Where in the World is Meagan?

New Journeys

2010-11-20T10:51:00.015-05:00

So much for that pledge to update my blog more frequently, eh?

I offer no excuse beyond this: I. Am. Lazy.

Plus, we moved to Boston, which required stressing out, packing, stressing out, unpacking, stressing out, job hunting, and - you guessed it! - more stressing out.

Also, thankfully, plenty of exploring our new town. Which, by the way, we really love. Probably my personal affection for the city is somewhat increased by the fact that Ryan is the one to shovel out our cars. And can I give a shout-out to the North End for offering endless opportunities to pack on the pounds through the joys of pasta and pastries? Holla!

Anyway, I've decided to jump back into the blogging community. With both feet.

I just signed up for the Boston-area Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure. July 22 - 24, 2011 will find me and my cousin-in-law Chrissy walking 60 miles over the course of three days to raise funds for breast cancer research.

***sappiness ensues***

Together, we are Team Livergoods for Life, representing not just the love we have for the men we married, but our desire to find a cure.

***end sappiness***

(No gagging. You can't say I didn't warn you)

Cancer has affected both Ryan's and my families deeply. Whenever we've had the opportunity, we've supported causes that aim to find a cure. This particular event is something I've wanted to do for a long time, and I'm so excited to be a part of it.

I'll be documenting my training (and possibly other adventures) over the coming months. Stop by from time to time to check it out. C'mon. You know you missed me.

***shameless plea for your money follows***

I also welcome your donations! You can donate directly on my page, or print out a donation sheet and send it into the company. My goal is to raise $2,500, but I would really like to blow that out of the water.

***end (for now) shameless plea for your money***

It's good to be back, y'all.

Smackdown

2009-05-09T20:56:00.008-04:00

So it turns out our cats hate the Wii.

Actually...

No.

That's not quite true.

They don't hate the Wii.

They hate it when we play American Idol on the Wii.

Something about it... (the high pitched singing?... the enthusiastic dancing?... the preponderance of bad 80's music?.... we're just not sure)... causes them to... well...

See for yourself...

And this is tame. Just seconds earlier it was getting pretty rough. We had to break things up.

At first we thought it was a fluke, but every time we break out the microphone it's like the WWE decided to host auditions in our living room. We're not sure what to do about this problem. Besides laugh our asses off while still trying to score some points with Randy, Paula and Simon, that is...

In other news, I re-designed the blog! Did you notice?

And that's not all. For all you foodies out there, visit our brand new blog, Shake 'n' Stir with His 'n' Hers. Since both Ryan and I enjoy cooking, we thought it would be fun to have a spot to share some of our favorite recipes.

But don't worry. (C'mon, some of you were worried, right??) I'll still be updating here. After all, there are a lot of American Idol songs for us to experiment with and I sense a YouTube sensation in the making.

A Pictorial Update

2009-03-19T20:35:00.055-04:00

More from me soon... I promise!... but for now, I present to you a few pictures from the happiest day of our lives so far.

I start off with a good nose pick from our little flower girl Olivia because it makes me laugh, and truly sets the theme for the day.

Uh... not the nose picking, although I don't mean to belittle those for whom nose picking is the theme... I am referring, of course, to the laughter. Our day was filled with so much joy... a few tears (happy ones!)... and lots, and lots of laughter.

25 days...19 hours... and 25 minutes

2009-01-19T09:28:00.010-05:00

Not that I am counting, or anything.

So. Um. It's been awhile since I last posted!

Things have been a bit busy 'round these here parts. As a result, this post is gonna suck just a bit because I have to get back to the tedious (yet surprisingly fulfilling!) business of figuring out who sits where at the reception. Which - have I mentioned? - is in exactly 25 days, 19 hours, and 22 minutes.

Let's see... where was I when last we met?

Oh yes. Moving. It went well. We really like our new neighborhood. Unfortunately, our apartment is significantly smaller than our old one so our dining area doubles as a storage area, while our guest room is overrun with myriad wedding-related boxes and crafts. Martha Stewart would weep.

Also, the kitchen is the size of a Barbie townhouse, so I find myself turning on the Food Network and fantasizing over ~~Giada De Laurentiis~~ the clean and spacious granite countertops and ginormous and well-stocked cabinets and refrigerators. Since renovation is not compatible with renting, I suppose after the wedding we'll have to rent some storage space somewhere, but for now our cats are thoroughly enjoying the playground that has become our apartment.

We also welcomed our niece Saylor to the world in October. She is just beautiful and may have a future in sumo wrestling.

We are hopeful.

After a wonderful visit home to DC over the holidays, we are now fully immersed in tackling last minute wedding details. Predictably, we're very excited. And not stressed at all! No! After all, we only have a million and two things left to do... and, oh, 25 days... 18 hours... and 42 minutes to do them all in...

P.S. This isn't a political blog, but just wanted to say how out of my head excited I am about this inauguration. We pretty much worship the Obamas and I am totally not kidding when I tell you we are dropping their wedding invitation in the mail tomorrow.

I Think We're Going to Need a Bigger Truck

2008-10-09T15:54:00.015-04:00

I move a lot.

No, really. I mean, like, a LOT a lot.

To be precise, I have moved approximately 17 times over the course of my lifetime and a whopping 8 times since the year 2000. My father claims that he's erased a hole in my page on his address book, and I'm quite certain he's not joking. Just as an FYI for those of you who haven't figured it out yet, I'm definitely a girl whose address you want to write in pencil.

Some people like a new car every few years... perhaps an upgraded computer. I like those things too, but I really love me some empty boxes from Publix and the musty, dank smell of a moving truck. Luckily Ryan's also got a pretty good case of itchy feet, so at least I know I'm not alone in having to change the address on my checkbook every twelve months or so.

It should surprise no one at this point that we're about to move, yet again. This time, though, we both have hopes that we'll actually stay put for a few years. Funny how getting older does that... you stop thinking about where you might want to go next and start putting down some roots. (Also, you can't get hammered, go to bed at 3 AM and be all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by 8 AM, but that's another (very sad) story altogether.)

Mind you, we're under no illusion that we'll stay in Florida forever. Once we start having kids (sooner rather than later), we'll want to be closer to family. Besides, neither of us are enamored with South Florida. (Why does Mother Nature give us the dubious gift of 90-degree weather in October? Why?) Nevertheless, it's a good move and, really, not very far down the road. We're just transplanting ourselves a bit further south to make both of our commutes easier and, in Ryan's case, significantly shorter. (Oh, did I not mention I finally found a job in August? Well I did! And I love it!)

Anyway, with all this moving, you'd think I'd be good at it, right? I mean, I should practically be able to do this in my sleep by now, yes?

Nope!

We have so much crap it's ridiculous... I'm surrounded by half-packed boxes... the movers will arrive next Friday and I don't even want to think about what needs to be done to the kitchen and our bedroom to get them in move out condition.... aannnddd yet clearly there's no time like the present to start a new blog entry!

Procrastination, thy name is Meagan.

While we're on the topic, I have no idea how we wound up with this much stuff. Actually, that's not entirely true. I am a pack rat... always have been... but I went all minimalist when I moved to Bulgaria two years ago. When we returned we had generous family and friends come out of the proverbial woodwork to ~~foist off~~ kindly donate their belongings to us and - just like magic! - we have a ton of really awesome shit again. I don't mean to sound ungrateful because I genuinely am excited by this. I like balls of foil for the cats to play with and authentic carved bowls from Samoa and seashells that Ryan gives me at the beach and birthday cards from 1984. Basically, I like mementos and knick knacks and homes that feel lived in. But when you pair this with the fact that Ryan is compelled to keep every single receipt he has ever received... and I am convinced that - why yes! of course someday I will really need the 250 pages worth of emails from 1998 - 2000 that I wrote/received and subsequently printed so I would feel like I had my friends and family with me when I joined the Peace Corps, then you have the makings of a really f*cking good episode of Discovery Channel's Clean Sweep.

Or else the kind of nightmare that causes Two Guys and a Truck employees to spontaneously quit and run screaming out the front door. I guess we'll find out which on Friday!

Here I would usually post a picture of the shambles that is currently our living room, but I can't find my camera, so you're just going to have to trust me. We are so going to have to buy these unsuspecting (but courageous!) movers a lot of beer or possibly a vacation to Italy to express our sincere apologies and undying gratitude.

Ah, the Magic of the Recent Keyword Activity

2008-08-14T19:54:00.010-04:00

Since I don't update that often, it is quite an easy process to periodically log into my Statcounter and get a general idea of who is checking out my blog... and, more importantly, how they got there. (If I had more than, oh.. say 5 or 6 visitors a day, I would imagine this could be quite an involved process. But as it is? Not so much!)

For instance, there is this one picture people from all over the world are somehow discovering through Google Images, which when clicked upon takes them directly to my blog.

It's this one, actually:

I am... somewhat mystified. I have no earthly idea how this picture wound up on Google Images... nor do I know what search terms people use to find it... but I can only guess that most people who do come across "Where in the World is Meagan" by way of this photo are deeply disappointed that this is not, in fact, a blog that consists of some hot girl on girl action. Sorry about that porn seekers!

Of course people find it other ways too. Through Ryan's blog or perhaps because they Googled Baba Vanga or O Solo Mio.

But today, y'all! Today!

Today someone found me via the following phrase: "my underwear off peace corps".

Haaaa! Now, people, how awesome is that? You can't tell me that is not awesome.

So now it occurs to me that I may be able to drive my Statcounter up maybe 2 or 3 people a day just by adding fun phrases here and there!

What do you think? Shall we try it?

Britney Spears Hot Sexy Cucumber

Fabulous Ghetto Knitting Contest

Barbie Porn Blankie Bingo

Nudist Sunblock Back-hair

...

...I really need a job.

Amazing

2008-07-21T13:33:00.019-04:00

Oh, hello there.

Why, yes, I have fallen off the face of the earth again. Are you surprised?

Mostly this is because there's not a heck of a lot to report right now, particularly as I once again find myself in the midst of job hunting. Now I'm not sure if you've heard but our economy is in the sh*tter right now. Therefore... searching for viable employment? Not the most fun thing ever.

But I remain uplifted thanks, in large part, to awesome things like my incredible, hot, very understanding and unfailingly supportive fiance... our brand new Nintendo Wii Fit ... Yuengling beer which I have somehow (shockingly!) just discovered... our adorable and lovable kitties who are just tickled by my recent perpetual presence in the household...

...and videos like the one below. It was made by Matt Harding and Melissa Nixon (with the help of a lot of people from around the world) and it is quite possibly the best thing I have seen on the Internet in... if not forever, at least a very, very long time.

You must watch it now. And then go out somewhere and dance.

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo

Wanna See Some Bad Pictures Of Me?

2008-03-17T21:49:00.014-04:00

So I was just looking at Ryan's blog. He never ever posts unless I banish him to his computer chair under threat of forever withholding my awesome cooking, "forgetting" to shave my legs for the next three months and never ever again giving late night back scratches.

So after some extensive persuasion... he posted last week!

And I reflected with fondness over this entry.

Until I noticed that he has posted a picture from our engagement in his Flickr account.

Some backround, people. A few years ago a girl I knew from work was talking about how she loves to go to the beach because apparently the sand and the salt and the sun really agree with her and her hair gets all wavy and silky and sexy and her skin gets all warm and tan and glowy and - no lie! - she looks exactly like a mermaid! She really does!

Part of me had this bright little smile plastered on my face because who says that? If I ever go on and on about how "When I wake up in the morning? And my hair is all tousled? And I have morning breath? And pillow wrinkles on my face?... Well, I look just like an angel! A sexy one!! Cross my heart!".... please... feel free to laugh - hysterically - in my face.

But part of me was jealous. Because when I go to the beach?

I am not bringing the mermaid, y'all. I love the ocean, and I love the sun and I love the sand but it is an unrequited bitter relationship because boy do they not love me back. Picture curly, crazy hair, sunburned (yet pasty!) skin and... sometimes, if I've spent a lot of time jumping waves... bloodshot eyes. Hot!

So when Ryan proposed while frolicking amongst the dolphins it was magical and perfect and I can't imagine anyone having a better engagement story.

But let me be clear. I was not rocking the pretty or even remotely the cute. I mean, I don't think anyone would look at the pictures and go "Aieeeeeee!" and fling their laptop across the room or anything... but I'm not exactly going to be nominated for America's Next Top Model, either.

With all of this being taken into consideration, I had no intention of displaying most of the pictures for anyone who knows me to see, like EVER...

Then I read the comments that two complete strangers left for this one:

One person said "goooooooooood moment :)" Another said "Muy emocionante! un momento original que jamas olvidaran seguramente..." (According to AltaVista Babel Fish Translation Service, this one means "Very exciting! a little while original that jamas forgot surely... ") Somehow I think that translation might be just a little bit off... but still. You get the gist.

So I really looked at the picture and saw that it is, in fact, beautiful because of all of that joy and emotion on my face. And I started getting choked up all over again.

Then I got all happy and warm and fuzzy and started looking through all the pictures. And then I got super excited and inspired and thought... well, shouldn't everyone get to share in my viewing pleasure?

Well, shouldn't you?

Don't I look just like a mermaid?

A gorgeous, sexy, blotchy faced, double-chinned, pasty but VERY HAPPY mermaid.

Update

2008-02-21T19:26:00.021-05:00

Yes! I am still alive! But obviously very busy!

Or perhaps lazy. One or the other.

So as I am wont to do, I will now update you in stages.

Meagan on Wedding Planning...

You might have guessed this has figured quite heavily into the schedule lately. We've set a date of February 14, 2009 and in the two and a half months since we got engaged, have managed to nail down all of our major vendors. My sister and my mom and my dad and my grandparents... and... well, pretty much everyone but me thinks this is just HI-larious since clearly I have been dying to plan my wedding since I was 5.

I argue I am merely proactive.

In reality, my travel schedule with work is out of control August through November, so I'm trying to minimize my stress during that time frame by getting the big stuff out of the way now. Plus. They are all wrong. I have been wanting to plan my wedding since I was in the womb. WOMB, people! Get it straight!

Meagan on New Year's Resolutions...

In preparation for our big day, Ryan and I have started a weight loss and exercise plan. We have been eating healthy and running at least four times a week since January 1st.

He has lost 23 pounds. As for me?

I have lost 7.

This? Is not fair.

I know, I know. Women lose weight differently and it's smart to lose it slowly and I don't have that much to lose and all that jazz. But despite the whole unfairness of Ryan losing so much more damn weight than I am even though - hello! - we are doing the same exact flippin' thing (!!!)... we feel so much healthier and are really pleased with the changes we're seeing.

Let me further explain. A little over a year ago, I had lost 21 pounds and was in the best shape of my life. Then Bulgaria happened. I suppose I'm not being totally fair as I can't really blame it on an entire country. It could have had something to do with the fact that one of our favorite activities during our time in Stara Zagora was to meet up with friends and indulge in massive quantities of very cheap beer, pasta with cream sauce and cheese, french fries with cheese and - oh yeah - bread-like substances filled with yet more cheese. Friends, just a PSA for ya' here. Wretched things happen when carbohydrates (and cheese!) prevail and you don't have to worry about drinking and driving due to a distinct lack of a motor vehicle. Drinking two or three or eight pints of beer and walking (staggering) is perfectly okay! And so it goes until one day you wake up and you're like, um... where did the skinny Meagan go and who stuck these 20 extra pounds back on her ass?!

The CureTour, of course, didn't help. I don't know if you have noticed there are McDonalds in just about every square inch of America, but we sure did. When you're short on time and the french fries calleth, it's darn tough to ignore.

But now we're all about the chicken and fish and whole wheat pasta and fruits and broccoli and maybe you won't believe me, but we honestly love this way of eating. So the pounds can take their time coming off, I guess, since I really feel this is a lifestyle change more than a diet. Even though I confess the competitive side of me wants to add several tablespoons of butter to Ryan's meal whenever I cook so I can catch up a little already! Haaaaa! I kid.

Meagan on Pet-Ownership...

Do you remember when we had a dog? And lo he was named Tyson. And it was good.

And then it rapidly became not so good.

Tyson, it turns out, did not like the whole living-in-an-apartment, having-to-deal-with-other-living-creatures, only-getting-to-run-about-four-miles-a-day, not-getting-to-pee-and-poop-on-the-carpet-or-tear-up-things thing.

We came to the conclusion that as a border collie - and... um... ~~an antisocial~~ a shy one at that, he simply needed more space and exercise than we could provide him. So we moved him home to live with Ryan's parents. This was a very tough decision, particularly since we knew he'd have to travel on a plane by himself and this involved the whole "other living creatures" part of the equation.

We were right to be concerned because when he arrived in Illinois, Mark (Ryan's stepdad) was encouraged to come and soothe his dog whereupon he found a sign on the side of his crate that solemnly read: "Tyson is very upset."

We did not put it there, so I can only imagine what he was doing to inspire the airport staff in this manner. (Will you think us bad parents if I tell you we think it's sort of funny, actually?)

All's well that ends well, though. Tyson is much happier living in Illinois and is experiencing the joys of snow for the first time in his young life. Also possums. Evidently one recently decided to visit him and well... um... play possum. Tyson felt this was a very special gift just for him and the possum is now no longer with us. His spirit, anyway. His body is most definitely still with us since Tyson refuses to release his new toy to his dad, preferring to shake it and growl every time Mark gets close.

At least he's not bored.

As for Ryan and I, we have decided that cats suit our current lifestyle very well and so have adopted two adorable felines we have dubbed George Michael and Maeby. As Arrested Development fans, we feel they have been aptly named. George Michael is our sweet cuddlebug... and adores napping on our laps and looking out the window. Maeby is a feisty little thing who was most likely a dog in a previous life.

Maeby has become very attached to me and rather enjoys waking me up at 6 AM to lay on my chest, purr and chew contentedly on my hair. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I like this. Ryan is getting into the whole thing too and actually made a donation at the grocery store in all of our names the other day.

So! It appears we are now crazy cat people!

Meagan on blogging...

Thus endeth the updates for now... but I am going to try to write more often now that we're all settled and stuff...

I know... promises, promises... but I really mean it this time!

That is, if I can fit it in in between all the wedding planning...

Engaged!

2007-12-09T12:36:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, after two and a half years of dating, Ryan proposed to me. (I don't think anyone will be shocked that I said "yes".)

Because I knew the ring was coming, to throw me off the scent Ryan had told me he had something planned every weekend in December. Last weekend involved a picnic on the beach, so when he advised me we were taking a road trip on Saturday and of the necessary attire, I told myself that it was entirely possible that THIS weekend may not be THE weekend and whatever we were doing would be fun regardless.

So yesterday morning I gamely donned my bathing suit and sunglasses and practically skipped out to the van. It was an ADVENTURE! One that might involve a PROPOSAL! And... and... a RING! But maybe NOT! And that's OKAY!!

My first clue came when we dropped off the Dodge Caravan at Budget Car Rental in favor of a Chevy Cobalt. To me this meant we were going far enough that it merited renting a car (to save money on gas)... but not so far that we'd need to stay overnight (I had not been told to pack a toothbrush).

A few short hours later, we found ourselves in Key Largo. Ryan's first choice for lunch (The Fish House) wound up not opening until 11:30 AM, so we dined across the street at Rib Daddy's Kountry Kitchen, a tasty little hole in the wall. Here I was allowed to play 20 Questions. After inquiring whether or not we had much further to drive (no... so probably still in Key Largo)... if we were getting in the water (yes... hence the bathing suit)... if the day involved heights (no... so not parasailing)... or animals (yes)... I started to get excited.

First - some history. When I was little, I loved dolphins. Nay. This thing I had for dolphins... it went far beyond love. I wanted to raise a little baby dolphin in my bathtub, to frolic with dolphins in the wild... y'all, I wanted to BE a dolphin. I would happily splash about in my grandparents' pool making what I envisioned to be dolphin noises, periodically flinging myself out of the water in my very best imitation of a dazzling leap.

Luckily I outgrew this behavior, but my interest in Flipper did not end with childhood. When I was 18 I rushed right out and got a tattoo of two dolphins on my ankle and even debated Marine Biology as a career until that fateful day I learned it involved THE DREADED HATEFUL MATH and therefore managed to fall securely out of the realm of "Stuff Meagan Enjoys".

So when Ryan confirmed that whatever we were doing involved both the water and animals, using my tremendous powers of deductive reasoning, I asked "Am I swimming with dolphins??" The answer (yes) brought on a surprising bout of tears, and I rushed us right out of the restaurant and over to Dolphins Plus, a research and education facility in Key Largo.

Because I am an eager little dolphin freak, we were there a half hour early, so we sat on a bench and chatted and smooched as I battled the urge to run inside, take everyone hostage with my camera screeching "TAKE ME TO THE DOLPHINS NOW BITCHES!!... UH, PLEASE!!" Anyway, I successfully refrained from any illegal behavior, and once the remainder of the 8 participants had arrived, we made our way down to a little tiki hut at the back of the facility. The 12 dolphins (and 2 sea lions) at Dolphins Plus are housed in a blocked off canal adjacent to the Atlantic Ocean, thereby providing them with a natural seawater habitat. We then spent about 45 minutes learning about the different dolphins, as well as some basic rules for when we were actually in the water with them.

They then split us up into groups of two, and Ryan and I headed off with our trainer Megan, and our two dolphins Bella and Nica. Over the course of the next half hour, Ryan and I got to sing with the dolphins, whilst spinning in circles (I use the phrase "sing" loosely for myself, Bella and Nica), rub their backs and bellies, shake hands/fins and go "shopping" (whereby Megan sent Bella and Nica into the depths to bring us back whatever treasures they might find. Ryan got a nice chunk of rock. I... yes I... got a piece of sea grass.)

Megan then advised that she wanted to test our "driving skills". She had me hold onto a kick board, as the dolphins came up underneath me, and pushed me around in a big circle with their beaks. My kick board, however, was a flimsy piece of crap, so after Megan and her fellow trainer finished making fun of me, they provided Ryan with a much sturdier board.

As the dolphins pushed him around and he turned to make his way back towards me, he held the board up. As it turns out, it was not a kick board at all. Instead it was a sign that read:

"Meag,

Will you marry me?

Love,
Ryan"

I had expected when Ryan did ask me to marry him, that I would cry. But the crying I pictured in my head was the sort where you dab delicately at your eyes, while laughing a little and smiling prettily. Oh, y'all. That is totally not what happened. I burst into great braying sobs and as he came up next to me to hold me, I managed to gasp out "Yes! Yes!" (To be fair, Ryan, Megan, the photographer and the other trainer all got a little weepy too, although it was hardly the big snot-fest for them that it was for me. We've got pictures, guys. It must be said I do NOT look pretty when I cry.)

When planning the proposal, Ryan had asked the trainers when it would take place and they had told him near the end because once the girl sees the sign, she forgets all about the dolphins. And they were absolutely right because after some quick dolphin (and Ryan) kisses... my ass was out of the water and on dry land where Ryan got down on one knee and presented me with the ring. (Which I wouldn't let him actually put on me until we were safely away from the water. I had visions of me accidentally dropping the ring into the water, and desperately going "Fetch Bella! Fetch Nica!" and receiving instead a dead trout or something.)

Yesterday afternoon we came back to the apartment, made some phone calls, showered and changed, then headed out for an awesome dinner at Seasons 52 in downtown Ft. Lauderdale.

While the tears have stopped... the beaming hasn't... and I can't imagine a more perfect engagement story for us. Now the next goal (besides starting to actively plan the wedding tentatively estimated to take place some time between January and April of 2009) is to get used to saying "my fiance" instead of "my boyfriend"!

Meagan the Dog Whisperer

2007-11-21T10:30:00.002-05:00

Now that the CureTour is done, Ryan and I have successfully relinquished our roles as "roadies" and "perpetual travelers". (For now, at least). Frankly, although we had a blast, we are glad to be done and finally settled in our apartment in Coconut Creek with our pretty red couch, new mattress, approximately 42,000 boxes... and our dog Tyson.

While we're on the subject... Tyson is truly a delight. He's affectionate, cuddly, frisky and a boatload of fun.

However!

He has come to the conclusion that Daddy (Ryan) is the Leader of the Pack and he (Tyson) comes next. Mommy (me) is so obviously at the very bottom of the totem pole, which means that Tyson feels entitled to boss me around by attempting to jump on my head and gnawing ferociously on various exposed body parts. Also by "marking" all over the apartment (complete with no longer quite so Brand. New. Carpet.) This included a lovely festival of feces in the bedroom. Fun, FUN!

Actually, this is totally my fault. I am a big old softie which should come as no surprise to anyone. Thanks to me, Tyson took on the role of Master, as I caved to his every whim, so I have been practicing saying firmly, "No! I am the Alpha Dog, Tyson! NO! I AM THE ALPHA DOG, DAMMIT!!!" This, you will not be surprised to learn, has not been entirely effective.

The larger issue, though is Tyson pretty much hates (HAAAATES!) any person that is not Grandma, Grandpa, Daddy or Mommy. He also hates: big dogs, small dogs, medium sized dogs, cats, the television, fireworks, the washing machine, the garbage disposal, the dishwasher, the dryer, the garbage truck, the hair dryer, and pretty much anything else that otherwise moves or makes noise. We've been practicing desensitization activities (which for Daddy entails watching lots and lots of college basketball) and now we no longer feel we have to throw all of our electrical appliances in the dumpster and move to Outer Mongolia).

The hating (HAAAATING!) of the people and fellow members of the Animal Kingdom is taking some time, though.

Clearly we had to take some action. So, our first step in ensuring we will have a friendly, non-threatening household pet, was to have him neutered. Now, I know that this may cause many men (and my mom) to cringe but Bob Barker is totally right, y'all. If you're not going to breed your pet, spaying or neutering them is one of the kindest things you can do for them. It reduces the likelihood of numerous health problems (including cancer), makes the pet more affectionate and friendly and also eliminates the possibility that your pet will unwittingly increase the animal population.

Tyson, it hardly needs to be said, did not like the vet. In fact, all the barking, snarling and lunging led the vet to inform us "You have an aggressive dog here. He's going to require a lot of work". Faced with that news, we did what any normal parents do when they're told their son or daughter is failing Algebra or Home Economics. We cried. Not, like, at the vet or anything. But later. But when we picked him up post-surgery, he was noticeably more relaxed. Granted, he's not quite at the point of leaping joyously into the laps of strangers, licking their faces and whining with delight. But at least, he's not all "The Hound of the Baskervilles", causing people to go "Aieeeeee!" and run in the opposite direction either.

The other thing we've done is found an awesome trainer who spent a few hours with Ryan and me yesterday morning teaching us (and Tyson) the Heel and Sit commands. To you this may not sound so special. But for two people who no longer have to shove their arms back in their sockets after taking him for a walk, this is nothing short of miraculous. He walks at our sides, people! This is, like, Christmas and the 4th of July and my birthday and Arbor Day all rolled into one.

He definitely has a long way to go. But now we actually have hope that we may be able to have house guests some time in the near future. Speaking of house guests, did you see my mention of our pretty red couch? Then you probably saw that we also have 395,641 boxes, too. Once we get rid of those, we will also have a guest room. Come visit! Um. Not any time in the next month or so because Tyson might try to eat you. But maybe after Christmas?

Further Proof Ryan Just Needs to Propose Already (Haha! Just kidding!)

2007-10-18T19:43:00.001-04:00

Today we were driving through Huntsville, Alabama. And I looked over, and was all "Baby! Look! It's a Wedding Supply Store! I bet it has pretty white dresses! And lovely, floaty veils! And oooh! I bet it has tuxes! Ummm... Huh. Er, nope!.... it has power tools! And... um... safety helmets!"

Turns out "welding" looks an awful lot like "wedding" when you're driving by at 45 miles per hour and are fairly drooling over an engagement ring you've been told is coming, but has not yet made an actual appearance. Anyhow, I'm guessing Sexton Welding Supply, Inc has a flourishing business in its own right, despite lacking the latest in bridal finery.

But enough about that... (for now anyway). Everything with the tour is going remarkably well. We're more than 2/3 of the way through and I honestly didn't think it would take this long for me to actually post a blog entry, but we've been scheduling and rescheduling interviews, running Tailgate parties, encouraging donations, explaining our goals and missions, checking in and out of hotels and doing a heck of a lot of driving. We've definitely had a moment or two when we've looked at each other and gone "why did we want to do this again??" (Dear Reporter who called us at 3:30 AM thinking the event started at 4:30 AM instead of 9:30 AM, I am still bitter and I do not like you very much. Plus, I would like to buy you an appointment calendar. Hugs! Love, Meag)

These rare moments aside, this has been such an incredible experience. We've met so many families around the nation that display tremendous strength, compassion, good humor and courage, beyond what I could personally imagine under similar circumstances. Every day brings new experiences that are rewarding and fun. Best of all, I get to do this with my best friend in the entire world. (*cue sappy music*) And I apparently won some sort of relationship lottery since he not only makes me laugh and still makes my heart beat fast... but he irons my clothes for me too! How great is that?!

With just two and a half weeks left to go, we're excited to spend the next few weeks winding our way up the East Coast to New York City, but I'm sure we'll also feel more than a bit sad to bring the tour to an end. I try to look on the positive side of things, though and confess I will be happy to sleep under sheets that aren't imprinted with the "Marriott" or "Holiday Inn Express" logos. Also, I look forward to cooking dinner in our own home, taking our dog for a walk, getting the chance to exercise and being able to recall what city we were in three days ago.

And, y'all, maybe in the next few months I'll also be seeking out the Ft. Lauderdale "Wedding" Supply store. (But the one with actual dresses instead of blow torches...) Stay tuned!

Day One - Anaheim

2007-09-04T12:30:00.001-04:00

Yesterday was hot. Disgustingly, stickily, oppressively hot. (Is stickily even a word?)

It was also the kick-off for the CureTour as well as the Disneyland Half Marathon. And heat notwithstanding, it was a terrific beginning for our 63-day adventure.

I am always moved by road races. There is just something about throngs of people running for a purpose - whether it's for a particular cause... or to fulfill a personal dream.... or just to get out there and move. Whether I am a participant or a spectator, I frequently find myself covered in goosebumps and fighting off tears... it's that powerful to me.

So this past weekend inspired even greater emotion as we had the chance to meet some of the families and children affected by this disease and watch all of those people running to help find a cure cross that finish line.

The race was a bit different for Tim. Starting at 3:30 AM, he ran a full 13.1 miles before meeting up with 13,000 other Disneyland Half Marathon runners to finish the rest of his first marathon on the tour. For him (and for us), this is just the beginning.

If you are interested, you can find more clips on YouTube featuring the tour here: http://www.youtube.com/curetour.

More in the next few days as we work our way through San Luis Obispo, Los Gatos and Sacramento!

"Clark, that there's an RV!"

2007-08-30T07:47:00.001-04:00

Ack, y'all! We leave tomorrow for California. We'll spend Friday, Saturday, Sunday and part of Monday in Anaheim, and then - off we go!

I cannot believe it's nearly time to set off on this adventure. I've never ever had a job before where I felt so immediately charged with responsibility and energy and inspiration.

Also the feeling of being completely overwhelmed. These past few weeks have been so crazy-busy and Ryan and I often find ourselves looking at each other in some of our more relaxed moments going, "Wow, this is so great!" More often, though, it's something more akin to, "Hotels! RV Parks! Hotels! Nearest local hospitals! Insurance forms! Hotels! This is fun! We're excited! Excited! But, oh.... Tailgate parties! Did I mention Hotels yet! No? Hotels!"

And - oh the magic of RV Dump Stations just might fulfill Ryan's dream of actually being able to one day say "Merry Christmas! S**tter's Full!"

Anyway, as part of our preparation, we've started a blog to track the progress of Tim and the crew of the A-T CureTour. I can't make promises for how frequently I'll be updating my own blog between now and November (although I hope to at least post something like "Hi! We're safe! And in Alabama! Or maybe Illinois! Er, or is it Montreal? Come to think of it, we're not sure! But it's nice! Hi!") However this more official one should be updated fairly regularly right here: A-T CureTour on the Road

For those of you that have asked (okay, so none of you have, but I'm passing on the information regardless since I know you meant to), you can make a donation to this endeavor here: Help Find a Cure! Better yet... make a $25 donation and meet up with us along the way at one of our Tailgate parties or join Tim for a FunRun!

Hope to see some of you along the way!

Scorpions. Why'd it hafta be scorpions?

2007-08-21T20:38:00.001-04:00

I was going to write a nice meaty entry about how much fun Ryan and I are having planning for the A-T CureTour and how it's become clear in the past few days what a terrific organization we work for.

There is also much to be said about how we found the perfect apartment and I freaked out for a few days because I loved it so, but it happens to be 3.5 miles away from a landfill and I was really SO not thrilled about that. As an aside, if you ever wanted to really annoy your boyfriend, you should plan on telling everyone you see about how... there's this really great apartment? But it's near a landfill? And, like, landfills are smelly and can't they be sort of, I don't know, dangerous? Such a gorgeous apartment, though! With a huge porch and two bedrooms and two bathrooms! Too bad about the landfill. And the kitchen is just enormous and has ceramic tile floor! And there's a private entrance, too! But, did I tell you about the landfill? The landfillllll! (Luckily, after talking to approximately 4,278 people, I have sufficiently reassured myself that just by living in the general vicinity, I'm not going to grow horns or a tail or anything.)

But this has all been temporarily eclipsed because today we had a little... um... visitor in the office.

Luckily I was not around when he made his appearance because..... Eeeeeeeekkkkkkk!!!! Also Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!! (And probably a few heartfelt OhGodOhGodOhGods, too...) If I had actually seen this critter myself, you can rest assured that Ryan would have had to physically lift me from my perch off my chair and carry my weeping, horrified ass from the office. And the worst part is... apparently - Just Super! - he's not the only one. They are spraying after we leave for California.

Seriously, though. Did y'all know they had scorpions in South Florida? And if you did, why the hell didn't you tell me? I mean, I'm sure I would have still moved here and all. However, when my boss told me we were a casual office - but hello! Possible scorpions! - you can bet I would not have chosen to wear flip flops for the past three days.

Nothing says summer like steel toed boots.

Orange and Blue

2007-08-14T12:02:00.001-04:00

Well, I've successfully managed to meet Ryan's entire family without embarrassing myself, or causing anyone (as far as I know) to pull him aside to say discreetly, "Uh, Ryan? This girl that you've been dating... I don't meant to pry, but have you been smoking very much crack lately? "

This is great news because while I already knew Ryan had to have a pretty terrific family, I've now discovered for myself that they universally rock. It's been a lot of fun getting to meet everyone and to be included in all of the festivities from the Decatur Celebration to BBQs to the official Livergood family picture. I also have to brag that while having dinner at Ditka's the other night, I met "Da Coach". Yeah, so I totally didn't know who he was. But Julie and Craig (Ryan's sister and brother-in-law) were so excited by his presence that I had to prove what an awesome future sister-in-law I am by asking him to sign an empty wine bottle. And doesn't that just make you wish I was your future sister-in-law too?

In addition to some quality time with various super-cool family members, we also got to play with Tyson who is getting big. It has been confirmed that he is indeed the cutest puppy in the whole world and probably some alternate universes as well.

It seems, though, Tyson has figured out that I am a complete and utter wimp and this means he gets to grab my hand in his teeth and chew heartily upon it whenever his little heart desires. Which is pretty much all the time. What was really freakin' cute when he started doing it is now still awfully damn adorable.... but really? Getting sort of painful. We read online that in order to deter biting, the owner should yelp whenever the puppy gnaws on something that is not a toy and growl in a discouraging manner. Recognizing that this means he has over-stepped his boundaries, the puppy will then bow to the owner's clear authority and cease all biting behavior. Makes sense, yes?

Apparently our puppy has decided to boycott this theory because whenever we snarled in our most scary dog-like manner, he would kick and writhe and wag his tail happily, all the while biting down harder and more enthusiastically.

This could be a problem. We are already looking into obedience and socialization classes in Ft. Lauderdale. But in the meantime, Grandma and Grandpa are taking good care of him until we get settled in Florida in a few months' time. Didn't I tell you they were awesome?

Speaking of Ft. Lauderdale, we fly down tomorrow to undergo training for a week and a half, before driving out to Anaheim to get started with the A-T CureTour. We're more than a little excited and it should be interesting to see how the next few months play out.

In other news, Ryan has been saying that he does not think he wants cable TV in our new home. I don't necessarily agree with this because while I don't love television, there are a few shows that exist beyond network TV that I particularly enjoy. I mean, I don't cry if I miss them or anything and I'd rather be doing something active or outside (that is, when it's not so damn HOT), but on the whole? - fairly entertaining. More importantly, though, I know of Ryan's penchant for sports of all kinds. I envision him immediately regretting this decision and moving out of our house to live at the Ale House or Buffalo Wild Wings or something during college basketball season and football season and baseball season and soccer season and, God forbid, cricket season. And then I'd have to move in too in order to actually see him. And while I like these upstanding institutions and have invested quite a bit in ensuring they are successful in maintaining their respective businesses, I don't think I'd like spending the rest of my days eating chicken wings for dinner every night and resting my weary head on a door mat that says "Hooters Makes You Happy!" I'd like to avoid this scenario if at all possible and told him I would willingly surrender our TV in our very own home to him so that he may get his "fix", but it was looking like we might very well be a cable-less household. But thanks to him recently discovering the magic that is A&E, specifically "Dog the Bounty Hunter" and, strangely, "Flip This House", Ryan has decided that cable might very well be necessary after all.

Hooray! "Whose Wedding is it Anyway?", "Big Love" and "Corwin's Quest" here I come.

So, Meagan and Ryan, You Just Left Bulgaria! What Are You Going To Do Now?

2007-07-29T09:23:00.002-04:00

Well, we're not going to Disney World. At least not for a little while.

Instead we're continuing on in our tradition of adventure with something very unique and, we think, tremendously exciting.

I really owe it all to Ryan. In 2006 I ran the Disney Marathon with the A-T Children's Project, a nonprofit designed to raise funds through events and contributions from corporations, foundations and friends to further international scientific research aimed at finding a cure for Ataxia-telangiectasia, or A-T. This is a progressive, degenerative disease that affects children, bringing about immune system problems, a predisposition to cancer and an inability to control the muscles, as well a startling and horrific array of other physical problems. Sadly, there is no cure for A-T and many children die before reaching their 20's.

Although I had run 4 previous marathons and over 20 smaller road races, this was by far the most rewarding race I had ever completed and I signed up as soon as possible for the following year. Of course, then I went and moved to Bulgaria, so I never did get to run that next race. But I still thought often about how much that particular marathon meant to me.

So when we were job-hunting, I immediately began looking into working with ATCP. However, I was initially discouraged by their lack of an employment section on their website. Nevertheless, Ryan strongly encouraged me to send them a cover letter and résumé. I sent them off, not really expecting a response. To my surprise, I was contacted later that day by the Executive Director. It was true that they didn't currently have an open position, she said. But, out of curiosity, what was I looking for? I told her and thus ensued a flurry of e-mails and phone calls that have snowballed into something far bigger than I think Ryan or I expected.

While a lot of the details are still a little fuzzy as the overall gameplan cotinues to get hammered out, here's what we do know.

Ryan and I will spend the next few days here in Maryland, before heading to Illinois on Thursday to visit with his family. Following a huge family reunion with his dad's side of the family on the 11th, Ryan and I will either fly or drive to Ft. Lauderdale and undergo three weeks of training with ATCP.

At that point we will be embarking on a two-month journey across the United States with the A-T CureTour. Tim Borland will be running 63 marathons in 63 days, starting with the Disneyland Half Marathon (which he will run twice) and ending with the New York City Marathon to raise awareness and funding for ATCP. Deb and Brad Carr, independent film makers, will be producing FEAT, a documentary that follows his experience along the way.

Through 29 different states and Montreal, Ryan and I will serve as Jacks of All Trade, helping to set up sites, hand out T-shirts, talk about A-T, collect donations and trouble-shoot. It promises to be a challenging and emotional experience... not to mention a lot of fun. Once we finish with the Tour on November 4, we will then head down to Ft. Lauderdale, FL when the position they are creating for me will ideally be available. Best of all, it's my dream job since they've essentially created it around my skills and interests. We're both absolutely over the moon that things worked out so perfectly for us and feel South Florida will make a wonderful new home for Ryan, Tyson and me.

Yesterday Ryan and I celebrated our two-year anniversary by looking at (but not buying yet) engagement rings in the morning and making the rounds in the BBQ circuit in the afternoon. Without sounding too gag-worthy, I can't believe we've been together for two years and that I get to spend the rest of my life with the most amazing man in the world. From Orlando to Bulgaria... to a journey across the United States and back to Florida again... I love you so much baby!

My Hair Sucks (or I miss Jayme)

2007-07-26T11:07:00.001-04:00

Once I got a mullet.

It was not, I assure you, something I did on purpose. Nor was it the 1980's. See, I have found that sometimes you will find a new stylist and he or she will be great for the first cut or two. So you will go back expecting more of the same magic and rainbows and unicorns. And instead, in the time between cuts, your stylist has been mysteriously replaced by some sort of deranged scissor-happy doppelganger and you wind up with something like this:

Keep in mind this is not as bad as it was at first. Since I didn't let anyone with a camera near me for awhile, this picture was taken a few weeks after the original cut. Also, by this point I had found Jayme. Beautiful, wonderful, fabulous Jayme. I wandered into Jayme's salon the night after receiving said mullet and asked the tall blonde girl standing at the counter with a mixture of hope and despair quivering in my voice, "Can you fix me?" She stared at me for a few minutes and replied with deep concern, "Who did this to you?"

Then she set about trying to make it look like I wasn't about to audition for a re-make of Xanadu. I still walked out of there with a mullet... but as she explained it would take awhile to make it look normal again. She brings the unicorns and rainbows every time, and after many months with Jayme who is quite possibly the most talented stylist in the universe I eventually wound up with this:

I was much happier.

Side story: I met Ryan shortly after I got the mullet. He remembers thinking "Wow she's really cute, but she has really bad hair." A smart man, he didn't tell me this until recently. It's funny now, but it definitely would not have been if I still had the mullet when he divulged this piece of information.

Then I moved to Eastern Europe and figured out that when the mullet departed with the end of the 80's it moved to Bulgaria. Seriously, guys. If there was a drinking game based on how many mullets you would see walking down the street, you'd be hammered after a few blocks.

Because my Bulgarian - to put it mildly - sucked, I didn't trust myself to go into a salon and request just a trim, please, so I decided to just not cut my hair for the better part of a year. As you can imagine this did not lead to silky and manageable tresses, so the first thing I did when I got home was try to find an affordable and quality stylist. These two things are not mutually exclusive, I know, because Jayme is both stellar and inexpensive. Plus she gives you wine and is great conversationalist/therapist. (And she tells me regularly I look like Reese Witherspoon which totally isn't true, but I love it anyway.)

I did not get wine when I got my hair cut the other day.

Nor did I get a good haircut. Okay, so it's not completely horrible, true. At least, there were no tears. And thankfully it's not a mullet. I would show you a picture except right now I am sporting a gargantuan zit right in the middle of my forehead. It's fabulous.

But it has lead me to believe that Jayme is one of a kind and if Ryan and I do wind up living in Ft. Lauderdale, I will be making trips up to Orlando regularly to get my great cut, good wine and fun conversation all for a very low bargain price.

And if we move somewhere else I will simply call Jayme and invite her to move in with us.

God Bless the USA

2007-07-25T14:11:00.001-04:00

Well, after nearly 11 hours in the air, I made it home to Maryland on Monday afternoon. Ryan also arrived safely in Illinois yesterday with the puppy who, incidentally, is no longer named Luke. More on that in a second...

Our last night in-country was spent at the Sveta Sofia Hotel in the capital. Kevin, one of our totally awesome PCV friends, joined us for some yummy Chinese food, Zagorka beer and outstanding conversation. Bulgaria is such an awesome country and as much as I was happy about returning to the States, it was equally as tough to say goodbye. We will definitely go back for a visit someday. In the meantime, there's plenty o' fun in store for Ryan and me, starting with his visit to Maryland tomorrow.

As far as the Pup Formerly Known As Luke is concerned, he evidently handled the flights very well and is enjoying his new home in Findlay, Illinois. After all, there are toys and treats to be had. Grandma and Grandpa are spoiling him very well. (Yeah. I said Grandma and Grandpa. Ryan and I refer to ourselves as Mommy and Daddy too... and sometimes we even talk to each other in baby talk when the puppy is not around... ya' wanna make somethin' of it?)

Anyway, when Ryan and I first named the puppy, he didn't have much of a personality yet. So Luke seemed to fit just fine. Then he started doing more than just walking and sleeping. He started to frolic. And run into stuff while playing with his stuffed cow. And crawl into Ryan's shoes. And get teeth. (Also pee and poop all over the entire apartment, but that is another story.)

For some reason neither Ryan nor I could bring ourselves to call him Luke. Instead we had settled on calling him "The Puppers". Clearly this could not be his proper name because we are nauseating... but not that nauseating.

Then "The Puppers" figured out he really likes to gnaw on people... particularly their ears.

And it came to us.

His name is Tyson (or Ty).

Coincidentally I happen to have a good friend named Tyson (or Ty). But as much as I like my friend Ty, we didn't really name the puppy after him.

It's after Mike Tyson.

Haaaaaaa! We kill ourselves. (Actually I am giving myself too much credit. It was Ryan's idea.)

So. Um. Hi Ty! Hope you don't mind having the cutest puppy in the whole entire world as an inadvertent namesake! And to everyone else... it's good to be back! I'm looking forward to catching up - hopefully in person - soon!

Two Posts in One Day... Is There a Full Moon?

2007-07-16T14:25:00.001-04:00

Yeah, I know the other one is really long. You probably didn't read it all. That's okay. (But if you didn't make it through to the end you're missing out on lots of naked women and bubbles. I'm just sayin'...)

Anyway... it's official.

We’re coming home.

Most of you know this already, but only today are we able to “go public” with the news as the Peace Corps is now aware of our plans too.

It’s something we’ve been contemplating for awhile as I’ve been dismally unable to find viable employment, but were holding out as long as possible to make sure some totally awesome, fun job with a great salary didn’t miraculously appear at the last minute.

Needless to say – it didn’t. And since Ryan and I aren’t interested in doing long distance (at all, like ever again)… he’s made the decision to Early Terminate from the Peace Corps and join me back in the States.

So I fly to DC on Monday while Ryan heads to Illinois on Tuesday. Then on Thursday he’ll be coming to DC to hang out with me for a week. While he’s already met my mom’s side of the family, he’ll have the chance to meet my dad and step-mom, as well as hit a few friends’ BBQs before we both go to his home town so I can meet his family. Needless to say I'm really excited (plus maybe just a teensy bit nervous)...

After that… well…. I’m going to have to be a bit secretive for the time being as the details are still being hammered out. It certainly does seem as though Ryan and I may have a very exciting opportunity that will eventually land us in Ft. Lauderdale a few months from now. More on this once everything is squared away. For the record, we think that we think we’ve been extraordinarily lucky and are very much looking forward to the future…

... we will definitely miss Bulgaria, though...

(Ummm... but probably not the puppy as it looks like he may be coming home with us after all... Thanks Gloria and Mark for serving as temporary Mom and Dad! He's a sweetie-pie; we promise!)

In the Immortal Words of Hamlet…

2007-07-16T06:59:00.001-04:00

Forewarned is forearmed. This one is long.

Back in May, Ryan and I, plus Scott and Anna (two of Ryan’s friends from his days of teaching in China) embarked on a journey through Romania, Serbia, Greece and Turkey.

Over the course of our trip we collectively took nearly 1700 pictures wandering through museums, churches and mosques, hiking o’er mountains, fields and cities and experiencing the nuances of the doner/gyro/kebap.

What follows are some of the highlights:

We started our trip in Veliko Turnovo, a city in Bulgaria Ryan and I have oft visited, but was new to Scott and Anna. We ambled around the Tsarevets Fortress, which was even prettier in the summer and I had the chance to catch up with my friend Tamsin from my CELTA course.

We had some struggles trying to determine where we could purchase tickets out of Bulgaria, but with the help of a kindly security guard, we were able to secure our fare for the next part of our trip... Romania!

We spent our first night in Romania in Bucharest, indulging in some absolutely fabulous sausages and beer at Caru cu Bere. I had heard it was a restaurant not to be missed and I must also offer two enthusiastic thumbs up for a delightful culinary experience. We didn't linger long in Bucharest, though, as the next morning we were off to Brasov in the Transylvania region.

Of all the places we visited, Brasov emerged our unanimous favorite. It was beautiful. It was quaint. It had tasty beef fajitas.

While in Brasov we visited Rasnov Fortress and Bran Castle. The latter is frequently linked with Dracula although Vlad Tepes (the bloodthirsty prince upon whom the fictional character of Dracula was based) only visited his cousin there once. The "real" Dracula's Castle is Cetatea Poienari, located in the highest peaks of the Fagaras Mountains. Although we were intrigued, it's very challenging to reach and ultimately we deemed it too expensive for a visit. We’re on a budget here, people.

Anyway, we were ultimately quite satisfied with the castles we did see despite a few initial challenges in getting there. We had boarded a mini bus arranged by one of the local hostels, along with a group of about 15 other travelers. As it turned out, our driver didn’t truly know where he was going. To further complicate matters, he understandably didn’t speak a lick of English. Apparently he also had plans for the afternoon that did not include taking a bunch of tourists to Romanian castles, so he spent some time trying to find another driver to take us. (We sort of guessed at this part, though, since he drove us to a huge parking lot filled with other buses and promptly left us alone for about thirty minutes while we tried to figure out if we were being abandoned, cheated out of our money or worse. Here I must thank the producers that gave us such cinematic masterpieces as Turistas and Hostel. Bravo, gentlemen. Bravo. Thank goodness there were a lot of us and it was daylight, that's all I've got to say... Yes, I do have a runaway imagination, thank you... but c'mon! We were in Transylvania!) While we waited for everything to get sorted out, one of the American guys on our bus entertained us all by offering some super helpful Romanian phrases he was in the process of learning from a guidebook. Translated they were, “Here! I am in possession of my own needle!” and “I have hepatitis!”, and “I have been raped; my belongings are in order!” Undaunted, our new friend happily shared the last phrase with our driver who'd been unsuccessful in his endeavor and was at this point grudgingly driving us to our destination. This earned a hearty laugh and he cheered up considerably for the rest of the trip.

Over the course of the next two days, we further explored the sites of Brasov, including The Black Church, Schei and Ecaterina's Gates and Rope Street, supposedly the narrowest street in Europe. We foolishly (but delightedly) hiked about in a thunderstorm atop Mount Tampa and found some hauntingly beautiful cemetaries. Ryan and I even got a romantic evening alone.

Yes, Brasov was great, but we wanted to see a little of Bucharest too, so after three amazing days we caught a morning train to the capital of Romania. We were headed out of Romania on another train that evening, so we did our best with the limited time we had in Bucharest, traipsing over 10 miles of city pavement.

It was fun, but at the end of the day, we were tired and excited about heading for the next country - Serbia.

Belgrade was probably our least anticipated locale, but wound up being our second favorite due primarily to the kindness of its citizens. Although the city is slowly recovering from the days of Slobodan Milosevic’s rule and the atrocities of genocide, bombed out buildings still remain. We managed to take in a few museums on our first afternoon, and saunter down what is perhaps the best walking street in Eastern Europe. The next day Ryan and I went on our own to Skadarlija (the Bohemian quarter) and Zemun, before meeting back up with Scott and Anna to explore the Kalemegdan Fortress.

Belgrade has a gritty appeal and we would have liked to stay longer, but had to bid farewell after just a day and a half. Not just to the city, but also to Anna who had plans to participate in a Library Science class in Prague. Ryan, Scott and I, on the other hand, were headed to Thessaloniki to pick up my long-awaited visa.

I’d been to Thessaloniki before when applying for said visa, but didn’t really get to see much of it so I was looking forward to returning. A comparably upscale community on the Aegean Sea, Thessaloniki is quite pretty, possessing great seafood, gregarious people and, of course, ouzo. Ouzo is an anise-flavored liqueur and on our first night there I suffered a gross error in judgment regarding just how much ouzo is too much ouzo. The next day was not a good one and I would have liked to remain under the covers with the lights off... possibly even engaging in some quality private time in the bathroom with my head in the toilet... but instead - heigh ho - Ryan and I left Scott in the hotel room and journeyed to the Bulgarian embassy. It was a national holiday in Greece, but luckily the Embassy was open and after 5 months of waiting, I had earned my legal right to stay in Bulgaria for at least a little while. (Ah, gotta love irony…)

Anyhoo, the hangover gradually went away and we much enjoyed the rest of the afternoon walking along the path next to the sea and checking out the Archaeological Museum and ancient ruins.

That evening we hopped a train to Istanbul, Turkey. This was the city to which I was most looking forward, and although it took a few days to properly appreciate, it did not disappoint. Istanbul was by far the most touristy place we visited and everywhere we walked, people were inviting us into their shops and restaurants to enjoy their wares and cuisine. It’s a heady place and if I lived there for ten years, I would imagine there would still be much I would have yet to see and experience. We had but three days, and in that time we went to the Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque and the Topkapi Palace. We explored the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Market. We took a ferry across the Bosphorus to the Asian side of Istanbul.

My favorite part of the entire trip, though, wound up being when Ryan paid for me to experience the magic that is the Hamam (or Turkish Bath) at The Cemberlitas Hamam.

The Cemberlitas was erected in 1584 by the architect Sinan and still functions today as a double bath with separate sides for men and women. While there are numerous baths from which to choose, Cemberlitas made the most sense as it was a short walk up the street from our hostel and is purportedly one of the best in the city for tourists. Admittedly it was a bit confusing for me at first as the guy at the desk just handed me two tokens for my bath and massage, then pointed to the women's side, shaking his head when I tried to take a towel. I emerged in a small locker room area, where I presumed I was supposed to take off my clothes, but the only towels in sight were the forbidden ones at the entrance. I decided he must have been mistaken, and stealthily tucked one under my arm when he wasn't looking.

Leaving my clothes in the locker and wrapping the towel around my body, I made my way into the attendant cool down room. Immediately it became obvious this was going to be unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Lounging about on wooden benches were a bunch of topless Turkish women with towels around their waists, chatting and laughing. The second they saw me, one of them leaped up, ran over to me, and scolded me in Turkish, whipping off my towel leaving me standing – oh so sexily - in my underwear and borrowed rubber flip flops. Um. Okay.

Then they handed another smaller towel and sent me into the bath itself. It was breathtaking. Of course I was not permitted to bring in my camera, but if you pay a visit to the linked website above, you can get a glimpse of what my words can't do justice. Around the perimeter of the circular marble room were exquisite carved fountains trickling both hot and cold water. Arching far above was the domed ceiling etched with stars and circles, designed to allow a dim filtered sunlight to leak in, giving the room a lazy, sensual feel. And in the center was a large, elevated marble slab where a single, phenomenal looking naked girl lounged.

Thus began my contemplation of the age-old question posed by Hamlet (and loosely paraphrased here):

“To wear panties… or not to wear panties?”

That is, indeed, the question. I had pondered this ahead of time (Do I wear a bathing suit? Do I go completely naked? What? What?). Finally I had settled on wearing little sheer pink and white striped boy shorts – sufficiently cute and maybe a little frisky, but not ridiculously provocative or anything. But when I saw the cute naked girl, I questioned myself. I was hardly wearing granny panties or, like a turtleneck or anything, but still… I immediately felt a bit overdressed. Did I look like a prude? Was I supposed to go completely buck? Attempting to shrug off my concerns, I positioned myself on my towel on the slab across from the girl and closed my eyes, periodically opening them to contemplate the remarkable ceiling and wonder further over whether I should just suck it up and take my underwear off already. The young naked girl was summoned from the room to receive her massage, so I had some time by myself to just relax and listen to the water babbling quietly in the fountains. Then a middle-aged woman walked in (she was naked too, dammit), and I was thrown again into confusion.

What to do, what to do.... I decided not to puzzle over this particular issue anymore and…

Underwear off!

I lay there for a few moments, relishing just being nude. Ahhhh. This was the right decision. No doubt about it. Then I happened to look over and notice a sign painted on the wall written in several languages. It said, in rather firm black letters, “Please do not bath (sic) naked.” Annnddd...

Underwear on!

Then yet another naked (elderly) woman entered the room. This time, though, I didn’t question. The trio of naked ladies probably wondered about the gal who refused to get nude, but I rocked my panties, y’all.

Shortly thereafter a tremendously fat Turkish women entered the room wearing only a pair of skimpy black thong underwear. She laid me out on the slab closer to one of the fountains and dumped cold water all over me. At this time the hot young naked girl entered the room again and proceeded to sit very close by, watching this process intently. I found this a bit strange at first, but then I got caught up in the fact that a practically naked woman with pendulous breasts was scrubbing me all over with a loofah. Sorry to disappoint my male readers, but this was a new experience for me. She then filled up a pillowcase with soap and sort of squished it around, puffed it up and banged it down on top of me so bubbles flew everywhere, including up my nose. I didn't speak Turkish and she didn't speak English, but there was no miscommunication here. No! When she wanted me to turn over she just gave me a little slap on my ass.

After a thorough scrub down, a bucket of warm water was dumped over me, whereupon I was motioned over to one of the fountains. She had me sit on the floor between her knees while she washed my hair (and my face) with soap. Then, sufficiently loofahed and squeaky clean, I was permitted to loll about on the slab once more while I waited for my oil massage. And I then realized why the young naked girl had stared so closely when out of the corner of my eye I saw the elderly naked woman getting virtually smothered in suds. It was fascinating and I must admit it was really very hard to look away. Too bad. It would have been fun to have a story about the totally smokin' nekkid girl who tried to pick me up in the Turkish bath, but I guess it was just the novelty of seeing a human being completely covered in bubbles.

Eventually I was called in for my massage and found the masseuse to be both skillful and friendly. She also spoke a little English, making me relax a little more as I was able to understand what was required of me a little more clearly. Soooo... steam... bubbles... oil... all in all, I was very impressed by the experience. And really everyone should be as comfortable with their bodies as these women were. Not like I want to hang out in my underwear with my girlfriends every day, but still… it would be fun every now and then, yes? Uh… Ladies? Anyone? No? Just me then? Ahem… moving on….

I later read that it’s considered impolite to bathe naked in the Turkish baths. In the touristy ones (like Cemberlitas) the attendants often excuse the behavior because so many of the people who frequent the baths do wind up stripping down, not understanding that culturally it’s a taboo. So I’m very pleased with my ultimate decision to go against the grain and wear my panties after all.

It was a very full and satisfying few days in Turkey. You know how the saying goes, though. All good things must come to an end and the evening following the bath we boarded one more night train back to Stara Zagora. And although we had spent two simply amazing weeks on the road, we were definitely ready to be home again – back in beautiful Bulgaria.

It's a Boy!

2007-07-09T15:00:00.001-04:00

Last weekend Ryan and I hopped a city bus out of neighboring Kazanluk in search of one of the myriad sunflower fields that abound mid-summer throughout Bulgaria. It was something I’ve been waiting to do since I’ve arrived. In fact, I think one of the very first questions I asked after I got here was “When can we see sunflowers?” (Note: I believe “When is cherry season?” was next. Cherries are possibly my favorite fruit and much like the sunflowers, they are everywhere right now. Yum!)

Our journey turned out to be a most profitable one, as it involved cherries...

...roosters... (which, by the way, I also just love)

...AND the much sought-after sunflowers!

Some of these flowers are seriously taller than me and the view of row upon row of gold framed by mountains and a blue sky was absolutely incredible.

After getting our fill of sunflowers and exhausting my camera’s battery, doubting we could catch a bus we decided to walk the 5 or so miles back to Kazanluk. Just about a mile out of town, we heard a puppy’s cries coming from underneath a dumpster. Anyone who knows me understands that at this point there was only one thing for me to do, namely belly crawl underneath the damn thing to find a tiny black and white ball of fluff… indeed, a puppy, perhaps 12 – 14 days old. The second I picked him up, he stopped crying and nuzzled into my arms. Ryan looked at me and said “He’s not coming home with us, babe.” I pleaded a bit with my eyes, and pointed out there appeared to be no mother. After looking around and finding nary a mom in sight, plus no human running up to claim the pup, Ryan heaved a big sigh and said “He’s coming home with us, isn’t he?”

Yup.

And for the record, Ryan couldn't have left him behind any more than I could have.

We’ve named him Luke. (From the last part of Kazanluk… aren’t we creative?) Incidentally “luk” means “onion” here in Bulgaria, so when people ask his name it gets a bit of a laugh. Now this is funny to me for a different reason. Bear with me while I share a back story.

When Ryan and I first starting dating, I was driving to work one morning and saw a dog on the side of the road in a parking lot. I pulled over, hoping to find identification on him, but worried that by stopping I might send him running into traffic. Fortunately the dog proved to be exceedingly friendly and bounded eagerly over to me when I called. He then jumped past me into my car and sat down obediently in the passenger seat, all "C'mon lady! Aren't we gonna go somewhere already?" As it turned out there was a collar... but no tags, so I took him to work with me for the day, giving him food and water, and made the effort to find his owner by calling around to local vets and the Humane Society. At the end of the day, the search had proved fruitless and I would gladly have adopted him… but there was a small glitch in that plan. My roommate Laura was terrified of dogs. As there was no way I could bring him home without first searching for a new place to live myself, I boarded him at a veterinary clinic for a few days, paying for shots, a bath and a heartworm test.

Sadly, the dog was heartworm positive. Also complicating things was the fact he was a pit bull, but sometimes these dogs get a bad rap and this one was an absolute sweetheart, causing all of the vet technicians to rhapsodize over what a great big affectionate baby he was. Because of the dog’s health condition, I couldn’t take him to Animal Control as they would euthanize him, and I was fearful of advertising him publicly since some people obviously buy these dogs with the plan of using them to fight. So after about a week of fretting, with the help of a kindly teacher in the Osceola County School District I found him a nice home with one of her students.

Aaannnyyywayyyy long story short - I named that dog… Bo.

Despite evidence to the contrary, I am NOT a member of the Dukes of Hazard fan club. Never even watched an episode. No really. I swear. We were totally a Muppets, Cosby Show and Family Ties family. I don't think I even knew who Boss Hog was until, like, the tenth grade.

But I digress.

Anyway, Luke is a very sweet puppy and is just starting to get his baby teeth, as well as learning how to walk and give kisses.

He loves to eat puppy formula from his bottle…

...but will also suck frantically on your finger, kneading your hand with his little front paws.

He likes to crawl under things, especially places that are particularly dusty… and believe me, there are a lot of those in Ryan's apartment.

He toddles around, sometimes toppling over as he gradually gains his balance. Ryan made him a three-room puppy condo out of cardboard boxes, featuring a bedroom, bathroom and playroom, but after the first day or two he decided he much prefers a T-shirt and the floor, thank you very much.

This morning he decided to test out his brand new puppy-bark to wake us up, and when I raised my head to look at him giving a sleepy “Hi buddy,”, he wriggled all over in delight. "She’sawakesshe’sawakeohboyohboyitworkeditworkedtimetoeat!" And this afternoon he learned how to tackle his stuffed cow.

He also likes to sleep.

A lot.

We are very attached.

We cannot keep him.

But we think we have found a very nice mommy for him and with any luck she will take Luke to his new home next week.

I am going to do my best not to cry.

***Post Script: It just occurred to me that I am so lucky I met Ryan when I did. This post just rather alarmingly proved that if not for him a few years from now I totally would have had 16 cats and dogs with wallet sized photos of each. "Oh look, and here is Petunia sleeping, by the window. She's on the window sill! Do you see that? A dog on the window sill! Oh, and here is sweet little Mr. Mistoffelees playing with his toy mouse. Doesn't that just make your heart melt! Oh and this... this is Mungojerry using the toilet instead of a litter box...he is such a smart little kitty and... wait... where are you going? I haven't told you about Rumpleteaser and Fluffy and George and Fido and..."

It's Getting Hot in Here...

2007-06-26T02:59:00.001-04:00

To Whom It May Concern:

It is hot.

And I don't mean "It is summer and I have to walk from my apartment to my car and pout until the air conditioner kicks in while swearing at whomever invented leather steering wheels that scald your hands," hot.

Oh no. It is much hotter than that.

What I mean is, "It is not even July and it has been at (or above!!) 100 degrees every day for the past week and we do not have any damn air conditioning so I'm going to sit naked directly between the fan and the open window, sweat my ass off and periodically fret about all the creepy bugs who are just thrilled that we have invited them into our home while trying to figure out if there is any conceivable way to make an air conditioner out of a cell phone, some DVDs, Tampax Tampons and a Snickers wrapper before taking my 276th shower of the day and wishing it was winter again so I can bitch about how cold it is."

Friends, this is the kind of heat I am talking about here and I am sad.

So, I've got a plan. And I think it's a good one. Y'all can send me a care package full of icy goodness! Yay! How does that sound?? It should include one or more of the following:

A snow making machine
A humongous block of ice
Three tons of Ben & Jerry's Oatmeal Cookie Crunch Ice Cream
The month of December
A glacier (penguins included)
A swimming pool
An ice skating rink (and some ice skates, size 6)
The North Pole (or perhaps the snowy peaks of Mt. Everest)
A Meagan-sized refrigerator (with air holes cut into it)
A snow-cone machine (cherry flavored, please)

In the meantime, I encourage you to have a nice cold drink, think of me... and tell your air-conditioner you love it. Go on. Give it a hug.

Sincerely,
Meag

P.S. Sometime in between all the sweating and fantasizing about vacationing in the Arctic, I will get around to uploading pictures and possibly even blogging about our trip...

Yes, yes... I know...

2007-06-11T04:24:00.001-04:00

There is blogging that needs to be done.

Plus uploading of something like 1600 incredibly interesting photos of interesting churches and interesting mountains and other very interesting things including enough interesting cats and dogs to be... dare I say... interesting?

And I hereby solemnly vow both of these things will take place this week and lo you will be excited and rejoice.

But for now, I leave you with the assurance that our trip was fabulous....

...and also with the following video. It? Is awesome.

(Note to my adorable and talented superstar: I love you!)

Blah Blah Blog

2007-05-15T11:47:00.001-04:00

You'd think with all this free time on my hands I'd update this thing more.

I mean, unemployment combined with living in Bulgaria should be good for blogging, right?

Evidently not. I don't know if you've noticed, but I am utter crap at blogging. I am not really sure why, but I offer you one possible explanation.

The Internet (especially myspace) is evil. Really. I am not making this up.

I get on the computer at, say, 10 AM and happily log into Yahoo! to check my e-mail, fully intending to work on my blog after I finish. Wow! I have a lot of people who love me!... and hmmm... looks like Paris Hilton is going to jail - hooray for the American judicial system!... and.... oh my... why on earth would anyone want $250,000 worth of Skittles? ... and.... eessssshh.... Sanjaya... and.... Prada... and Presidential candidates.... and polar bears.... and... zzzzzz..... and...

Sweet Baby Jesus! It's 5 PM! I am still in my underwear! And a tanktop! Shit! And I have bedhead! And maybe morning breath!

Then I run around all breathlessly and crazy-like, picking up Tootsie Roll wrappers, throwing dishes in the sink, brushing my teeth, frantically scrubbing myself in the shower and generally trying to make it look like I sort of had a productive day.

Ha! Just kidding! I might have exaggerated a teensy bit. Okay, a lot. And I flat out lied about the bedhead and morning breath, and maybe a few other things... Most days I do actually get stuff done. But still. I am telling you.... Evil!

So, now all because of the evil Internet (especially myspace) I am forced to update you primarily through the use of pictures. Because I am lazy.

A few weeks ago, Ryan and I spent the day in Sofia.

This is a picture of a convertible that also happens to be a police car. Parked outside what appears to be a fetish store.

I love Bulgaria.

It was Ryan's Country Director's last day in Bulgaria as he is moving back to Colorado, so we all went over to his house to eat pizza, sing songs, and say goodbye.

The next day we wanted to go to the beach. But because it was a long weekend here (due to Labour Day, I think), every single person in the entire country (and maybe neighboring Macedonia) decided to go too, so we were unable to catch a bus. Undaunted, we instead went to Gorna Oryahovitsa to indulge in some tapas and sushi with some friends.

That following Monday, we went to Samokov to visit Kevin, a friend of Ryan's, and onto Dupnitsa where Ryan gave a presentation on Safety and Security to the newest group of Peace Corps Trainees. He did a good job. I have to take his word for it, though, since he wouldn't let me watch.

I have no recollection of what we did the following weekend. None. Hopefully this is not a sign of early onset dementia....

Oh wait. I do remember. I just blocked it out. We cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned some more. For your entertainment, I now present to you before and after pictures. Clearly, we are slobs. Also lushes.

Guess which ones are "Before" and which ones are "After". Guess!

And yes. We still have our Christmas Tree up. 'Tis festive.

Scott (Ryan's friend from the States) arrived last Thursday and we've been having a grand time. I must say, though, somehow his presence has spurred an alarming and rapid depletion in the alcoholic resources of Bulgaria. I'm sure there's some sort of an explanation for this.

Anyway, less than 48 hours after Scott arrived, we headed to Nessebar, a small, but beautiful town on the Black Sea Coast.

On Sunday we had dinner at the beautiful home of an American businessman living here in Stara Zagora. It was a great time overall and our host was most gracious... and a fabulous chef to boot. I have no pictures of this night, but there was steak. Given the presence of said steak (steaaakkkk!!!), it's probably a good thing I didn't have my camera with me. Otherwise this might instead be a pictorial dedication to red meat and baked potatoes.

Tomorrow Scott and I will venture to Plovdiv while Ryan works, and then we will all head to Sofia on Friday to pick up Anna (another friend of Ryan's from the States). From there, we will embark on a 2-week vacation to Romania, Serbia, Greece and Turkey. As you can see, we're very excited.

So for now I say so long to the evil Internet (Damn you myspace! Damn you!) in favor of some fun, adventure... and probably the joys of international beer...

Here Comes The Bride

2007-04-25T17:08:00.001-04:00

Tonight we had steak y’all.

With blue cheese and caramelized onions! Steak! Steaaaaakkkkkk!!!!!

We got it here: The Forum. And It. Was. So. Freakin’. Yummy.

I also had wine. Lots and lots so I am a little tipsy at the present moment. Okay. Maybe a LOT tipsy.

But I digress.

The other day I wanted to know from where the tradition of the bride throwing the bouquet originated, and boy did Yahoo! Answers come through. Why did I want to know this?

I will tell you in a minute.

As it turns out, it really is a hell of a lot longer explanation than I anticipated and quite frankly I found myself getting distracted after the first few paragraphs (probably related to all of the wine?), but evidently it has something to do with 14th century folks ripping the clothing off of brides for good luck. Interesting, no?

Anyway, this past weekend Yana, Ryan’s coworker, got married and Ryan and I were invited. Bulgarian weddings are actually really, really cool and we had a blast. There was a ceremony via the municipality in the center of town that involved, among other things, a charming piano compilation of the “Wedding March”, “Everything I Do I Do It For You” and “Chariots of Fire”. We presented flowers to the now legally married couple and pretended we understood what was going on.

There was also a spectacularly gorgeous religious ceremony that reminded me of the myriad Greek weddings I went to when I was young and made me get all creative and stuff with the camera and want to cry except I thought I would look stupid so I didn’t. We took pictures of the now religiously married couple and pretended we understood what was going on.

And then we went to the reception. Which was amazing. Throughout which we danced, and ate, and pretended we understood what was going on.

When we arrived, there were salads and salami/cheese plates on our tables with jumbo bottles of vodka and homemade rakia (a really potent Bulgarian brandy that tastes sort of like rubbing alcohol but possibly stronger). I promptly devoured all of the salami and looked around for more. It was seriously good salami. I shouldn't have worried because later we got beer and grilled meat followed by wine and caramel torte... all yummy stuff. But the salami remained my favorite.

Bulgarian weddings typically involve a lot of tradition and this one was no different. As Yana and Nicolai entered the reception hall, a man and woman (performers dressed in traditional Bulgarian attire) performed a dance involving a white sheet and brilliant red petals to line the walking path of the new bride and groom. Yana and Nicolai (along with the Maid of Honor and Best Man) made a champagne toast to the newly married couple's happiness, and then threw the glasses over their shoulders.

It kind of surprised us too. But it was cool.

They also played tug o’ war with some sesame bread drizzled in honey. This tradition states that whoever gets the largest piece will then have the bigger role in the new family. (Although Nicolai snagged the proverbial lion's share of cake, Yana’s pretty feisty and I suspect she might have something to say about this.) There was lots of toasting and shouting of “Gorchivo”. This literally means "bitter" and is the equivalent of dinging your spoon against a glass to get the bride and groom to kiss)...

...and of course there was some horo-ing. And – oh - did Ryan and I horo! Once. We did the easy one. I’m not sure, but I do believe we made quite an impression since the DJ said "Мяваонтяо ьвнтяасхе явасносьсхъл ьавосадьоах яаоявнхяасе ьяавонхъсехвь ъхьвасехжв ьхъньасодге хх жявяаосе хвяаоскесхънх RYAN EE MEAGAN!!!” (Translation: "Bulgarian I don’t understand…. Bulgarian I don’t understand… Bulgarian I still don’t freakin’ understand… RYAN AND MEAGAN!!!")

We didn’t horo too much after that as most of them were much too confusing and it was more fun to watch than break our ankles or fall on the ground or something. But we did dance to some slow songs and get our groove on to some fast ones. And we were good, so nyah! But these gals were better.

There were some other things we didn’t quite understand (and believe me I’ve done some research and haven’t been able to figure it out). Like when the Maid of Honor (MOH) and Best Man (BM) sat in chairs as the perofrmers held out cakes, dancing in an attempt to entice them. When the MOH and BM joined in the festivities they placed money on top of the cakes trying to charm the professional dancers into giving them the treats. Even though I didn't "get it", I thoroughly enjoyed this part of the reception because it was just neat.

But the best part of the evening was when I caught the bouquet.

I need to preface this with I have always loathed this tradition. I freely admit this is mostly because I have never, ever caught the bouquet before. I am a bitter old maid. It is true. So this time when all of the single chickies lined up, I honestly figured I’d wind up in pretty much the same sad flower-less state. And I thought I didn't care.

But this time the bouquet came flying our way and I kind of raised my arms, prepared to make some sort of a half-hearted attempt at catching it.... annnnddd it.....landed on the floor.

People, I threw myself on top of it. Seriously. And then I snatched it up and sort of waved it in the air. And trembled a lot and almost cried like I had just won American Idol. (Which, I must say with their whole "America Gives Back" really did make me cry buckets last night. I am officially a FREAK.)

So I caught the bouquet. And Ryan caught the garter. And they took lots of pictures of us and said our names a few times and a lot of other Bulgarian stuff. And some little girl tried to get me to give her the flowers. She was really cute and at first I didn’t understand her. But once I did I pretended I totally didn’t because, bitch, those flowers were MINE!!! All MINE!!!

(She really was a cute little girl, though, and I felt bad afterwards... But not that bad.)

So it was fun. And since Ryan and I have pretty much decided we are getting married (maybe two years down the road... not, like, tomorrow Mom - sorry!), it gave me free reign to get all giddy about this for all of one evening. That was fun for awhile, but I think I started to freak Ryan out a little bit.

Now instead of obsessing about menu items and bridal parties (because, um, premature much??), I am reading awesome blogs like this one: Amalah: The Queen of Everything and spending some time trying to convince my old roommate Laura I am not too skinny. Okay, so this picture does make me look as though I have freakishly thin arms.

But really, I am not as skinny as it appears. We eat plenty (did you see the part about the steaaakkkkk!!!!)?? We run regularly. And THIS is a picture we took the weekend before last at the Shipka Pass. Here you can see that even though we walked up 1000 flippin’ steps, I still have my curves and my booty and all. See, Laura? I love you for caring about me, though! And - hi! - I miss you! So much! And everyone else back home too!

Here are some more pictures of Shipka Pass and Shipka, ‘cause they are pretty.

Peace Out. It is past my bedtime.

The Turtle Hunter

2007-04-12T08:30:00.001-04:00

I have a confession to make.

I have a soft spot for turtles.

This is particularly problematic for me because I used to live in Florida. There it seems turtles are of the opinion that it is perennially safe to cross major highways at Absolute Minimum Tortoise Speed. Of course this is usually not the case. You see, as I’ve already explained, Florida roadways are virtually teeming with 99-year old blind nuns, tourists who firmly believe it’s okay to drive backwards at 75 miles an hour on I-4 because they missed their exit… and... well….me. So the combination of both stupid turtles and nut-job drivers proved troublesome for me because whenever my eyes inadvertently zoomed in on one of my half-shell buddies in peril, I would inevitably feel the immediate need to launch myself like some sort of crazed PETA person from my vehicle in order to rescue them from certain death.

Naturally this sometimes this entailed me slamming on the brakes and veering off onto the side of the road to divert them to a much safer locale. On other occasions it resulted in me making slight errors in judgment like the time I made a U-turn to save my valiant turtle friend and realized it was, instead, an armadillo. As much as I wanted to help that little guy out too, I left him sniffing around on the side of the highway. I had heard that armadillos jump when frightened and quite frankly that would have sent me shrieking into the middle of the road myself, effectively thwarting all future turtle rescues. Plus, can armadillos get rabies? I think so, people, I think so… Truth be told, though, while I definitely practice caution and avoid things like frothing raccoons or ginormous snakes, my heart is big enough for virtually the entire Animal Kingdom (except most members of the arthropod community) and I have paused to offer a free ride (and a sometimes a meal or two) to anything from dogs to frogs to ducks.

Which is why I was so delighted by the Sunday afternoon I spent at the Green Balkans the weekend before last. Ryan’s friend Mindy had come to town on Saturday, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves rocking out to live music courtesy of a cover band at Club Jam that first night.

Despite the musical entertainment, however, I was already fairly preoccupied with our upcoming adventure. You should first know, Зелени Балкани (a.k.a. Green Balkans) focuses on nature conservation and restoration of habitats. And although I wouldn't necessarily qualify myself as a "tree hugger" 'cause I still prefer plastic over paper... I try to do my part and Green Balkans' mission is definitely a cause I can get fully behind. However, I was mostly excited because this organization primarily focuses on rescuing and rehabilitating injured birds of prey. A month or so ago while in Plovdiv, Ryan and I had gone into raptures over a tiny hummingbird no bigger than my thumb that flitted about a bush rather unexpectedly (we actually thought it was a bumble bee at first)… so I was quite thrilled to visit with its much larger brothers and sisters up close.

And I was not disappointed! We saw owls and storks and baby chickens and falcons and some really flippin’ big, hungry, demanding pelicans. We watched Christine feed a friendly but exceedingly noisy honey buzzard that I wanted initially to take home as a pet, but after a few minutes determined it adorable, but decidedly detrimental to both hearing and sanity. (If you watch the YouTube video below, you just might have an idea why.)

I even got to hold a turtle or two. All in all, it was a thrilling day… made more so when Shane (shades of the Crocodile Hunter... that is to say, bravely but gently, kindly and not in a manner that could at all hurt the bird) wrestled a huge golden eagle out of its cage so Christine could give it an injection of antibiotics. (Ryan should eventually post this exciting yet elegant display of Man versus Beast on his blog, found here: Ryan in Bulgaria.)

The past couple of weeks, although not typically of the “Animal Planet” variety, have been fun nonetheless. Last weekend for Easter, Ryan and I visited his friend and fellow PCV Tracy in Zlataritsa, a small town a few hours north of here. On our way to Veliko Turnovo, our transfer point to Tracy’s town, we found ourselves talking to Nicolai, a 14-year old boy who wanted to practice his English with us. Understand that Bulgaria is a relatively safe country and you will often see people leaving their babies and small children alone in their strollers outside on the sidewalk while they shop. (To try and be fair, these magazines are generally small and the children’s mothers are likely able to keep an eye on them as they pick up their milk, eggs or what have you.) It is also a country comprised of many friendly people, so it only surprised us a little when Nicolai offered his phone number to us and asked for Ryan’s e-mail. (I don’t have to tell you, I’m sure, that in the States this probably wouldn’t happen… at least not in the larger cities. No, in DC or Orlando or most urban places an older man exchanging contact information with a young boy would, at the very least, raise a few eyebrows. But we’re in Bulgaria now, so his mom beamed happily and wound up taking a picture of us with her two sons.)

Then Nicolai made my morning. He whispered something to his mom and returned to our side to present us carefully with two bright red Easter eggs. Now I was raised Greek Orthodox which is very similar to Bulgarian Orthodox. Growing up I didn’t know that not everyone ate Easter Bread with a red Easter egg in the center or engaged in the time-honored tradition whereby family members take turns smashing the ends of their eggs together until the person with the un-blemished egg is pronounced as having a year of good luck. Since they do that here too I was elated by the gift and gently held them in my hands for a few minutes, before gingerly placing them in my coat pocket for "safe-keeping".

We won’t talk about the part where I promptly forgot about them upon our arrival at the bus station, gaily flinging my coat on the bench, which I then immediately opted to exuberantly use as a seat cushion. Whoops!

At any rate, Zlataritsa is absolutely beautiful and aside from my first migraine in months that laid me flat for a few hours, I really enjoyed the trip. Although, given the predominant theme of my photos you'd think I'd never seen a damn horse before. My mom will like them, though!

Hi Mom!

I am truly chagrined that due to said headache I missed out on the Midnight Easter Vigil. The ceremony is extraordinarily beautiful and, again, very similar to the Greek Orthodox observance of the holiday. Starting at 11 PM, while Ryan and I napped, Sarah, Tracy, Maggie and Katie stood inside the church with the rest of the village, holding unlit candles. The priest lights the first few candles and as he and the rest of congregation begin sharing their flames with one another, the church slowly grows brighter and brighter. Once the ceremony is over at midnight, tradition states everyone departs the church en masse and sets out for their respective dwellings with the hope that their candles remain lit until they arrive home. While I am sad I missed this, fortunately Sarah took some breathtaking pictures.

This weekend, Ryan and I are taking a bus to Kazanluk and onto Shipka, a small mountain town with a beautiful monastery. And at the end of the month we’re hoping to head out to the Black Sea Coast for some of that proverbial R & R (not that I’m not getting tons of that right now!)

In other traveling news, next month Ryan and two of his friends from the States (Scott and Anna) will be joining us for some “nomad-ing” around Europe. We plan on going to Istanbul and Prague for sure, but are still debating the rest of our destinations. It’s looking like Thessaloniki will be one of them for the purposes of getting my visa... and Ryan is lobbying hard for Amsterdam (Never having been, I'm firmly on board for this one, too.) Perhaps Bucharest? Maybe Budapest? Who knows?

Crap. I just realized I totally forgot to write about our football-fabulous weekend Chirpan three weeks ago. Teach me to be lazy about updating my blog. Oh well. This is getting just a bit too longwinded to go into detail, but I did take some pictures (showcased below) and Ryan has a nice recap on his blog. Pay his site a visit!

'Til next time, folks.

O Solo Mio

2007-03-23T05:18:00.001-04:00

Last night we went to the opera to see La Traviata.

It was all in Italian, of course, but there were helpful translations posted on a screen above the stage. Because we are in Bulgaria they were in the fascinating, yet challenging language of Mandarin Chinese.

I kid.

They were in Bulgarian.

But since I still am working on learning the language (which I wisely accomplish by browsing the Internet all day long and trying to come up with ideas for my next blog entry), it might as well have been Chinese.

Since I had no earthly idea what was going on, in order to make the experience an interesting one for me, I came up with my own story using my vivid imagination and spot-on intuition. It went sort of like this:

Act One: There's a girl. She's rich and definitely a tease, right? And maybe a little sick, too, since she coughs and rests her hand on her chest rather frequently. But being sick sure doesn't stop her from liking parties! And everyone at the party likes the parties too because they sing a lot! Her parents want her to marry that bald guy. I wonder if that's real champagne in those glasses? I wouldn't mind some champagne right now... and maybe a cheeseburger to go along with it... Hmmm... I don't think she likes the bald guy very much... although he's kind of hot... For some reason she seems to really enjoy the company of the older guy with the beard... but wait! She totally dissed him! I'm getting pretty hungry... I wonder where we'll go to dinner after this.... Man, I'd really like a cheeseburger right about now...

Act Two: Someone writes the girl a letter and it looks like she's writing one back. She's mad! At her dad! And they are singing about how pissed off they are! She likes the guy with the beard! Not the bald guy! No Bald Guy, Dad! I know he's hot, but no! And there's a bowl of fruit! On the table! It looks yummy! But not as yummy as cheeseburgers!

Act Three: Wow. This chick sure likes parties. And - hey! - there's more singing... Lots of singing.... okay, so it's good singing... but still, there's a lot of it... and because everybody needs more Flamenco dancers at their parties there's some of them too. And cheeseburgers! No, not really. Dammit. Some guy just threw his glove on the floor! Figgghhhttt! Fiigghhhttt! Oh wait. It's over? Is it over? I think it's over... Yes! We can go EAT!!!.... Oh wait. No one else is moving.... hmmm... isn't it over?

Act Four: Act Four?? Are you freakin' kidding me? GOD, I'm hungry! Can't a girl get a cheeseburger in this joint? Aw, the girl is sick. And possibly dying. And someone really likes to write her letters because she just got another one telling her the guy with the beard is dead. But he's NOT dead! He's there! And she coughs a lot and sings about how she's not in love with the bald guy... she loves him. And then she stands up, spins around, falls on the floor and dies! Yes! Yessssss!!!!! Let's eat!!!

In all seriousness, the opera was an enjoyable experience that I plan on repeating, although I might have to do some work convincing Ryan of this. I do, however, plan on eating beforeheand next time as you might have gathered I was a little obsessed with food. Specifically cheeseburgers. This sucks since you can't really get them here, at least in this town. Instead, I had a salad. And french fries. And some hot peppers. And also some vodka mixed with a sour cherry juice that is pronounced something like Vishni. Tasty stuff, that. Almost made up for the complete and utter dearth of cheeseburgers.

And, evidently, I was also a little over-preoccupied with the bald guy. I later found out he actually had nothing to do with the story at all. I looked up La Traviata this morning (you can find it here) and learned that while I am not entirely certain what I want to be when I grow up, I can cross one thing off the list for sure. I so do not have a future in opera writing.

However, given my fledgling career as a business mogul here in Bulgaria, I am now considering using my nonprofit to bring the wonderful world of cheeseburgers to Stara Zagora.

Working for a Living... (or at least trying to)...

2007-03-13T05:47:00.001-04:00

Here’s the thing. As a United States citizen, I have 90 days out of every six months to stay in Bulgaria. Now, I can spend these 90 days as I choose. I can come in and out, enjoying 10 days here, 5 days there, another 20 over there… and so on… over the course of six months. I could frolic happily in Bulgaria for 30 days in December…. another 30 in March… and yet 30 more in June. I could even - you're going to be shocked! - come for 5 days in December and the other 85 in June!!!

…Or I could do it as I have chosen to, namely fly here on a one way ticket in December and pray to the gods and goddesses of Bulgarian employment that I find a job by March 22 thereby earning my right to stay longer. Perhaps you have noticed I have been in Bulgaria now for two months, two weeks and six days. To save you the trouble of calculating this, this amounts to exactly 80 days. Theoretically, I would have had 10 days left before I had to leave the country, returning in July for another 90 days. Naturally, this whole leaving thing did not cause me to do jumping jacks and cartwheels of joy. Mostly because, as I've learned, I miss Ryan terribly when he's thousands of miles away, but also because my bank account currently bears a strong resemblance to the piggy bank of an eight year old child and, given that, I anticipated having to explore the exciting world of hitchhiking across Europe followed by an invigorating swim to the States.

As I’ve previously mentioned, finding a job here is not easy. I’ve had a couple of offers on the table for some time, but as these companies have learned, proving (as they must) that hiring an American for the job is the best and only option is slightly more difficult. A Human Resources company tried to get me a work permit to no avail, but informed me recently they hope to start my own company for me, bringing me on board in the capacity of Consultant. I got excited until I learned that in order to use this method to obtain a D visa I would need to hire 10 – 12 Bulgarians, also paying their Social Security.

This, my friends, is hilarious. Seriously, yo, I almost wet myself. I mean, it’s cheaper to live here – sure! – but let’s be honest. I am not going to be rolling in the dough. I’ll barely be able to support myself, let alone 10 additional employees. And if I merrily handed over to each hypothetical staff member (and myself) approximately 30 leva ($20 US dollars) every month… well, let’s just say I would not be met with smiley faces and giddy hugs.

So, realizing that while I’d likely found a way to financially support myself in Bulgaria, I still hadn’t found a way to actually live here whilst doing so, I hired a lawyer who first outlined a lot of what I already knew. First step – get a D visa. (Yep, yep. I knew that.) In order to get a D visa, one must comply with one of sixteen criteria. Most of them, like being a member of the foreign mass media or, um…. say, the parent of a permanent resident, I have no hopes of meeting.

Fortunately we have determined that starting my own nonprofit/foundation is a viable course of action. It’s not the cheapest option… but it is one that allows me to stay here without hiring a host of people I can't begin to afford. So, soon I will be the CEO/Director/President/All Powerful Supreme Ruler and Queen (I’m still deciding what title I want) of my very own nonprofit agency. As it turns out, this endeavor is very exciting for me because I’m starting to consider what efforts I can put forth in conjunction with other nonprofits in Bulgaria, which in turn allows me to continue to do work I find meaningful, pleasing and important. This, while not exactly inspiring those aforementioned cartwheels (at least not yet) does make me inordinately happy and far more relaxed than I’ve been in ages.

Anyway, as I previously mentioned I went to Thessaloniki, Greece to apply for my D visa the other day. (As an aside, it is impossible to apply for a Bulgarian visa here in Bulgaria, but since I’d never been to Greece I can’t say I really mind.) Once I have the visa in hand, not only will I be running my own nonprofit, but I will also be able to apply for my lichna carta (i.e. residency card) which allows me to stay here for a year… or longer if I reapply again this time next year.

In which case those somersaults and other gymnastic feats just might ensue after all…

Back in Action

2007-03-09T08:18:00.001-05:00

Fret not, my dear and loyal friends!

Contrary to popular belief, I have not fallen into a bottomless Bulgarian pit, thus disappearing from the blogging universe forevermore. Nay! Instead I have spent the past month taking a course in Sofia. Specifically, I was in the process of obtaining the Cambridge Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults (CELTA) at AVO-3 in Sofia. As you will ascertain, due to this and other circumstances, there was not much time to be had for typing up self-indulgent (but delightful?) blog entries.

But now that I find myself once again with that elusive but much desired concept known as “free time”, I hereby present you with an informative update categorized with the aid of popular movie titles! (Exciting, yes?)

Back to School

If only I hadn’t left my camera in the back of a taxi, I’d be able to take pictures without having to borrow Ryan’s far less superior model.

Let’s evaluate this sentence, shall we? What tense is it? How about the form? Can you identify the subject, verb and object? What type of conditional clause would you say it is? And, most importantly, which camera would YOU say is better… the Canon PowerShot SD700 …. or the Casio Exilim EX Z60? Discuss, please.

Yeaaaahhh… So let me first make a confession. Up until recently I thought I knew how to speak, read and write English pretty well. Ryan teases me about being the grammar police, but the truth is I really do sometimes feel like I should have some sort of honorary badge or something because when people write things like “your funny” or “The dog ate it’s breakfast” I have to struggle not to launch into detailed descriptions of the proper use of contractions and possessives. I mean, I know I’m not, like, Hemingway or Shakespeare or Dr. Seuss or anything. I like big words, long sentences, too many commas and tend to overuse fragments to convey certain points. I’ve even been known to accidentally use “too” instead of “to” from time to time. But on the whole, I felt I had the English language pretty well under control.

To my eternal dismay, the CELTA class proved me wrong. I do not wish to bore you with the details, mostly because reliving the experience triggers my gag reflex, but I learned that those of us who use English as our native language really have no clue about all the nuances of our mother tongue. Considering I had previously thought we only had 3 tenses (past, present and future), discovering that with all of the forms we actually have closer to 12 or 15 came as a bit of a shock. It was quite humbling, actually. One of my roommates, Marina, is from Macedonia and fluently speaks a number of languages (including English). I would ask something like “So this future continuous, right?” And she would smile and gently tell me “No. That is present perfect.” As it turns out the individuals who learn English as a second language actually learn it better than those of us who learn it as a first language and much to our chagrin many of the students we taught knew grammar better than we did. This is probably not funny to you, but I assure you it is. Mostly because I envisioned myself completely at a loss, standing in front of a class saying “Um. This is a sentence. Here is the verb. And the object is here somewhere…. uhhh… okay, class dismissed! For homework write me an essay on the merits of, ummm… cheese! Yes! Tell me all about cheese!”

But I prefer not to dwell on that too much.

Anyway, we had class Monday – Friday from 9 AM – 6 PM, complete with detailed lessons on how to be an effective teacher. Additionally, we engaged in 6 hours of teaching practice and the subsequent oh-so-lovely feedback sessions where we got to hear what we did right… as well as just how badly we sucked. Because we also had to develop detailed lesson plans for the classes we taught, write thorough descriptions of 6 hours of observed lessons and come up with 4 papers on various assigned topics, there was limited time for anything but living, breathing and sleeping CELTA and gorging myself nightly on bread and picked vegetables because there had been no time to eat earlier in the day.

However, to my good fortune the people with whom I was taking the course were very supportive, enthusiastic and fun. (There was one notable exception, but I won’t go into that too much here. Let’s just say that if upon facing constructive criticism you feel the urge to disagree vehemently with the instructor, then spend the next month alternately pouting, complaining exclusively about how you're being singled out, accusing your fellow students of not supporting you and saying derogatory things about the size of the said instructor’s manhood, this class is probably not for you.)

So it was challenging… but it is also thankfully complete and the good news is we all passed and are now certified (if not entirely qualified) teachers of English!

The bad news is… I really did leave my camera (the completely awesome Canon PowerShot) in the back of a taxi and therefore, until my new one arrives, must battle Ryan for the use of his Casio. (Just kidding about the "far less superior" comment, baby! But I still maintain I am the better photographer!)

Nurse Betty

About a week or so after I got here, I came down with bronchitis. This is not unusual for me. For some reason my body tends to avoid most other illnesses such as the Bird Flu, Ebola and Sleeping Sickness pretty well… but seems to simply love bronchitis and embraces it wholeheartedly several times a year. To top it off, this time I also managed to catch the flu my first weekend in Sofia and spent two whole days in bed. Ryan was great and hung out around my apartment all Saturday and part of Sunday helping take care of me until I sent him off Sunday night to have dinner with friends and watch his beloved Bears play in (and sadly lose) the Super Bowl.

Anyway, as the flu tends to do, it went away very quickly, but the bronchitis kept getting worse and worse until I had to be forcibly urged to enter the mildly alarming world of Bulgarian Medical Care. Luckily the instructors at AVO-3 were fabulous and one of them went with me to serve as translator and, if necessary, hand-holder. Approximately 12 prescriptions, 7 doctors’ visits, 400 leva, 1 traumatic chest X-ray and a partridge in a pear tree later, I was told I had borderline pneumonia and needed to have a shunt installed in my arm so I could have daily injections of heavy antibiotics and cough suppressant administered directly into my vein.

Super!

This was not absolutely the most fabulous experience of my life, but luckily I paid for a nurse to come directly to the school so I didn’t have to spend a few hours a day at the doctor’s office, thus jeopardizing my standing in the class and forfeiting the money, time and energy I had put into the CELTA. And I tried to have fun with it! Even when the nurse had to move the shunt from one arm to the other because the first was really bruised and her (ungloved) hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t find my vein and wound up spilling my blood all over the table, I tried to view the experience with a bright spirit and a good natured sense of humor. (Ryan was there for this instance and he felt so bad for me it earned me a tasty meal at a local Chinese restaurant so dare I say it was worth it?).

At any rate, the shunt has since been removed from my arm, the drugs worked their magic and I am now feeling much better and moderately more confident in my ability to obtain quality medical care here. Huzzah!

A Clockwork Orange

You’ve heard about my driving, yes? Or perhaps you have ridden with me and are personally aware of my propensity towards speed, lots of cursing and heavy horn usage.

Have you also seen the movie A Clockwork Orange? This charming flick, brought to us by Stanley Kubrick, is about a seriously disturbed man who favors classical music, violence and rape. During a robbery (that also winds up being a murder) he is summarily caught and essentially forced into submitting to aversion therapy. He is drugged and his eyes are held open with clips while he is subjected to images of extreme and graphic violence set to Beethoven. Needless to say after this treatment he is unable to engage in any form of aggression (including self-defense) or, for that matter, acts with naked women. There is a lot more to the story, but that’s all you need to know for now.

Bulgaria’s roads are my Clockwork Orange. Every day. Cars speeding through red lights. People leaning heavily on their horns. Dogs, cats and pedestrians nearly getting run over. The sounds of gunning engines, the screech of brakes and, often, metal crunching against metal. I offer now to everyone who has ever ridden with me or come into contact with my driving in any way, shape or form a heartfelt apology because... boy do you deserve it!

You will be happy to learn that when I come home I fully suspect I will be virtually incapable of the following activities: speeding, using my horn, aggressively passing other vehicles, swearing at the driver in front of me, swearing at the driver behind me, swearing at the red light, swearing at animals that cause me to slam on my brakes, etc., etc., etc.

Aversion therapy worked for me.

Love Actually (or Planes, Trains and Automobiles)

Ryan wound up having business to take care of at the Peace Corps office the day after Valentine’s Day, so we were able to celebrate the holiday together. However, we vastly underestimated the all encompassing power of the Hallmark Corporation because evidently in recent years February 14 has become quite a popular day here in Bulgaria. When Ryan tried to get reservations a few days ahead of time, his coworker looked at him like “Uh, smoke crack much?” and advised him we were out of luck. Still, he persisted, but after a few phone calls it was revealed that the coworker was right. The entire population of Bulgaria (except us) would be dining out that evening.

Initially nonplussed, we solved the problem by getting take-away from the Taj Mahal, a fabulous Indian restaurant just up the road from my apartment in Sofia and cuddled on the couch watching movies. It was a most special Valentine’s Day after all.

We’ve also gotten to do a bit more traveling. Last Saturday the staff at AVO-3 arranged a field trip for the CELTA students to the Rila Monastery and Melnik as well as the St. Petka Church and Baba Vanga’s house in Rupite.

The Rila Monastery is located in none other than the Rila Mountains and is, as you’ll see, simply breathtaking. My fellow students, Ryan and I enjoyed wandering around the courtyards, taking pictures and dining on mekitsi (sort of a hot fried donut reminiscent of funnel cake).

Melnik, on the other hand, is the smallest town in Bulgaria boasting about 200 – 300 people, steep, winding roads, sandstone cliffs and lots and lots of wine. We had lunch in a typical Bulgarian Mehana, drank vino that was a little too grapey for our tastes, but on the whole not bad, and toured a really cool winery complete with barrels and caves (but not the bats I had been told we might see). We also got to hang our martenitsa on a blossoming tree in a courtyard overlooking the town. (Martenitsa are red and white yarn bracelets handed out on the 1st of March to celebrate the coming of spring. Ryan's blog offers a much better description here: www.ryaninbulgaria.wordpress.com)

As far as баба Ванга (Baba Vanga) is concerned, she was a woman apparently blessed with the ability to foretell the future, heal people using herbs and travel places around the world using only her mind. Whether or not they agree with the true nature of her alleged gifts, most people seem to revere her and although she died in 1996, Rupite is still a much visited place in Bulgaria featuring a church, Baba Vanga’s house and hot springs.

On Wednesday I also traveled to Plovdiv to meet up with Ryan. I really got a kick out of this city as you can find anything from Prada handbags to awesome pizza to ancient amphitheaters to roadside artists there. I loved it and I can’t wait to go back.

Despite all the fun we’re having, I’m not gonna lie; living 3 hours away from Ryan (as I did during the CELTA and probably will for the next year and a half) is not exactly easy. But it sure beats living 5,000 miles away! At the risk of sounding cheesy, I feel so lucky to be here with him. Challenges notwithstanding, we are really enjoying being here in Bulgaria together and are having fun living in the moment… as well as planning “what happens next” after Ryan finishes with the Peace Corps. Now, no firm decisions have been made, but the consensus seems to be that some time in the States is definitely in order! Our future home may be in Orlando, Florida… perhaps San Diego, California… or possibly Macomb, Illinois… who knows?

So friends and family please plan to come and visit us here before this limited time offer expires!

Employee of the Month

Wow, this is getting long and if I include details on my impending employment here in Bulgaria, I fear your eyes may begin to bleed from the tedium of reading so much in one afternoon. I will save this for later… but offer you a bit of a teaser.

I went to Thessaloniki, Greece on Monday and Tuesday to get started on my D-visa. While I will have to return one more time to pick up the necessary documents, I don’t have to leave Bulgaria long term and should soon be an upstanding (and employed) member of society. So tune in tomorrow (or maybe the next day) for more details!

I Really Need to Learn This Language...

2007-01-30T03:58:00.001-05:00

Warning: I have discovered how to turn on the Bulgarian language feature on my computer, so in reading this you have thus been warned you are now at the mercy of my burgeoning language skills. It’s way more fun if we all learn together anyway, right?

So last week Ryan had IST (In Service Training) whereby he traveled to the town of Kazanluk to participate in engaging and educational activities with his fellow B-20s (so named because his is the 20th group of PCVs to come to Bulgaria). Although I’ve been attempting to sort out employment and absolutely love living here, I’m still left with a lot of free time. It’s been a good learning experience for me, though, as I’ve come to the conclusion that I am just not cut out for the role of “housewife” and, as such, am growing rather bored with my daily schedule. Primarily it consists of:

7:45 AM – The alarm goes off; Ryan hits snooze.
7:55 AM – The alarm goes off; Ryan hits snooze
8:05 AM – The alarm goes off; Ryan hits snooze.
8:15 AM – The alarm goes off; Ryan hits snooze.
8:25 AM – The alarm goes off; Ryan decides it is time to get up
9:15 AM – Ryan goes to work.
9:20 AM – Time to check e-mail! Let’s see who loves me today!
9:22 AM – Errr… how about I scour the Internet for items of interest…
9:45 AM – Hummmmmmm….
9:46 AM – Maybe I should tidy up or something….
10:20 AM – You know, Spider Solitaire is sort of fun. I think I’ll play that for a bit.
10:30 AM – Oooh! I know! I can paint my toenails! Won’t that be fun?!?

And so on. I confess I really like the part of the day where Ryan comes home for lunch. That's always nice. But - and my former roommates Jenn and Laura knew this already - I really do not like doing the dishes to begin with and here it involves washing everything by hand. In fact, it sorely tempts me to reenact the much loved Shel Silverstein poem "How Not to Have to Dry the Dishes". (The only thing that stops me is Ryan only has, like, four plates total and I think he'd be a little distraught if I deliberately smashed them into tiny little pieces.) And since I still haven’t figured out how to operate the washing machine and Ryan is ever so much better than I am at wringing out the clothes and hanging them up to dry, I let him take care of that. However, it must be said, I am truly a genius in the kitchen and I thoroughly enjoy the cooking dinner part of my domestic duties. Most recently, we were super thrilled with the meal of buffalo chicken strips, boiled potatoes with butter and shopska salad I made last week. Ryan is a lucky man indeed.

Ahem. (For the record, I am very, very, VERY lucky too… particularly since he puts up with me telling him how lucky he is.)

Needless to say, I was quite excited about the opportunity to travel outside of Stara Zagora to see a new locale, as well as meet some of Ryan’s friends. This is when it occurred to me that I really need to work on learning Bulgarian. I did a fine job of making it to the bus station and asking for a ticket to Kazanluk. Incidentally, if you ever find yourself in a similar position, you should say “може ли един билет за Казанлък” (pronounced roughly “Mozha lee adeen belette za Kazanluk”, meaning “May I please have one ticket to Kazanluk.) So that went fine. I got my ticket. I boarded the right bus. I didn’t wind up in Mongolia or something.

But when I got to Kazanluk, I inadvertently got off at the wrong stop, which meant a slightly longer walk. Ordinarily this would not be a problem since I really do like all the walking I am doing, being that I don't have a car and I'd be scared to drive anyway since everyone here drives like me. But I misunderstood Ryan when he told me I needed to turn left once I got off the bus and so kept looking for the appropriate side street to turn down. (I later found out he meant as I come down the stairs of the bus, I should turn to my left as opposed to my right. Whoops!) This confusion, of course, resulted in me asking a bunch of people I couldn’t begin to understand for directions.

It was vastly entertaining, actually. I would approach a pleasant looking person and say in an upbeat and hopeful manner, “извинете. къде е хотел Казанлък” (“Eezvanetay. Caday ay Hotel Kazanluk?” or, in case you’re curious, “Excuse me. Where is Hotel Kazanluk”) They, in turn, would respond in a friendly and enthusiastic manner: “анохъсугв ьяавхэ ьасехов ьванесохфвл”. (Cyrillic gibberish.)

I understood absolutely none of it.

I decided at this point unless someone raised their eyebrows and said in a horrified manner “какво? хотел Казанлък?” (“Kakvo? Hotel Kazanluk?” or – for the non-Bulgarian speaking among you - “WHAT? Hotel Kazanluk?”)… followed by wild gesturing in the opposite direction, I would just smile and say… “мерси” (“Merci.” Same as in French. "Thank You")… and keep on going. It went on like this for a while. I’d stop. Ask someone where the hotel was. Nod my head exuberantly as they explained it to me. And continue walking in the same general direction operating under the assumption I'd know it if I headed right on out of town.

As an aside, I now need to explain that the nodding, in itself, is poor form, since here people nod sharply to indicate “no” and either shake their head or bobble it from side to side to say “yes”. So by waggling my head up and down at everyone, I was essentially saying “No. No. You’re wrong. That is NOT the way to Hotel Kazanluk.” or perhaps, “No. Please don’t give me directions. No! I said NO!” Fortunately for me, I gather most Bulgarians are used to idiot Americans doing this, so it wound up being okay since I also beamed widely to show everyone I was a nice person. Absolutely clueless, perhaps… but totally harmless. No, not dangerous at all. Really.

So it went until finally I came across two women crossing the street and I asked them – say it with me now - “къде е хотел Казанлък.” They looked at me like I was clinically insane… and pointed directly behind them. “Right here,” they said in English.

Oh.

As it turns out, it was a pretty big building right in the center of town and I probably couldn't have missed it if I tried. Anyway, I was actually staying at Hadzhi Eminova Kashta, a quaint (read: cheap!) little hotel near the Thracian Tombs, but Ryan and the rest of his group had accommodations at the now infamous Hotel Kazanluk, so that’s where we met up. At this point I was immensely pleased that Ryan skipped out on his luncheon to help me check in to my hotel, since it wound up being rather challenging to locate and - given my recent history - I would have likely wandered around for weeks before finding it. Also, I stupidly forgot the guide book, so I had absolutely no idea where I was staying. As you might imagine, Ryan just loved this part. Through our superior investigative skills, we did manage to track down both the name of the hotel, as well as its location (We used Ryan’s cell phone to call the number through which we’d made our reservations). It turned out that although the hotel was not as nice as where Ryan had been staying, it definitely had character and I was overall extremely pleased with my choice of lodging. I will confess I was initially a little unnerved by the padlock on the door to prevent unwanted midnight guests, as well as the blaring chalga music throughout the afternoon, but I got over it pretty quickly since it really was a cool little place.

Ryan headed back to training then, and I took a jaunt up to the Thracian tombs. A tour of the actual tombs is challenging (and expensive) to arrange, and they were closed, it appeared. This I gathered from all the bars covering the windows. I briefly debated paying to see the full-scale replica, but in the end opted not to. Following Ryan’s day of training, we took a walk through Old Town and then returned to my hotel for a quick nap, meeting up later with some B-20s for dinner and drinks. Everyone I met was very friendly and I enjoyed myself immensely. All in all, I had a great time during my brief stay in Kazanluk and look forward to returning – perhaps during the Rose Festival in the spring. And, most importantly, I was successfully able to duplicate my hotel-finding strategy on my way to the автогара ("Avtogara" i.e."Bus Station") the next day! Woo freakin' hoo!

The traveling is just beginning, too. This past weekend Ryan and I went to Veliko Turnovo... an absolutely spectacular town north of Stara Zagora. Although the weather has taken a turn for the decidedly cold, we had a great time traipsing all over the Tsarevets Fortress.... as well as frequenting the myriad (warm!) restaurants of Veliko where the food is delicious, the beer is plentiful and the views are breathtaking. I highly encourage everyone to visit me so I can return repeatedly to see more of this fabulous city.

In closing, I leave tomorrow for my month-long stay in Sofia for CELTA training. This experience should be good fun and hopefully advent the beginning of the end of my career as "Housewife Extraordinaire". Let's hear it for the possibility of gainful employment!

Mother Nature and Red Tape

2007-01-22T21:45:00.001-05:00

I freely admit I am a temperature wimp.

I love crisp, cool mornings and warm, breezy afternoons, which is why, living in Florida for the past five years, I relished October – the segue from almost unbearably hot, muggy weather to the reason for which the term “snowbird” was coined. I spent as much time as possible during the Floridian falls, winters and springs outside.

Now, summers… summers, I firmly believe, are meant to be spent in the luxury of air conditioning. Or, if I must (for the sake of female bonding), lolling about on the beach slathered in SPF 30 lotion, sipping a cold beverage and reading a book while secretly fretting over whether I’ve yet crossed the fine line between “delightfully rosy” and “positively charred”.

I have not had to really think about true winter for some time. When I first moved to Florida, I laughed at the people who moaned about the cold whenever the mercury dipped below 50 degrees Fahrenheit. The next year, I was one of them. And so I remained until I decided to move to Eastern Europe.

And when I initially arrived in Bulgaria, it occurred to me that Karma can be a wicked thing… because here? It was cold. Numb toes, runny nose, wish to God you had brought thermal underwear or tights, I don’t know, maybe leg warmers or something… really, really freaking cold. But since that first week we have been enjoying what I’ve been told is the warmest winter in years. We’re talking 50s every day. The nights can get chilly and dip into the upper 20s or mid 30s… but for the most part this has not been nearly the frigid winter I thought it was going to be. Of course lower temperatures could still be in store for us, but I’m holding out hope that I brought a bit of Orlando with me when I moved here and it is here to stay.

It’s not just the cooperation of Mother Nature… everything else is going well here, too. Er, for the most part. Specifically, there seems to be quite a bit of that proverbial red tape as it pertains to the job hunt, but hopefully that will all get sorted out shortly! I’m certain of it! Yesiree!

Okay, so it’s in fact been very frustrating. Although Bulgaria has recently joined the EU, it’s still tremendously difficult for a non-Bulgarian to actually work here. If I were a resident of one of the EU countries, things might be moderately easier, but since I am not, I must abide by the myriad rules and regulations that govern the hiring of an American. First hurdle – no more than 10% of any Bulgarian company may be a foreigner. But I really can’t find fault with this as the unemployment rate is fairly high (albeit declining) and, by all rights, a Bulgarian also meeting the needs of the organization should be hired before me. Second hurdle – I do not (yet) speak Bulgarian. I may be qualified in all other respects for a position, but unless the company deals extensively with English speaking clients, or involves actually teaching English, I do not stand a chance. Now, despite this, I’ve found a few companies/schools that are willing – and eager! - to bring me on as an employee, but as it turns out there are third hurdles and fourth hurdles… and also even fifth, sixth and seventh hurdles.

While I can understand the reasoning for the bureaucracy, it doesn’t make it any less aggravating. The biggest thing I am trying to accomplish now is to have my diplomas (both undergraduate and graduate) notarized and affixed with what is known as an Apostille by the Secretaries of State in both Florida (Masters Degree) and Maryland (Bachelors Degree). I had no idea this process even existed, but apparently it is designed to protect, rather than hinder. Luckily my totally awesome Mommy is aiding me enormously in taking care of this. Once that’s done, the documents can be sent to me whereupon I can have them translated into Bulgarian and legalized. Then they must be certified by the relevant Ministries in Sofia. At that point, I can have a school and/or company obtain a work permit on my behalf. The good news is, with a work permit in hand, I can go about obtaining a D-visa which is the gateway to being able to stay here in Bulgaria. But there’s a catch… I cannot get the D-visa here… I have to leave and visit a Bulgarian Embassy outside of the country. This means traveling to Bucharest or Istanbul or Thessaloniki… and probably staying there for the two weeks to a month that it takes to process it. After getting the D-visa, I can finally pursue obtaining my lichna karta (a national identification card required for long-term stay) which means I get to remain in Bulgaria. For little awhile, at least.... until I have to renew it, that is...

But here is yet another challenge. Without that magical lichna karta, I can only spend 90 days out of every six months in Bulgaria. Because these things take time, I’m trying to figure out some sort of a game plan if all of these processes take longer than hoped. I may wind up having to spend a month or two in Israel with my godparents as it’s much cheaper to fly there than the States… but I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, I’m just trying to enjoy myself without stressing too much about the details… Ryan keeps telling me it will all work out… and I believe he is right (Although I definitely have my moments where I envision myself clinging desperately to a border guard pleading with him to let me hang out in Bulgaria for just a few more years!) At the very least, I’ll get to do some really cool traveling… and I can’t complain about that!

Frustrations notwithstanding, the rest of my stay here has been amazing. Stara Zagora is terrific… and naturally I am thoroughly enjoying spending time with Ryan. In recent weeks I’ve hung out at the Peace Corps Country Directors’ house with some of Ryan's fellow PCVs indulging in arguably the finest chili and guacamole in creation… gone to a Bluegrass concert at a bar in Sofia… engaged in some exceedingly bad bowling (on my part) at Caribi, a super cool disco bowling alley…

...and completed a 10-mile hike through the hills of Stara Zagora with Alex, one of Ryan's site mates...

This afternoon I am going to Kazanluk to meet up with Ryan who is there for his In-Service Training. Also, this upcoming weekend we have a romantic and fun weekend planned in Veliko Turnovo, purportedly one of the most beautiful cities in Bulgaria (and possibly all of Europe).

And the adventure is just beginning. I’ll be heading to Sofia next week for a month to attend class at AVO-3 in my goal of obtaining my CELTA TEFL certification. At the very least it will be both an interesting and intense experience, but with any luck, this will broaden opportunities for me. Keep your fingers crossed! And while they are crossed, as Sofia can be quite a bit colder than Stara Zagora, let’s hope this gorgeous weather holds out!