Since I am already talking about family at home, mine as well continue. I would like to open by saying that I recently lost a popularity contest with a swimming pool. And it wasn’t a close lose either, the pool took it by a landslide. Now, I am not going to go into specifics, but certain small children should know that the swimming pool is not going to bring them sweet Christmas presents from Armenia, and should keep that in mind next time the time comes to choose. Oh, OK- just kidding, I love all you guys and will bring you Christmas presents anyway. I miss you and love you lots, and honestly probably would’ve chosen the pool over myself if given the chance. I love you!!!
For all of you who haven’t had the opportunity to use one of these awful machines, I will explain to you what an agitator is. An agitator is an old fashioned washing machine, one that is very, very popular in Armenia. Now, I was very lucky in Karenis, and since my family was so large they had a modern style washing machine. 3 months of being completely spoiled left me very unprepared for using the agitator. 4 days ago, the time came that I could no longer deny the fact that I had to do my laundry. My plastic bag that serves as a hamper was getting full, and I was running out of clothes to wear. So, I gathered my clothes and asked my host mother if I could do laundry, and explained to her that I had no idea how to use the agitator (I am not sure if it is actually called an agitator, but the name fits). Let me be completely honest when I say within the first 2 minutes I had messed up. She had filled the agitator, added soap, and told me to add some clothes. She turned her back (to fill the rinse tub), and when she turned around a minute later was yelling “che, che, che” (no, no, no) and began to pull my clothes hurriedly out. Not only had I overfilled the washer, but I had also mixed darks and lights (a BIG no no). Well. We got things together and started the machine. 7ish minutes later that load was finished. It was explained that now I had to pull the clothes out one by one, wring all the soap back out into the agitator, and then put them into the rinse tub. When the first load was out, I added a second load (then 3rd, 4th, and 5th) and turned to the clothes in the rinse tub. I then swirled around those clothes to remove more soap, and proceeded to wring those clothes out and put them in another tub. When all 5 loads were washed and rinsed, my host mother emptied the now soapy rinse tub, and filled it again. It then dawned on me that I had to rinse and wring out all my clothes again. Near the end, I believe she took pity on me (or just thought I was taking to long) and did my last few pieces of clothes for me while I went to hang everything else. Not only were my hands crazy sore for the next few days, but I also had blisters. Now not only do I have an even greater respect for Armenian women, I also know why Armenian people wear the same clothes for a few days in a row, and let me tell you, that practice is looking better and better.
In important news, I had my first session with my Armenian tutor yesterday. She is extremely nice, and for the first hour that I was there we ate watermelon and got to know one another. It was a good time. The lesson itself was good as well, we reviewed the first 3 units (which I needed) and decided that we are going to meet for 1 ½ hours on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. A pretty good schedule, plus with school starting in September, I don’t want to be too overloaded with stuff. She lives on the other side of town though, and I am going to take the bus to get to her apartment. Her apartment, by the way, is the most beautiful apartment I have seen in a long time (including in the US). It is not at all the typical Armenian ‘shank’ and I love it! I can certainly see us becoming friends, which will be fun. Let’s talk about the bus ride to her apartment though. It is quite a harrowing experience sometimes. Last time, I got stuck standing on the stairs with this big, hairy man leaning up against the pole I was using to stay upright. It is not fair that I am too short to reach the poles on the ceiling, not fair at all. It is not very expensive though, it is only 70 dram one way (1000 dram = 3 USD, figure it out). In fact, one day the only spot I could find is up near the driver, where the people pay. At one point, I ended up making change for about 15 people as they got of the bus. It was good practice, but not something I would like to do again. What is good though is that nobody recognized that I wasn’t Armenian. They just assumed that I was and handed me their 100 dram pieces. In fact, that happens on a fairly regular basis. I have been told many times that I have an ‘Armenian’ face, and can usually fool people, until, of course, I open my mouth.
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