cock-blocked

Journal entry 24 January, 2007
"I'm 25 and I have two wrinkles. That depresses me. Anyway

My walk to school takes 35 minutes at a rather swift pace. By the time I
get to school I am sweating with all the layers I have on. By the time I
get home, I am rather excited and pooped (literally and figuratively- there
are no bathrooms at school yet. Gotta love that!) Once I see the blue fence
(that same matte cerulean) outside school #6, I know I've reached the
homestretch. All I need to do is round the bend at the "nursing home",> dodge a few mud puddles, straight ahead 3 minutes.

Well, I'm walking back from school on my birthday, a bit stressed because I
have told my host family that I would cook for them as per tradition here.
This will be my first time cooking in a Ukrainian kitchen. They're
different. I'm a little out of practice to say the least. It's been 4
months since I've cooked anything and I wasn't a pro to begin with. It's
really windy and for the past 31 minutes I've been walking into the wind. I
am anxious to get home and plan my lessons for the following day knowing> that the night is going to entail a lot of vodka drinking (it did).

I see my house, but I also see a rogue "piven"- aka: rooster. Never a good
sign! He's black, he's big, and he looks pissed to see me. I too am pissed
to see him. You see, I have a fear of rogue roosters. I immediately stop
because he starts making some noise at me.

'Shit, what do I do now?' I think.
I look around. There's no alternate route to the front door. I notice that
the other chickens have osctercized this guy too. I back away as not to
piss the bird off any more. I'll have to wait it out.

Meanwhile, there is a car uphead parked outside the neighbor's gate. He's
facing me and watching this whole thing go down. I know he's heard that
there is an American in down and there's not doubt in his mind that he is
watching her now. I know he's thinking this girl (me) is crazy.

I getting pissed. This bird is in my way and he's making me look like an
ass in front of this man in the car. 'Who's afraid of a stupid rooster?!' I
think trying to convince myself to proceed. 'I'll just kick him.'
I take a step. The rooster fluffs his feathers and his making noise. Fuck!
How long will I have to wait here. As I wait I think about the old
children's joke about the chicken crossing the road and I begin to curse
that joke to. Why DOESN'T the chicken cross the road! Huh? That's what I
want to know

Finally, the man in the car turns the car on and starts to move. 'Perfect!
I'll time my passing of the rooster with his. That way he'll be between the
bird and myself. If the fucker wants to attack me, he'll have to go around
the car, buying me time.
The plan is a success. I get home 55 minutes after leaving school. As I
open the front door I laugh to myself. 'I've just been cock-blocked on my
birthday!'

Ukraine puts a whole new twist on things.

cock-blocked

Journal entry 24 January, 2007
"I'm 25 and I have two wrinkles. That depresses me. Anyway

My walk to school takes 35 minutes at a rather swift pace. By the time I
get to school I am sweating with all the layers I have on. By the time I
get home, I am rather excited and pooped (literally and figuratively- there
are no bathrooms at school yet. Gotta love that!) Once I see the blue fence
(that same matte cerulean) outside school #6, I know I've reached the
homestretch. All I need to do is round the bend at the "nursing home",> dodge a few mud puddles, straight ahead 3 minutes.

Well, I'm walking back from school on my birthday, a bit stressed because I
have told my host family that I would cook for them as per tradition here.
This will be my first time cooking in a Ukrainian kitchen. They're
different. I'm a little out of practice to say the least. It's been 4
months since I've cooked anything and I wasn't a pro to begin with. It's
really windy and for the past 31 minutes I've been walking into the wind. I
am anxious to get home and plan my lessons for the following day knowing> that the night is going to entail a lot of vodka drinking (it did).

I see my house, but I also see a rogue "piven"- aka: rooster. Never a good
sign! He's black, he's big, and he looks pissed to see me. I too am pissed
to see him. You see, I have a fear of rogue roosters. I immediately stop
because he starts making some noise at me.

'Shit, what do I do now?' I think.
I look around. There's no alternate route to the front door. I notice that
the other chickens have osctercized this guy too. I back away as not to
piss the bird off any more. I'll have to wait it out.

Meanwhile, there is a car uphead parked outside the neighbor's gate. He's
facing me and watching this whole thing go down. I know he's heard that
there is an American in down and there's not doubt in his mind that he is
watching her now. I know he's thinking this girl (me) is crazy.

I getting pissed. This bird is in my way and he's making me look like an
ass in front of this man in the car. 'Who's afraid of a stupid rooster?!' I
think trying to convince myself to proceed. 'I'll just kick him.'
I take a step. The rooster fluffs his feathers and his making noise. Fuck!
How long will I have to wait here. As I wait I think about the old
children's joke about the chicken crossing the road and I begin to curse
that joke to. Why DOESN'T the chicken cross the road! Huh? That's what I
want to know

Finally, the man in the car turns the car on and starts to move. 'Perfect!
I'll time my passing of the rooster with his. That way he'll be between the
bird and myself. If the fucker wants to attack me, he'll have to go around
the car, buying me time.
The plan is a success. I get home 55 minutes after leaving school. As I
open the front door I laugh to myself. 'I've just been cock-blocked on my
birthday!'

Ukraine puts a whole new twist on things.

Indoors. Still the scarf. I don't lie.

Here she is in all her glory.

Cabbage rolls

She stands low to the fertile soil of this country with thick ankles and her high, rubber boots keeping her firmly planted. She loves to layer. People here would say she dresses like a cabbage, because under the boots is another pair of shoes, and from what I can tell, 2-3 layers of wool stockings.

You will never see her in pants, but rather a knee-length skirt that only reveals her trunks of legs. Moving our way up to the top half of her torso, I have to revert to speculation because I've never actually seen her without her coat on- even indoors. Over this mass, she continues with the earth-stained, long vintage coat (vintage by default, not fashion) being the top layer. Underneath (speculation) I am able to see atleast three more layers of clothing, which means there is probably 5-6. A wool vest and 2 mis-matched shirts, one of the floral variety, though the variety of floral is undescernible, play peek-a-boo from the sleeves of the coat.

At the end of these sleeves emerge solid, thick hands that look like they haven't een washed in days, maybe weeks. There is soil around each nail, framing her hard, yellow fingernails. Each digit looks like it's been individualy calloused by years of fire and frost. They look like petrified cocktail weiners (slightly longer).

She may or may not half a scarf around her neck, but she is sure to have one around her head. Up till this point, the color scheme (liberal choice of words) is earth-toned (literally sometimes). But the scarf around her heard sticks out like an American in Ukraine. There are two options for this scarf: one) a brilliant green, royal blue, or marigold with a floral design and a gold thread woven in and out or 2) A solid flourescent pink, yellow, or orange wool. This scarf is tightly tied beneath her chin. Sometimes so tight I find it a amazing that the hairs on her chin don't fall out from loss of circulation. They don't.

Her face looks 20 years older than she is. Her eyes have sunken in to her leathered skin and have turned gray along with her wirey hair. She has a large, almost bulbous nose (also hairy). She has no lips for they too play hide-and-seek with her mouth. Her mouth looks like a balloon knot, with one crucial difference. Inside this knot, she hides the treasure- gold. She has a smile of gold, though it's rarely seen.

She is aggressive. Being low to the ground, she has a lot of levereage when pushing you to get on the marshrutka (to be learned about later). She never waits in the "line". She doesn't smell good- poop: her own, goose, pig, and turkey. But, she can make some damn good cabbage roles, in fact, this is what I often think of when I see her because she is shaped just like this traditional Ukrainian dish.

Who is this women? She is the women sweeping the sidewalks, the women who sells jarred muschrooms at the bazaar, the women herding her geese all day, my neighbor, the women who stole my seat on the bus, the women who tells me I'm a slut because I smoke. She is the Ukrainian babusya (grandma).

First impressions.

I've arrived. I am safely situated in a little village northwest of Kiev three hours. It's a really small village with 2800 peeps. Half of the people are babusyas (g-mas) and half the village are random poultry. It's quite and really there's nothing to do. There's a bar, but because I can't communicate, it's not safe to go. There are a few stores, a school (where I work), a sugar factory, and a newly-found-out massage parlor. I'm thinking a babusyas Soviet-built worker's quarters apartment.

My teacher, Oksana, is really nice. My cluster mates are cool for the most part and I'm in good spirits most of the time. Other than being a mute...I'm awesome. Will update you all with more details shortly. Love and miss you all.

Schaslivo-
Lauren

We're off (soon anyway)

As I sit here attempting to load every possible song on to my iPod that I might want to listen to in the next 27 months, I find myself confronted with a lot of unknown. I have no idea what I'll want to listen to when I am feeling totally overwhelmed with learning Ukranian, frustrated with fellow teachers, or sad because I miss my family and friends. All I can do is totally prepare the ultimate music collection. I've included a bit of everything: Bing Crosby's Christmas carols, Motown, the Monster Mash, some golden oldies, some new stuff I've always wanted to listen to, and the songs that remind me of the people I love.

But what I'm really most nervous about is that I'm not stressing about the pressing issues posted on my Peace Corps group's blog thing. Issues like: Have I packed the right clothes, shoes, music, medicines, coats?...it all just makes me want to vomit, really. Because the things that I won't be able to get there, the things that don't fit into my two bags (which have to weigh under one hundie lbs) are people. The people I love so much. This is the hardest part to me. Everything else is replaceable.

This is why I am entering into the blog world. I can't believe it either. I am hoping to keep in touch with all you wonderful people as much as possible in the unpredictable-internet-providing country of Ukraine. I will do my best to update this with some stories (probably with me as the butt of most of the stories), anecdotes, and observations of my new home. Please write me (those who have my address), email me, or just send some good vibes my way, because I will need that from you. I will miss you all terribly and you will be in my thoughts, especially when I'm rocking out by myself to Brenda Lee's "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree".

Cheers
Lauren