Cellulites

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

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 khena (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... 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 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 we 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

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!