Vera Wang Hates Your Guts

*I just got to my new host family on Thursday the 19th and I writing this on Sunday the 22nd, God knows when this will actually be posted. May if I am lucky I am guessing.* 

Today I was sitting around in my host family’s kitchen listening to the audio book, Catching Fire for the second time and playing a game on my iPod. My host mother had some of he friends over and they were gossiping about all that juicy village gossip, like the new English teacher that the village just got who it fruitier then a fruit cake. Wait that’s me. Oh well, it sounds about right. I was sitting there comfortably enjoying the voice of the person who reads the Hunger Games books, (I am not even kidding there is something about this woman’s voice that no matter what I can put it on and calm. I even use it to help me sleep if I need it. I think it’s because it reminds me of my mother reading to me or something.) and sipping my Turkish coffee. I was suddenly told to get up and fallow these women. My host father’s army camo coat was thrown on me and we trudged out into the muddy street. My poor L.L. Bean slippers getting caked with dirt. We ended up at the next house over, that the night before I had been able to hear in my bedroom music blasting from well past midnight.

We were lead upstairs and it was explained to me that this was a wedding supra. “Oh dear God,” I thought. Let me explain a supra to you, non-Georgian customs knowing people out there. It is basically another term for celebration or party. There is normally copious amounts of food and alcohol. There is one person who controls all the toasts, and there for the drinking. (I forgot the term for this person.) They fill glasses somewhere in size between a shot glass and a small glass, full of wine and you are suppose to drink it all in one go. Almost all of the wine you drink at a supra is home made as well, so I am guessing that most of it is stronger then the normal store bought stuff. There is also hard alcohol called cha-cha that again is normally home made. I’ve heard it is kind of like moon shine. I normally shudder and shout “ARA, ARA!” when ever anyone even mentions it. I am deathly afraid of drinking this, or anything in front of any Georgians except for my friend Keti, who lives in Ukraine, especially after an epic night in Tbilisi last month where I drank a whole bottle of wine, tripped with my leopard stilettos on and fell right on both my knees, ripping a hole in my leggings and then getting a taxi back home with a bunch of my protective brotherly like, volunteer males. You see the taxi driver didn’t know where to go and I nicely asked him if he knew Russian and he shouted at me “NYET RUSSKIE!” My drunk feelings were very hurt. I was just trying to flipping help. I might want to add that I know like three words in Russian and one of them happens to be the word for tea. I know that would have gotten us where we needed to have gone if had let me talk. So I have made an ass out of myself in front of at least one Georgian at this point and I really would like to not repeat it anytime soon. I do it enough sober. 

Back to the supra. I was lead into a room that was filled with a long table, covered with food and had benches on either side. The room was cold, with huge cracks and water stains all over the wall. What the room lacked in American comforts, such as heat was made up for in the company. I sat down on one of the benches between my host mother Bella, and her friend. They started pilling different Georgian food on to my plate. I had just eaten lunch an hour before and had coffee with little cakes after that and here I was eating again. Do not get me wrong, I am in love with Georgian food and the fact that I basically just have to walk into a room and someone asks if I want to eat or not. I am not in love with the fact that I keep wearing my “fat jeans” because they are still a little loose and I don’t want to strain my other jeans and rip them when I still have months before I can get back to Gap in America to replace them. Also I am slightly worried about my supply of leggings as I came with four good pairs and I have already put a hole in the knee of one of them. I have a whole system of what and when things can break down until I can at least go west to an H&M. Also if you are coming to Georgia to see me a great gift would be a new dress, leggings or jeans with some Starbucks on the side. Dear God I am rationing my clothes. The horror for a Gap employee. (I know they are going to take me back so I can say that I still work for them. I also still have my name tag and employee card, both of which are with me here. I am thinking it will come in handy for a costume party or something.)

Again, back to the supra. I sat there trying to eat my food slowly so I wouldn’t be fed too much and tried to keep from freezing. I sat watching the toasts that I had no idea what was being said, but it was amusing and energetic for the most part. My host mother then suggested that I go get my camera and take pictures. She is great really. Her English is about on the same level as my Georgian, meaning we don’t know much, but I always seem to be able to make out what she is trying to convey to me. 

I ran next door to grab my camera and change into my own coat and also my boots so my feet would be warm and I wouldn’t have to worry about the mud. When I got back the men who had been drinking seemed so much more excited about me taking their pictures then perhaps the rest of the wedding party. One nicely intoxicated man kept trying to talk to me in Georgian from across the table and toast to me about America and Georgia. They also asked me if I liked Russia and of corse I gave the obligatory “Russia is bad!” comment and face, (I have never been to Russia, there for I am not yet ready to pass judgement on a whole nation.) and then I said I love Georgia.

I was then encouraged by said nicely intoxicated man to do a linked arm toast with him. For the amusement of everyone at the supra I went along with it. Trying to do this when both parties are speaking the same langue would confuse me anyways I think, throw in someone who only speaks Georgian. Forget about it. I giggled my whole way through it and gave expressions to the on lookers that I had no idea what I was doing, but I would play along. My male counter part drank all of his wine in one go and I drank about half, but he would not unlink arms with my until I had finished my whole glass. I drank up and at that point in time I was secretly thanking myself for drinking vodka straight in Ukraine, so downing wine was now no issue for me and give people another reason to laugh at the silly American.

(Getting a kiss on my cheek after the toast)

I then went into a bedroom with my host mom and some other females and warmed up around a wood stove for a bit. Music then started playing and I was asked to do Georgian dancing. The only dancing I do is in the back of Gap Kids when I have ODed on coffee and no one is looking or when I am I getting dressed. I thought to myself “Why the hell not? They will soon see that I am indeed not a natural for this dancing and leave me be after they are done laughing.” My plan worked quite well after a few minutes. They could see that I clearly could not dance Georgian or other wise. I feel both parties had won.

After that my host mother took me back home. I had gotten out of my first wedding supra easy. I find it some what amusing that Georgians have three basic goals for me when I am here. One: To teach everyone English, which I think I can handle. Two: Feed me to death, it doesn’t look good if your volunteer looses weight, even if they were over weight to start with. Three: Find me a husband. (Also I am sure Mama Otter is in on this one too, but I know she is looking for someone who is well, a little more American then Georgian. I know it’s the whole not wanting grandchildren 9,000 miles away.) My first day at school they asked if I was married and I said no. Then they asked if I was single and I said yes. Then they asked how old I am and I said 23. To most of my co-teachers it’s about time for me to get on it and find a husband or I am going to live with my parents forever. I told them I might get married by 25. (HA!)  So Georgia here is my deal I am going to make with you, stop feeding me so much so I can look good in a Vera Wang wedding dress then maybe we will talk about me getting married, until then I will keep deflecting marriage offers. Deal?