re in a civilized city where people consume these things for breakfast. The lie was unsuccessful though, as the table was wobbly and we ended up spilling hot coffee on ourselves.

I do care about the environment. I love cute little animals and enjoy camping. I can’t do much, but I do what I can: I have a grocery bag that I use instead of plastic bags, I re-use my water bottle, I don’t litter. I will raise my kid the same way, making sure she does not throw garbage all over the place and does not abuse our cat Gaia. That’s all I can do in Tbilisi. I feel really sad for people who can contribute more, but end up rallying with no purpose. Like my friend, who wants to be an environmental lawyer, though such word combination does not exist in Georgia.

P.S. I opened the booklet. It said: “Climate change…it is not a muth, it is reality”. Sadly, it is.

Learning Abroad=Monster Georgian

2010-10-16T04:10:00.000-07:00

Just recently church has spread the info that studying abroad is a bad thing to do. The reasons are plenty, for example " a 16-19 year-old young person is very sensitive towards the his/her environment, he/she is still unprepared. This is why it is dangerous to live abroad. There have been cases of psychological diseases" and " God has created you in Georgia and this is why you should live in Georgia"1.

I am not even going to refute this arguments, they are self- refutable in their essence. That was just the example of the logic why should Georgians stay where they are and never evolve professionally, psychologically, or culturally. I would like to address more tangible issue: one does not need to leave the country to study well. While I believe that this statement is partially true and that indeed, our country has many specialists that have never left their homes, this claim is not valid for the most of the students.

I have studied in two universities, Georgian and American. Both had flaws, but in the Georgian university, I felt more and more powerless with every semester. From inability to control what subjects I need to pass to get a diploma ( I had a B.A. from a university in America. Why the hell did I need to pass a test in English language in Georgia?!) to everyday classroom situations. For example, classes often started late. Or, we couldn't choose our classes. Or we did not have any textbooks in Georgian. So yes, I wanted to learn, and yes, I did all I could, and yes, I had great teachers, and but to this day I keep wondering, how much more would I have gotten out of it. Thus, when people try to feed me bullshit about how good our universities are, I just want to yell at them. Hello! Wake up! Isn't this all around us the result of our education?! Do we like what we see?! No?! Then why should we stay and keep repeating the same mistakes?! OR ARE WE JUST AFRAID TO GET EDUCATED, OPEN-MINDED AND CRITICALLY THINKING YOUTH? Is that it?! Then cut the crap about "cases of psychological diseases" and admit that we want a theocratic society! That would make us what, honest? At least, in that case, the likes of me will shut up and run far, far away from this country.

1. Tsitskishvili, D. Father. "Two Thoughts". Liberali. October 11-17th, 2010. pg. 8.

Fall Blues

2010-10-12T08:11:00.001-07:00

I took my winter clothing out today. It is the beginning of that horrid time of the year, when you know what’s coming, and you know it ain’t pretty.

It’s officially here. The fall. The yellow leaves and last bits of sunshine. I never found it romantic, melancholic or whatever. Everyday you know that tomorrow is going to be colder, until it gets so cold that you need five blankets to stay warm at night. You turn on electric and gas devices. Your “Karma”, your “pechi” and your “radiatori” have as many people sticking to them, as moths to light bulbs in a summerhouse. You feel more comfortable outside, because you can wear a coat and you either move around or are heated up by the collective breathing of squeezed together marshrutka riders. You hang out your laundry only to discover that instead of drying up, the water has turned into ice-crystals; so you thaw your sweater by the radiator; and you put a “tazik” underneath, to save your floor. People constantly tell you that you got fat BECAUSE YOU ARE WEARING 5 LAYERS OF CLOTHING UNDERNEATH IT ALL! You hate it all and you want the sun back. That’s what’s coming. This is the preview of winter.

I took out my winter clothing today. It all looks grey and big. It’s 6 P.M. and dark as hell. My kitty lays curled up. Brown (yellow?) Tbilisi leaves get stomped into the mud by chilled pedestrians. The birds are flying away and taking summer with them. I’m cold, alone and jobless. Too bad I can’t play a guitar.

Give Us Our Daily Bread or Kali Kuxnashi

2010-10-09T10:01:00.000-07:00

There are many pleasures in life and eating is one of them. Simply put, there are two approaches to eating, you either eat because you have to, or because you want to.

I was never the one who wanted to eat. When I was little, my mother had to remind me and even force me to eat. This attitude changed 2.5 years ago. I got married and my husband and I had to produce our own food. Otherwise we would starve.

The very first dinner that I cooked was fried chicken. I did not even know where to buy it (my friends told me that frozen chickens are sold in practically any store and I was very surprised, as I have never paid attention to any fridges but the ice-cream ones), I did not know how to defrost it (my microwave had a defrost button and I pushed it) or how to fry it (basically, if the fire does not consume it, it turns out edible). But I fried it anyway and my husband ate it. And he did not die.

Giga was very supportive, ate everything--whether he like it or not--and complimented my every meal. Soon, he got involved in cooking and we started coming up with dishes or re-creating hard-core, need-to-cook-for-two days kind of French-Chinese-Russian-Georgian-Italian dishes. All of the food in the pics were cooked by us ( except sushi pic, though I have made sushi too). And when we start missing food that we can't get here--we just cook it. Speaking of...when was the last time you had chocolate chip cookies? Maybe I will bake them when I am finished with this post.

Knowledge empowers. Even culinary knowledge.

P.S. the dishes are as follows: BEEF AND BEEN TACOS; SUSHI; TOMATO THAT I GREW ON MY BALCONY; CHICKEN SMOTHERED IN HERBS AND MAYONNAISE AND CORN BAKED IN CHICKEN JUICE; JULIA CHILD'S BEEF BOURGUIGNON ( TOOK ME A DAY AND HALF TO COOK).

Race, Gender and Sexuality--Who AM I?!

2010-09-30T08:28:00.001-07:00

When people write that there was not enough time for discussion and in fact, we had more than an hour for it, this means that the discussion was good. Indeed, this time was not enough for the FLEX Alumni to express their opinion on race, gender and homophobia issues in Georgian reality during the two-day seminar that took place in New Art Café.

We watched three films and talked about three respective issues. I choose films that are not too artsy but not too Hollywood either. All three films have very high rating on IMDB, though some were better than others.

The event was held at the New Art Café because 1. It was moderately priced 2. It did not look like a classroom. Originally I wanted to rent a small screening room in one of the movie theaters, but their prices are just unreal, and their customer service…well, you get the idea.

My favorite discussion was about racism/ ethnocentrism. Alumni touched deep issues, knowledge of the official language was brought up, immigration seemed a problem to some and nationality and national identity were examined. One of the alumni asked why do we even need a sense of nationality, which definitely charged the air with controversy.

Gender discussion was not what I expected. None of the themes of the film were touched, though one of the guest speakers just recently worked with UN on a study about violence towards women in Georgia and she could have talked about how relevant the film was to Georgian reality. In the end, girls felt frustrated, boys felt outnumbered, and we concluded that pregnant women should move away to the village and stay there for 9 months J

And finally, we did not discuss, but asked guest speaker about homophobia, which was very informative, but not too controversial. I am still wondering what happened to the voice of the audience, since the last two discussions were so heated.

The goal of the seminar was to let the audience see that there are many opinions on the matter and make them question their beliefs. I hope that at least some of the alumni (and the guest speakers and organizers) will research these topics more to come to a solid conclusion. After all, critical thinking means re-examining the established truths and arriving at one of your own!

Homo: Phobia and Sexuality or How Do We React When Two Men Kiss?

2010-09-29T07:45:00.000-07:00

This weekend I organised (with help of a team) seminar called Critical Thinking in Social Problems in Georgia. First of all, I am generally very pleased with seminar overall. The only thing I would change—replace “The Color Purple” with something more dynamic.

The last film is my favorite and the last issue—most controversial, so I will start discussing it first.

I was surprised that we did not have any discussion. Rather, it was a Q and A session with Paata Sabelashvili. And though I am very grateful for his informative, and I would say comfortably reassuring presentation, I expected more debates. What happened?

Was it that the audience did not know much about the matter and genuinely preferred to listen? Was it that the Alumni thought it would be rude to directly oppose homosexuality, when we had a gay guest speaker? Or were we all simply tired after two days of talking?

In the end, I think that “they are born that way” argument is bullshit. If I were anti-gay, I would say, so what, some people are born with a thyroid gland dysfunction, that does not mean it shouldn’t be cured!

I believe that this argument tries to validate homosexuality and that is wrong. It is like saying, well how is it their fault if they are born that way? This case automatically tries to find a cause that justifies wrongness.

I believe that we are born with an inherit free will. I believe that we have right to love, be in a relationship, marry and have sex with whoever—unless it hurts the other person. I don’t care what the cause is, because I do not consider that homosexuality needs explanation. How would you feel if a black person tried to justify her skin color by saying that she was born that way and there is nothing she can do about it?

When I was in college in the States, some of the kids on my campus wore shirts that said “Gay? Fine with me”. I thought that was atrocious! Can you imagine shirts that say “Woman? Fine with me” or “Black? Fine with me?”?! I think justification of any kind is humiliating and that human sexuality, whatever it is, should be taken as a fact. And yes—big surprise!--men do kiss men, and after you get used to it, you might even find it sexy.

Russia As I Saw It--Posolok Gorodskogo tipa

2010-09-23T07:31:00.000-07:00

How Soviet is Post-Soviet?

My trip to Russia was fun overall and I certainly don't have enough time to write about it now--my tea is getting cold and I have a seminar to conduct in two days--but I wanted to share this picture of the local school located in a little town/village, or, as I was told in a " Posolok gorodskogo tipa".

Sex Education

2010-08-08T11:18:00.000-07:00

I watched a stupid talk show on the 1st channel called "Auditoria" and got so mad! The theme was sex education and bunch of "sexologists", politicians and random famous people (a.k.a faces) discussed whether or not we should have one in the Georgian schools.

First of all, why those people? Some of them know less about the subject than even I do.

Secondly, the host sucks. She can't carry on a decent conversation.

However, that is not the worst part. The "sexperts" were the worse.

Instead of arguing about how good it is for a teenager to know what a condom is (you know, just in case one gets pregnant or unimportant stuff like that), those "sexologists" started talking about the role of media in a formation of a teenager's view of sex. They were like oh well, this TV is so horrible and gives bad messages and thus we have to step in and teach the poor kids correctly. And if we don't step in, they will continue watching TV and consequently, will start practicing deviant sexual activities like (and I am quoting now) HOMOSEXUALITY AND LESBIANISM. First of all, lesbians are homosexuals, you moron! Secondly, these are the sexologist who claim that they have the right knowledge to educate the kids at school. If those are our experts, what about non-experts?! Can you even imagine what goes on in their heads?

For example, the guest politician started endless propaganda about abstinence being the best policy. He was like, if kids don't have sex, they won't get STD s (Sexually Transmitted Diseases). No shit, Sherlock! Do you have any frontal lobe functions or is problem analysis an evolutionary stage yet unknown to your brain? Of course, if kids won't have sex, they won't get STD s. The problem is that they do have sex and you know why? It's called hormones and it's called horny teenagers. And that is true for every nation, Georgian being no exception. And please, with all the bullshit that man was giving us, he was like, my eight-year-old daughter is already fasting and I am trying to teach her abstinence in food and we are such a good Christian Orthodox family and I have six (!) kids and I am teaching them to be abstinent. If that worked, we would not have so many teen pregnancies today. Oh, and he also added that he married his wife when she was FIFTEEN and he was twenty-three. Do you know that having sex with minor is considered rape in many countries? And don't give me the-culture-is-diffrent crap, a fifteen-year -old's personality changeds 1000 times before she reaches, say, twenty, so she can absolutely hate the man she loved 5 years ago. Also, I feel sorry for that woman, she missed out on many teenage expereinces and probbaly won't ever catch up because 1. her husband's a moron 2. she has 6 kids already

Then the audience shared how they did not want to have sex ed in school because they can get info from someone else. That is exactly my argument for having sex ed. Who is that someone else and how much is she/he credible? If I were to post all of the stupid things people told me about sex, orgasm, vagina, penis, breasts, menstrual cycles, hygiene and such, my post would be two kilometers long!

I don't necessarily agree that there should be a separate sex ed class here, as it is in states. I don't think that it is suitable for the Georgian culture. But why can't we incorporate it in, say, biology classes or have an after-school discussion groups?

Kids need to know personal hygiene. They need to know where to buy a condom and how to use it. They need to know that it is far more embarrassing to get a girl pregnant than to buy a pack of condoms at the pharmacy. Girl need to know that there is medicine for the menstrual cramps and that there is absolutely no need to get paralyzed with pain for 5 days of a month ( if you guys only knew, how many girls I've seen in painful agony, refusing to take meds!)

So I am all for it. But God save us from the "sexperts", "politicians" and "talk show hosts" of this country. If they will get a say in this--then poor teens will all become impotent as a result of such trauma!

Cellulites

2010-07-30T08:28:00.000-07:00

Hey, I am covered in honey again, hoping that after two weeks of this torture my skin will be smooth and pleasant to see. I want to battle my cellulites now, before it gets out of hand.

It's not that I can't walk around wrapped in a gooey mess of honey, vinegar and stuff for two hours, I can. But the massage that precedes the wrapping is so painful that most of the time I want to scream and I can barely hold my tears. The only reason stopping me is that I am embarrassed to cry before a Eka, my masseuse (a person that does massage). So, we try to talk instead (meaning she talks and I try to communicate, not sounding like I am about to pass out). Usually about my work.

Eka is a school teacher and ironically, I check teachers work and determine whether or not they will pass the exams and stay in schools. Thus, I get my money for evaluating teachers (often failing them) so that I can pass this money along to Eka--a teacher.

I want to tell all of Georgia: beware! Our teachers don't know a squat about teaching and the ones who do, are so underpaid, that they have to-just like my Eka--get additional source of money. I can't tell you what they write in these exams, but I can tell you that if we don't do anything, our children won't be able to spell their names.

So, now what? We try to eliminate the ones that are totally hopeless. Because we have to. However, is it really their fault they are so awful? I mean they have studied somewhere and they did get a diploma. they did get hired and they are still teaching and are not fired (yet). Thus, is it only their fault?Are they the only ones to blame?

No one knows what causes cellulites. Some say unhealthy eating habits, some say low blood circulation, some say it is genetic and that I was born with a fat ass. However, we (the girls whose butts look like orange's skin) all know what it is and we all know it ain't pretty. Hence, we hire masseuses who beat the hell out of us, pour honey, vinegar, essential oil and other shit on our thighs, wrap us in plastic bags, make us wear warm clothes in summer and little by little dissolve the fatty tissues on our behinds. It is unpleasant, but necessary. Similarly, I don't know why Georgian school teachers are the way they are. All I know is that they can't keep doing what they are doing and that people like me need to slap them and beat them out of the system. Otherwise, the educational system will never be smooth. And though I am covered in bruises right now, I have a dream and hope and a noble goal: a glossy butt. So, God help us remove the fatty blobs from our schools!

a damsel in distress

2010-07-28T09:09:00.000-07:00

Did you know how much it hurts to have honey spread over your butt and legs and then get smacked and hit and then get wrapped in plastic and then walk around it warm leggings and plastic underneath (in August!)? add khna (mud girls put on their hair to make it shiny and reddish) on my hair and plastic bag on my head and you'll realize why I want to be a man--or even my cat--for a day.

This is how I look right now.Plus honey in my... this post gets spiteful. You've been warned.

Life is full of stupid questions, starting with the stupidest of them all--who am I. We naively hope to find some answers, smarter than 42 (don't know what I am talking about?Dude you need to catch up on your sci. fi. reading!). And though we all have limitless questions, I'd like to list some that I have (becoz I can) and thus, start my first complaining post:

1. why was my apartment building built without an elevator, making it hard to bring groceries to the last floor (where I live)?

2. why can't I find job worthy of my education and offering decent salary+decent co-workers?

3. why do I have to ask my friend's sister to bring me an Ipod form states (that I've ordered here) because things are so ridiculously expensive in this goddamn city?

4. why is the rainiest place in Georgia also the place where you want to spread out in front of the sun for at least 6 hours a day? why do we take swimming suites to Batumi if awe all end up wearing sweaters?

5. why can't dishes wash themselves? or better yet, who in their right mind builds such tiny kitchens, that you can't fit a dishwasher in it, even if you had the ridiculous amount of money they charge for it in our electronics store?

6. why to people in marshrutkas smell?

7. why do I need to visit Georgian gay sites to read advices on oral sex? How long can the straight population of Tbilisi stay so closeted?

8. and finally,

if your day is divided into four parts,

and you hate three of them,

you have no choice but to ask:

why do I have to be woman? Can I be a man for change?

the four parts of my daily life: 1. work 2. cellulites massage 3. housework and dinner 4. husband

(this is the part I like).

p.s. the last part just came home and I have to go.

the very first post

2010-07-28T07:54:00.000-07:00

Make no mistake about it, this blog is a mental masturbation. A place to complain and whine and satisfy oneself. A place to write and feel good about yourself. To feel fulfillment. Accomplishment. Like what you do (write) matters.

Maybe a few lost souls will wander in and leave their spiteful comments, along the way. Please do. No censorship of any kind allowed on my territory.

I apologize for all the negativity I might pour in here. In real life, I am quite a happy person. But again, mental masturbation is not a public matter. It’s what one does in private behind the lock doors and closed curtains.

How do I even do this thing? I am a person with no facebook account and obsession for correct spelling. Not a typical blogger.

How the hell do I get a tag cloud? Can I get Sex and the City banner instead of these books on the background? How long is a readable post? will my husband feel offended when I write about us? Hello…is anybody listening?

And most important, how do I make people read this? I need some voyeurs!