I Am Not a Teacher

This American Life

2011-12-15T21:20:00.003-07:00

I am so unhappy and frustrated. Something's gotta give...

Full Plate

2011-12-04T16:53:00.000-07:00

I'm not really a joiner. I'm not on social committees. I don't volunteer my time, services, or talent at work functions. I don't offer to bake, cook, decorate, or otherwise make merriment in social settings. I like to think showing up is enough. Except when it comes to vacations. My holiday mishaps are well-documented here and here, but for some insane reason I inexplicably take the driver's seat in all matters of travel planning. (Let it be known the one vacation I didn't plan -- three weeks in Thailand and Cambodia -- was markedly hassle-free. Wake-up call? As if.)

Nearly six years ago I took a week to explore the city of Paris with three other awesome travelers. After the flight from hell with Lieutenant Dan, the No-Armed Man, I should have known this holiday was doomed from the start. But let me back up even more.

Throughout February and March of 2006, my SuperFriend Dawn and I set about planning our epic adventure. Rather than bunking at an over-priced, potentially shabby hostel, or an impersonal hotel, we decided to rent a flat for the week. We pored over maps, Lonely Planet guides, and websites comparing Parisian arrondissements, finally deciding (arbitrarily, I'm sure) on the 10th. We picked a flat, emailed the proprietor for price, and with a small deposit, secured a two-bedroom apartment for the week. We were invincible. At this point, Dawn was preparing for graduation, so I took the helm.

I mapped our route from Charles De Gaulle to Place de la République. I knew how to buy metro tickets, where to catch the train, and how to find our flat in the maze of Parisian alleys. And in a stroke of geniosity, I offered to take everyone's cash payment for the flat. This was a coup for me, as it was a means to make my monthly credit card payment, figuring I'd just use said credit card to pay the remainder when we arrived. Smart, right?!

The universe was quietly conspiring against me in oh so many ways.

In 2006 I was very self-involved and as such will use that as an excuse for why I had no clue THIS was going on. "Loi pour l'égalité des chances" or The Equal Opportunity Law was introduced in France and was immediately met with much opposition, especially from twenty-somethings for whom it was a gigantic threat to job security. And so they took to the streets in protest as only the French can. Protests were held once in February. Then a few more in early March. By mid-March, things were really heating up with events taking place on the 16th, 18th, 21st, and 23rd. By this time the world began to take notice. By the world I mean ME.

I heard rumblings of a "Fourth Official Day of Protest", but in true youthful fashion adopted an "It does not affect me" attitude and brushed off any concerns. Fast forward through the Flight from Hell with Lieutenant Dan, the No-Armed Man. Upon landing at Charles de Gaulle I saw this:

Innocuous baggage claim sign. Except the one I saw had MY name on it, specifically asking ME to see a baggage claim rep. Fantastic. (I actually took a picture of it before I realized what it really meant: my luggage was doomed. Must have purged the pic in a fit of rage.) No worries. After an hour of waiting somewhat patiently, my luggage was found in the belly of the plane. On to the metro.

The girls and I schlepped through the *mostly* barren airport, down to the platform, in search of the train station. We found it empty. Empty of people, empty of trains, empty. FUCK. So we searched for a bus station. And a cab stand. Basically any form of transportation that would take us the hour trip from the airport to Republique. At this point we'd been in the airport for close to three hours. We were jet-lagged, frustrated, and physically exhausted from dragging luggage to and fro. And then someone mentioned that whole protest thang. Suddenly the puzzle pieces fell into place -- the "official day of action" was today. And it called for a strike among all transportation unions. Fantastic.

Once again we waited patiently. I have no idea how long. Forever, maybe. Eventually a train did show up. Thankful for any form of transportation into the city, we took it. And because it was the only train running we were packed like sardines (excellent prep for Asia). It was slow. Each stop lasted five to ten minutes. More and more people crammed in each time the doors slid open, but eventually we reached our stop: Gare du Nord. By this time we'd been in the country for close to five hours. We were exhausted, but not yet defeated.

Upon exiting the metro we were confronted with this:

Police in riot gear, bottle-tossing protesters, tear gas. You know, general mayhem. The streets were clogged with ambulances and police cars, protesters and newsmen. Businesses and storefronts were shuttered against the action. The inaugural baguette was apparently out of the question. Battered and exhausted but still not defeated, we trudged on. It was at this point, however, that Dawn decided she'd rather be part of the protest than go hunting for our flat. She handed off her luggage to Vivi and vowed to meet us back here in an hour.

I. COULD. HAVE. KILLED. HER.

Cold, tired, lost, scared shitless, and lacking even a modicum of French, I handed the reigns to Anji. Find our flat, I told her, and fast. Fast turned into another hour as we were forced to navigate around barricades erected to contain protesters. And then we found it:

Getting in was a whole other issue, as was dragging luggage up a five floor walk-up. Our landlord had planned to meet us with a key, but seeing as how it had taken us nearly six hours to arrive, she took off. I rang her up and within minutes she was there, ready for a cash payment. WHAT?!?

If you've made it this far, congratulations. You're probably thinking, "Mindy, you are an idiot. Do not plan anything again. Ever." And you would be right, because what happened next made me shake my fists at the sky -- I was ROBBED.

Kidding. Kind of.

After repeated attempts to elicit cash from the ATM using both my debit and credit cards, I called Chase who proudly informed me that my accounts had been frozen due to "irregular activity." They would, of course, be happy to reinstate all accounts -- tomorrow. My head hung in shame, I told the ladies if they wanted to sleep in a bed (as opposed to the streets of Paris) they'd have to pony up their spending money. Among the three of us (remember, Dawn was in French solidarity mode), we managed to pay for the flat, but not before I endured much shame and humiliation at my stupidity.

Thankfully we managed to find Dawn amid the chaos, and even found that inaugural baguette I'd been craving.

Every March, I get an email from one of these ladies proclaiming, "We should have a reunion in France!" They must be out of their minds.

Story Story Blog

2011-12-04T13:24:00.000-07:00

Once a month I attend a live storytelling event called Story Story Night. Each month is themed and contributors are asked to tell a true tale, live and on stage, without notes. Submissions are taken from anyone, but only three are chosen as featured storytellers. Once a month I trek downtown to hear true stories from friends and strangers alike. Some months the stories are ho hum. I listen merely because I like to hear stories, and also it takes a whole helluva lot of guts to share a piece of your life with a room full of strangers. The least I can do is listen respectfully.

Some months the stories are powerful and moving. They strike a chord in me so intense I think maybe I could tell my stories. I mentally dig through my past, searching for a story that relates to the month's theme. I craft a tale in my head fit for an audience, searching for just the right adjective or phrase... and then I lose my nerve.

So maybe I'll post those stories here, as a sort of Story Story Blog. If I give myself assignments, maybe I can get my ass in gear.

Maybe.

Thanksgiving 2011, American Edition

2011-12-04T12:28:00.000-07:00

Holy hell, how did another two months pass me by?! So much for that whole "blogging on a regular basis" blasphemy. Ah well, here's to new beginnings, however fleeting...

As per usual, I'm over a week late on this whole Thanksgiving blog business. This year has been a trying one -- one big move across the Pacific, hundreds of sent resumes, countless sleepless nights spent worrying and fretting, a handful of nerve-wracking interviews, four spare rooms and three jobs later -- and I'm still here. Everyday, it seems, I question my decision to come home, but for what it's worth, I have a shit ton for which to be thankful this year.

Let's get this bitch started.

More than ever, I am thankful for my family. Without their financial, emotional, and logistical help, I prolly would have absconded back to Korea six months ago.

I am forever thankful for my dad and stepmom who so graciously lent me their "spare" truck for SIX WHOLE MONTHS, no questions asked. I took them to dinner as a thanks, but I'm pretty sure one meal at McGrath's Fish House ≠ six months' car rental fees ;)

I am thankful for my mother who always lends an ear to my emotional meltdowns. I seem to have an existential crisis about once a month, and moms is always ready to support even my most outlandish musings.

I am thankful for the Becks, who let me live rent-free for a whole summer so that I might save enough cheddah for a shiny new car. And as if rent-free wasn't good enough, they also have an in-ground pool. Can you say awesomely generous?!

I am forever thankful to my Summer School Partners in Crime, Karen and Kristi. Just as my Korea money dried up, they swooped in and offered up my summer school position, no interview needed. Thanks to their generosity, my summer diet consisted of way more steak and way less ramen. *Sidenote: Karen and Kristi were my intern supervisors during my senior year in college. Still willing to employ me seven years later? Fuck yeah.

I am thankful for the California Cheezeburgers. Although it seems the entire bar hates us, I'm happy to be a member of the winning-est trivia team at Pengilly's Tuesday night Booze Clues. I like to think without my knowledge of inane pop culture, reality TV stars, and world capitals they'd be just another trivia team, but in reality, the collective Cheezeburgers know way more about way more than I could ever hope to. Also, suck it, Bologna Express.

And I am thankful for facial hair. I lived in Asia for three years. 'Nuff said.

On a totally unrelated note, a friend asked why I'm no longer blogging. I want to, I replied, as it can be incredibly cathartic. However, for so long this blog was a place to share all the ridiculous cultural mishaps living in a foreign country afforded me. Making cultural mishaps is still my specialty, unfortunately in America it's called "being an ass."

some days i think helen keller had it good

2011-09-18T11:24:00.001-06:00

"i always try to post really positive stuff on my facebook. i know people read that and will just think i'm a downer, so i always try to keep it positive."

and:

"why don't you look up the word redemption and see if it means to you what it means to me."

and:

"i really like pirate jokes. i try to post as many as i can on 'talk like a pirate day'."

sometimes i REALLY miss language ignorance.

on another note, i bought a new car. i'd post a pic here, but me and cameras are on a break right now. besides, my bad decision-making is already well documented on the interwebs. no need to add "$12,000 hyundai" to the mix, am i right?!

if the shoe doesn't fit, throw it out the window

2011-09-12T20:50:00.002-06:00

mundane in america. that should be the new title to this blog. because that's what life is now -- mundane. i go to work. i come home from work. occasionally i party. sometimes i get laid. more often than not i find myself eating shitty fast food on my way to or from the suburbs. i play bocce ball in the parent's backyard. i avoid my brother and his wife. i am privy to the inane conversations that fill coffeehouses.

in short, i am bored. sometimes, literally to tears. this morning i found myself sniffling in the parking lot, whilst i readied myself for the bi-weekly staff meeting. saturday, i wept while en route from a family friend's mundane 50th birthday party. last week i wept whilst shopping for a cocktail dress.

you see, i am not exactly lacking in the social outings department, it's just that i'm finding these activities incredibly boring and not exactly blog-worthy. mayhaps i should take a break. like a really, REAL break. so that i may gather my thoughts and focus. because, truth be told, the "i am not a teacher" moniker still fits. i am NOT a teacher. but i'm not sure i'm a blogger either.

stay tuned...

TP is a right, NOT a privilege!

2011-08-20T03:23:00.004-06:00

Dear America,

In these tough economical times it is somewhat hard to find things for which to be thankful, especially after living in a foreign country that provided solid health care, pension, and a steady paycheck. But tonight, America, you really did me a solid. In a crowded bar, full of drunken chicks and karaoke amateurs, your bathroom toilets did not overflow ONCE! And you provided not one, but two rolls of toilet paper. And PBRs were less than $3. OMG, it's as if the heavens opened up and rained good fortune upon me and my drunken brethren. That, and I got to stalk my secret crush, Josh Gross.

So yeah, Friday night WIN.

Stay classy, America.

Love always,
Mindy

All I Really Need to Know, I Learned in Summer School for Adjudicated Juveniles

2011-08-11T00:17:00.001-06:00

When the end of days happens and our life blood, the sun, finally burns out, we will only need to turn up the dial on our heaters in order to survive. Apparently things like photosynthesis and the food chain and, well, HEAT, are not necessarily essential to life on Earth.
The big toe is the captain of the foot.
Penguins do not separate themselves into Bloods and Crips.
Papier mache snakes and papier mache blunts look surprisingly similar. And requiring a google search for "brown snake with red head" will not stop students from crafting the world's largest blunt whilst at school.

And speaking of crafts...

15 year old boys are apparently misinformed about the female genitalia. At least one of them believes our ladyparts include teeth. I've never used the term "vagina dentata" so many times in my entire life.
"Dude" and "Dawg" are appropriate ways to address your teacher.
There are no beavers at the Boise Zoo, animal or otherwise...
Not all of America's youth are apathetic, ill-informed assholes. At least one of them warranted the nickname "Wikipedia".
Krista Beck will henceforth be known as "that hot teacher lady".
When students are afraid to try, say, welding, they will get all rule-abiding on your ass and ask to sign a waiver. There are no waivers in Summer School for Adjudicated Juveniles.
It is perfectly acceptable to teach students swear words in a foreign language.
Apparently it IS humanly possibly to eat an entire bag of Sara Lee cinnamon raisin bagels in one sitting.
Dr. Pepper is the breakfast of champions.

And the number one thang I learned in Summer School for Adjudicated Juveniles:

No, you will never use quadratic equations in your adult life. Yes, you still have to learn them.

Here's to five, yes FIVE summers with the cream of the crop.

I'm BAAAAACK!

2011-08-01T22:06:00.001-06:00

*Knock* *Knock*

Hello? Hello..?

*KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK*

Oh, it's you. Long time no see, eh? You've missed me, you say. Been wondering what I've been up to since last we met?

Hmmph.

Well, it's been a long, uneventful four months, but I am officially BACK. As of today, I will again try mah hand at blogging. But not right now. Right now I must resume my duties cleaning out the pantry and consuming every Law and Order SVU on cable TV. This is also known as "house-sitting".

Stay tuned...

The Grass is NOT Always Greener...

2011-04-27T01:57:00.001-06:00

Screw you, WordPress.

My foray into the world of WordPress was fleeting. Once I imported this here blog and discovered I'd lost videos like this and this and of course, this, I realized there was no way I could abandon all my hard work. (And by hard work, I obviously mean recording my students fellating popsicles and imitating enraged felines whilst sitting on my ass.) Besides, all those gadgets and widgets and themes were just too fucking big city for this girl. I'll take my small town Blogger with her simple themes any day.

I'm sorry I cheated on you, Blogger. I promise to blog with you, and only you, as long as we both shall live.

And also, I'm officially blogging from America!*

*So long as I'm gainfully employed with kick ass health insurance within the next 60 days.

Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we...

2011-04-17T11:12:00.000-06:00

Today, I miss my *Korean Life.

Sperm and egg kimchi bokumbap

Makin' banana bread at Stone's Kitchen

Social sleeping in Pyeongchon

Casey the Spy

Chucks at Weekend at Sunny's

Another lifetime at Uncle Don's Bar

Go Stop at Gwangali Beach

That's "gracamoie" to you

Fried chicken nuggets and tater tots at 4AM? Of course.

Lotus in my 'hood

The time I killed Marty at Sunday Funday

Mustaches for Dawn and me

The Family Mart snowman

Raiden the Spiderkitty!

Taylor Swift at Olympic Stadium

So close!

Jamie's mango vagina. Bus rides are boring, y'all.

All these pics were taken with my shitty LG Compact Tomb (yes, that's its real name) over the course of three years.

*I don't really miss Korea, just my life there. A fine distinction...

Odds and ends

2011-04-08T12:48:00.006-06:00

I'm not in university, but damn, it FEELS like I am. I've been studying like a mad woman for the past five weeks for a job that I kinda *really* want.

See, the day I stepped foot in America, I scored an interview with the Boise Police Department. I know, don't let your jealousy overwhelm you. Anyway, because the county is super efficient, they set the interview SIX WEEKS out. Mayhaps they knew that although my University diploma says I'm well-versed in the workings of the American Criminal Justice system, at this point I'm more familiar with Konglish Interpretation and Charades with six year olds. Anyway, I've been trying my damnedest to use this time wisely (and we all we know I usually squander my free time here). In the past five weeks I have:

Comprehensively reviewed Idaho domestic violence laws, stalking statutes, and rape statutes. Did you know a man can't legally be raped in Idaho? Just a bit of food for thought...
Reviewed Idaho criminal, civil, and juvenile court procedure. Did you know that when a defendant is found "not guilty" their bond is exonerated or returned? I always wondered what happened to all that cheddah.
Compiled a comprehensive list of all community resources available to victims of domestic abuse and sexual assault. Did you know the WCA offers *free* domestic violence and sexual assault orientations to the public?
Attended an informational tour of the Women's and Children's Alliance. Did you know these are offered once a month and are totally free to the public?

AND,

Rode along with my Favorite Boise Police Officer as he patrolled the valley last Saturday night. Did you know my ex-boyfriend has been arrested no less than a dozen times in the past three years? (Okay, so that one's not really educational so much as it is oddly satisfying.)

The rest of this week is wicked busy, as I have an un-related job interview on Wednesday; a domestic violence orientation that same evening; a tour of FACES, a local family advocacy and education service center; and an observation at a domestic battery hearing. In addition, I've started writing down potential questions and answers so that I am fully prepared for this damn interview.

Wish me luck!

NEVER be lenient with chickens...

2011-04-02T09:46:00.003-06:00

This is what I've learned on the Urban Farm, more widely known as the Armagost/Jones home. My friends are vacationing in Korea and Japan, and while they're off galavanting in the Far East, I've been relegated to the task of urban farming. Most days this only includes feeding and watering five chickens, two cats, and one three-legged dog. But there's been a mutinous air about the farm recently. Stella, the black and white hen who obviously rules the roost, somehow convinced the other chickens to break free! So yesterday, in the blustery rain, I chased five chickens in circles, trying to regale them back into the coop. With all the feisty hens safely pent-up, the sun broke through and this is what I got:

Also, I took all these shots with my brand-spanking-used Sony Cybershot. I bought it off a guy on the street for $45. Not bad, eh?!

Speaking Easy

2011-04-01T09:11:00.003-06:00

`A few weeks ago, before I left Korea, I told a friend I'd try to submit a piece to Speakeasy, a magazine for expats and Koreans in Seoul. Each issue has a theme, and last month's was "Plan B", something with which I feel VERY familiar right now. I hope you like it.

I am knee deep in Plan B, but I always have been. Allow me to elaborate.

Plan A is Successful. She sets goals and completes tasks. She is prepared. Plan A has guts, bravado, courage, forthrightness. She does research, makes lists, checks them twice. Plan A returns phone calls. She has an impeccable resume and she knows how to use it. Plan A is never called a flake, always meets deadlines, and most certainly never has to be asked twice to pay her internet bill, as it is late again.

Plan A is Confident. Plan A has shiny hair and well-manicured hands. When she smiles her eyes crinkle and her teeth sparkle. When she walks, her spine is straight, her shoulders are back, her steps quick and sure. Plan A wears pearls and carries Coach. Her chinos are always perfectly pressed, her cardigan the precise shade of success. Plan A is never disheveled, always looks refreshed, and most certainly does not know the meaning of “No Shower Monday”.

Plan A is Healthy. Plan A takes care of her body. She moisturizes and exfoliates and always brushes her teeth before bed. She dutifully puts in her time on the treadmill and knows how to say no to shitty Korean birthday cake. Plan A loves kale and asparagus and quinoa. She reads Fit magazine during the morning commute. Plan A knows her limit and respectfully declines when she’s “had enough”. Plan A never gets tanked on Sunday night, always hits the gym at 6 AM, and most certainly never engages in such debauchery that she vomits in her own bed.

Plan A is Desirable. Her class and elegance are admired by women, her firm ass and pert breasts lusted after by men. She is universally liked and respected. Plan A knows when to flash a toned thigh to get what she wants. She never lies on her Match.com profile and rarely disappoints in person. Plan A is well-rounded. She embraces the arts, history, and literature. Plan A never stumbles over her words, always knows how to ask for what she wants in bed, and would most certainly never shuffle down Gangnam-ro in a walk of shame.

Plan A is the epitome of aspiration and hopefulness. She is my best foot forward and my blind optimism. Plan A is my ideal self, and for a few fleeting moments every morning she exists. When the beep of my alarms sounds and I roll over to greet a new day, Plan A is in full effect. I am successful, confident, healthy and desirable. My hair is shiny, my eyes are bright, my wit and charm are irrepressible.

I am Plan A and I am invincible. That is, until I hit the snooze button for a solid 30 minutes before floundering out of bed with just enough time to wash the bed sheet creases outta my face, slap on a smudge of make-up, and race out the door to catch the 144. Plan A may be successful, confident, healthy, and desirable, but Plan B’s a tenacious stalker who always snares her prey.

You can check out the rest of this issue and past issues at www.speakeasyseoul.com.

Welcome to Adulthood

2011-04-01T00:35:00.000-06:00

A few days ago I got to play counselor to a former summer school student, at which time I said her current group of friends suck and politely told her "you are who you hang out with." Wise words, Ms. Page. Mayhaps I should be taking my own advice...

Enrique Iglesias wants to f*ck me

2011-03-25T17:44:00.000-06:00

So I came home to no job, no car, and no place to live, but at least I've got this:

Mindy's Super Scientific Analysis of America's Lifeblood

2011-03-24T17:05:00.002-06:00

I never intended to go this long between posts, but the weeks leading up to my departure from Ko-ree-yah were so freaking busy. Somehow, in the span of three years, I managed to create a busy, frenetic, and demanding social life (read: full of beers and food) that I had zero time to sit down and compose my thoughts. Go figure. Besides, I suspected that if I had, it would have just turned into one giant crying lag. And no one wants to read my bitching and moaning, especially as it comes just one short year after I was bitching and moaning about how I loathed Seoul. So yeah...

Anyway, there are lots of things I fully intend to write about, but they are not for today. Today is for coffee. Specifically drip coffee, the kind Korean baristas *foolishly* make to order, then charge exorbitant prices for, all in the name of exclusivity.

As you well know, I had a love affair with my local Starfucks. It was warm and cozy and full of squashy armchairs that were perfect for Sunday afternoon lounging. It was usually packed full of studious yet fashionable Koreans chattering away or sleeping. Sometimes both. And it was familiar. Hell, I spent the entire month of December 2009 hooked up the their wifi, as mine was unceremoniously cut off when I didn't pay the bill as I was saving all my won for knockoff Rolexes in China. Starfucks even saved my life once, but that's another story.

Anyway, I knew if I was to be successfully unemployed for any amount of time, I was gonna have to make job searching my full time, well, JOB. Coffee shops make the best offices, so each morning I have dutifully rolled outta bed, showered, and hightailed it out the door. However, I was heartbroken to find my favorite Starbucks on Capital and Idaho had closed. I looked up the street, sure another would be just around the corner. Nope. There are zero Starbucks in downtown Boise. Extremely sad, I quietly ducked into Java down the street and realized coffee shops in Boise are, for lack of a better word, quaint. If I spend more than one consecutive day in any shop, the damn baristas start asking all kinds of questions about my bizness. Do not like. So in addition to my job searching, I have embarked on a super scientific analysis of downtown coffee shops. I'ma call it:

Drip Coffee is a Right, NOT a Privilege!

Mindy's Super Scientific Analysis of America's Lifeblood

(For the record, I would have included pics, but I dropped my shiny new Nikon in a frothy beverage on dollar beer night. And I have a Cricket phone sans camera, which kinda says a lot about my life right now...)

Up first, Starfucks on Broadway

Kick Ass!:

$1.50 for a cup of joe, but I had to ask the bitchface barista for a ceramic mug (drip coffee in a paper cup is just sad, y'all)
The setting was familiar, as I spent many afternoons studying here in my formative years
I got to listen to a set of parents ream their son about his meager class load
Free parking

Blows Chunks:

Remodeling = zero squashy chairs
Natural light is nonexistent. I know I'm supposed to be job searching and all, but sometimes I need a "reading/drawing ridiculous Easter cards" break
Full of crusty old professors

Flying M at 5th and Idaho
Kick Ass!:

By far the cheapest cup of joe at $1.35
No need to ask for a ceramic mug at this trendy joint, they KNOW I wanna save the world
UH-MAZINGGG gift shop
It hasn't changed much since I started haunting the place in junior high
Most excellent people watching...

Blows Chunks:

But, ugh, this place is full of hipsters
Gotta pump the meter or park a few blocks away (maybe that should be a positive...)
No liquid sugar

Java at 6th and Idaho

Kick Ass!:

$1.45 for a cup of joe
Good mix of students, grown-ups, and downtown freaks
Liquid sugar!
Ceramic mugs are a given

Blows Chunks:

Pumping the meter, AGAIN
Ummm, it's not Starfucks?

Tully's at Capital and Idaho

*I should hate this place on principle because they ousted my Starfucks, but...

Kick Ass!:

I cannot remember the price, but the blueberry and white choco scone was fan-fucking-tastic
I ran into Miss Amanda Morgan there!
Liquid sugar

Blows Chunks:

IT IS NOT STARBUCKS

Big City Coffee at Grove and 15th

Kick Ass!:

Unlimited free parking!
A most excellent deli case with amazing-looking sammies
A big 'ol bay door that opens to the street in summer
No need to ask for ceramic mugs, that's all they've got

Blows Chunks:

At $2.07, by far the most expensive cup of coffee out there
AND, I had to pour it myself. WTF?!
Not only did they not have liquid sugar, they only had sugar packets. Double WTF?!

Moxie Java at 6th and Main

Kick Ass!:

$1.43 for a cup of joe, but I had to ask for a mug
I've been sitting here since 2PM, (basically alone as this place is D.E.A.D.) and the barista doesn't seem to mind my intrusion
Moxie is a local joint, and since everything else in Boise as gone tets up, I feel good supporting the underdog
Mariah Carey's Make It Happen is playing right now!

Blows Chunks:

This place is seriously dead. How in the world are they still open??
Closing time is 6PM (although, in light of the extreme lack of customers, I suppose I can see their point)
Pumping the meter, again. BUT my friendo Dave is a meter maid in my lot. Mayhaps he'll cut me a deal...
Where the fuck is the bathroom? I have to pee like a damn racehorse

In my scientific opinion, which is based mostly on whim, liquid sugar availability, and the dreaded parking sitch, Big City Coffee should win, hands down.

However, (and it's a big however) I just overheard Supa Cool Moxie Barista say to his skater BF that THIS Moxie is the Original Gangsta! Yep, the first one! Hot damn, that deserves some extra points, right? That, and the fact that it's closing in four months. That's like the fat white girl on American Idol announcing she's got cancer. How do you NOT give her the win? So...

Moxie at 6th and Main FOR THE WIN!

(I guess)

Tomorrow I'ma continue my analysis at Dawson's at 8th and Bannock. They better have liquid sugar.

Avocados and Quinoa

2011-02-20T23:49:00.000-07:00

Job hunting has mostly been fruitful and I'm feeling cautiously optimistic. However, as I type this, I'm seated in my cozy classroom, listening to The Whitest Boy Alive while fielding grammar questions from a class full of first graders. So yeah, my job is pretty cake at the moment. Why on Earth would I ever return to The Land of the Living? I've been asking myself that same question for awhile. I think it's so I can eat avocados and quinoa whenever I damn well please.

When I know the answer definitively, I'll get back to you...

My time is running out...

2011-02-20T23:41:00.002-07:00

Bleeding Love

2011-02-14T05:17:00.002-07:00

I have completely neglected this bitch. But don't feel bad, I've pretty much neglected e'erything else as well. As a matter of fact, dishes from my last home-cooked meal (read: the morning of Sunday, February 6th) are continuing to rot in the sink. Don't judge. I got food poisoning that night and puked so hard snot dripped outta my nose and tears streaked my face. Which leads me to today, Valentine's Day. A day for sappy sentiments and even sadder, sappier suckers. I have nothing against Valentine's Day. As a matter of fact, I've had a handful of awesomely successful Valentine's chock full of flowers and food and sex.

Today was not one of those days.

Today, I had to make a trip to Kooky Korean Doc's so that I could fish around in my own poop, so that in a week Kooky Korean Doc can tell me if I'm gonna die, or if I just have hemorrhoids. Or colon cancer. Or e.coli poisoning. (Yeah, pretty sure it's not that last one, but if it is, hooray for my new "I'm headed home soon and need to lose 20 pounds FAST" diet plan!)

So yeah, this Valentine's Day was THE SHIT!

*As much as I'd fucking love to end this post with that wildly successful pun, I can't. After I told Kooky Korean Doc about my probs, he asked me the routine follow-up questions: What did you eat? Are you feeling stress? How is your sleep? Do you have lelijun? WAIT. WHAT?

"Do you have lelijun?" he repeated. I ran the word through my Konglish Translator. Lesions? Do I have lesions?

"Like spots?" I asked, still baffled.

"You are American? Do you have L-E-L-I... I am Christian!" Kooky Korean Doc proudly proclaimed, as he pointed to the Bible on his desk.

Oh FUCK.

"Uh, no, I do not have RE-LI-JUN," I enunciated carefully. But back to the potentially cancerous growth in my intestines, if you will.

"You are happy?"

Exasperated sigh. "Yes, I am happy."

"Me! I am happy or not happy?"

REALLY exasperated sigh. "Uh, happy?"

And on it went until he pulled out a sheet of paper entitled "Seven Steps to Spirituality: Reasons Mindy's NOT Getting into Heaven", or some such ridiculousness.

*Parenthetically: I am all for religious freedom -- practice it, revel in it, bathe your damn kids in it -- but for fuck's sake please, please, PLEASE keep it at church. And while we're at it, keep it off the streets of Itaewon, everyone there is already going to hell. Oh, and my front doorstep too.

Anyway, seeings how I could never say any of those things to Kooky Korean Doc, I batted my eyes, smiled politely and said, "Religion is for church. Health is for hospital. Please, no religion here."

He sat back. He smiled. Then he asked if I was ready to poop.

Double-spacing, and other typeface tragedies

2011-01-23T09:51:00.002-07:00

It's snowing again, so this is officially how I plan to spend my remaining five Sundays in Korea:

My rusty, trusty Pearl, a little Murakami, and a vanilla chai tea latte. Also, that wallpaper is actually a photo taken by my friend Greg, of One Wandering Mustache. He's been WWOOF'ing and photographing in New Zealand for nearly a year. He sometimes posts photos on his blog, but if you can find him on facebook, check out his albums. They are truly breathtaking.

Anyway.

I had a date with Eurohot this morning. Friday afternoon we got all ambitious and decided to hunker down in this here Starfucks to bang out resumes, cover letters, and all matters of indecent proposals in search of stateside employment. However I suspect Eurohot got stupid drunk last night, as he canceled at 3AM, so I'm all alone this morning. And when left to my own devices, I rarely make good use of my time. So I guess I'll blog.

I read this article last week about how double-spacing after the period is all outdated and unnecessary, and for some strange reason I'm still pondering it. Mayhaps I'm trying to avoid real-life. Anyway, I graduated with a degree in the Social Sciences of Uselessness, so I'm used to employing the APA Style Manual. However, the Blogger text wrap function (or whatever the hell it is) doesn't recognize my precious double-spacing, making some of my text look all wonky. I've been fighting the double-space urge for three years (read: when I started this rant), but like Pavlov's dogs, my thumb can't resist hitting the space bar twice after my eyes see that period. And muscle memory is damn hard to override. So today I'm making a conscious effort to join the hipster masses and just. space. once.

In other, potentially less boring news, Casey the Human has started a Korean bucket list. Sort of a list of thangs she'd like to check off before she leaves this island peninsula forevah. I've been thinking a lot about my own bucket list, which then got me to thinking about all the cool stuff I've put my body, mind, and taste buds through in the past three years.

So here, in no particular order, are the Cliff's Notes of my time in Korea:

Mudfest 2008, wherein I slathered my body in mud, frolicked on the beach, and drank myself into oblivion for two whole days
Tumbled down a flight of stairs, breaking two teeth, my nose, and my lip but not my spirit, BY GOD!
On multiple occasions had my entire naked body scrubbed raw by a middle-aged Korean woman, and LIKED it
Eaten more kimchi, rice, pork spine soup, bone marrow, fried squid, abalone porridge, takoyaki, and sea snails than one person ever should
Lived through multiple outbreaks of hoof and mouth disease and swine flu
Traveled by plain, train, rented car, and luxury bus to Busan, Jeju (twice) Gangneung, Anmyeondo, Boryeong, Daegu, Cheongdo, and Jinju.
Saw Korean bullfighting, which is really just two bulls fighting one another. Far less gory than the Spanish version, but no less weird.
Walked along Suwon Fortrtess, Jinju Fortress, visited Gyeongbukgung, Doeksugung, Changdeokgung, and bowed at countless buddhist temples
Danced on a bar in Sinsadong on NYE
Suckered into attending the Jinju Lantern Festival because, as Erica put it, "It's like Korea's Carnivale!" Erica's such a liar...
Swam in the Yellow Sea, the East Sea and the Korean Strait
Lived through three typhoons (okay, one was in Taiwan, but whatevs) and Snowpocalypse 2010
Played tour guide to Dawn, Sara (twice!), moms, and Michelle
Slept in some scummy places, the worst being the minbak in Gangneung, Independence Day, summer 2008. The proprieter (a regular Heidi Fleiss) kicked out some working girls to make room for our party of eight. The whole place stank of urine and had more spider webs than Zuckerman's barn. After drowning our sorrows at a local bar, we all curled up on some blood-stained pillows, vowing to hunt for better digs the next night.
Hiked Gwanaksan and drank makkoli at the top like a champ
Pocketed seashells from no less than ten Korean beaches
Took a midnight party bus to Busan with two Kiwis, two Aussies, and one massive Tongan, all in the name of a surf weekend
RAIN in concert. Need I say more?
Took a Korean lovah
Traveled to Beijing, Shanghai, Bangkok, Phuket, Ko Phi Phi, Siem Reap, Angkor Wat, and Taipei (thanks, shitty hagwon jobs!)

AND...

Broke my finger at Castle Praha. That sucker bled so fucking much that I puked from shock on the bar floor three times.

All in all, a successful three years, I'd say.

This is Why Mindy Doesn't Blog About Vacations: France Edition

2011-01-13T08:36:00.000-07:00

The Pretty Reckless are rocking my world. Thanks, Casey the Human.

And speaking of pretty reckless (I swear, I'm only listening to Baby Panda Taylor Momsen's seminal Courtney Love tribute band so that I may make epically bad puns), remember that one time I went to France?

No, say you? Well sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip...

Once, on a whim, I went to one of those sex toy parties with my mom and future sister-in-law. I know, sometimes I make really good choices. Anyway, the party was being held at a family friend's home, so of course it was teeming with middle-aged women chomping at the bit to down their first blow-job shots. Believe me when I say there was a chorus of "oohs" and "ahhs" when the hostess brought those suckers out. Wanting nothing more than to crawl into my sweater and disappear, I quietly ducked out of the room and parked myself in front of a computer. My friend Dawn, of Leg Lamp fame, had been hassling me to book another trip abroad for a few weeks. (Although truth be told, I can't imagine why -- our last foray had been fraught with fuck-ups.) I logged onto Yahoo Travel and tentatively searched flights to Europe. Luck was definitely a lady that night as I found a round-trip ticket from BFE Idaho to Paris for less than $500. I booked two tickets immediately.

Unbeknownst to me, flying to Western Europe at that price is basically unheard of. Four months later I found out why: Boise --> Minneapolis --> Detroit --> Paris. No sweat off my back, I had my ladies to keep me company. That was until we boarded in Detroit. Our boarding passes had no seat assignments. We watched in horror as the entire jet was seated before the flight attendant even glanced our way. With a plastic smile and a saccharine voice, she politely informed us that we may take whatever seats were leftover.

Fantastic.

Anji headed for the rear, Dawn somewhere in the middle. Not wanting to be separated, Vivi and I plopped down in two choice spots: front and center aisle with plenty of leg room for the eight hour flight. Not five seconds after buckling in, did I realize why these seats were conveniently vacant. A portly man of about 50 years came ambling our way. He parked himself next to me, then politely turned and asked me to buckle his seat belt. WTF?

The man had no arms! Like literally, no fucking arms! All he had were two tiny, misshapen hands sprouting from his shoulders!

*Now. In these types of situations I suppose there are really only two paths one can take. 1) You can play the foreigner card and feign any understanding of the English language, in which case you are a total prat, or 2) You can man up and help a brutha out.

So I reached over, and oh-so-delicately fastened my new friend's seat belt. This being a trans-Atlantic flight and all, that was just the beginning. Soon, the beverage cart came bustling down the aisle. Coke for me, Orange Fanta for my new friend, who in my head I'd already coined Lieutenant Dan. I politely popped my tab, took a swig, then popped his and held it to his mouth while he took a grateful chug. (Why the flight attendant never offered us a straw or why we never thought to ask is beyond me...)

Then came dinner service. I can imagine what must have been running through Lieutenant Dan's head as he worked up the courage to ask me, a total stranger, to feed him dinner. He was a perfect gentleman. He turned to me and politely asked if, when I had finished my meal, might I be willing to do him a solid? Being the non-douche that I am, I obliged.

And on it went through movie time, snack service, bathroom time, and breakfast service the next morning.

Becoming so intimate so quickly is rarely how I operate. I loathe the entire act of flying and almost never strike up conversations with my seat mates. I certainly never expected to be feeding a middle-aged man so early in my adult-life, let alone on a Boeing 757. But Lieutenant Dan was endearing and so was his story. Apparently the Wifey, who was a Frenchie, had booked her flight home months prior. Dan had no interest in seeing the In-Laws, so he declined her offer and opted to stay home. After months of wifely nagging he decided to make the trek, but alas, Wifey's flight was all full. And that was how he wound up on a plane unaided. To make matter's worse, Genius Delta Flight Attendant had further emasculated him when she ordered he stow his Magic Wand Flex Grabber. (Actually I have no idea what it was called, but multiple internet searches led me here and here.)

*Side note: google search "arm amputees" and you get this:

Anyway, that Flex Grabber was his ticket to freedom. With it he could have easily unbuckled his seat belt, used the remote, and popped his own tab.

Nearing the end of our flight, he expressed his gratitude and invited the girlfriends and me to the In-Laws for a home cooked French meal. I laughed and secretly hoped I'd get to see the Magic Wand Flex Grabber in action. Soon after, we landed, I grabbed our luggage and we parted ways at the gate, but not before the Genius Delta Flight Attendant pulled me aside.

"I saw what you were doing there," she conspiratorially whispered in my ear. "I wanted to say 'thank you' and to give you these coupons." Then she thrust a grip of papers into my hands. I was doing your fucking job, I thought to myself, but kept my mouth shut when I saw the coupons: $100 off my next flight and $50 in drink coupons! WAHOO! Feeding Lieutenant Dan paid somewhere around $18 an hour -- better than my day job.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you never buy plane tickets online whilst at a sex party with your mom and sister-in-law.

BTW, I never asked how he managed to unbutton his pants and hold his hooha all those times he got up to pee. Methinks he sat, I suppose...

29 Truths and 1 Lie

2011-01-12T07:07:00.000-07:00

I've gotten tagged in a handful of those "30 'random' things about yourself" Facebook notes over the past few days. Since actually posting them on Facebook seems a bit, well, awkward (for lack of a better word), I guess I'll post them here. After all, this is my blog, so the expectation that I talk about only myself is already in place. Seems a bit less self-centered that way. (Or mayhaps I'm just fooling you...)

So, in no particular order, may I present to you:

30 Random Things about Myself That I Haven't Already Overshared on the Internets

1. I am an avid collector of street posters. I prolly have somewhere near 100, many of which are rolled up waiting for that day when I can finally afford to have them framed. My favorite is an advertisement for a Gustav Klimt exhibit in Seoul that I've also affixed my entry ticket to. I stole it from Anguk station in winter 2008.

2. There are two miniature plastic dairy cows permanently placed on my desktop speakers. One has pink hooves, the other neon green. They are my tiny pieces of pastoral bliss.

3. I do not miss my family nearly as much as I should. This makes me feel guilty beyond belief.

4. I have read the entire Harry Potter series at least five times and I'm damn proud of it.

5. At 30, I have become incredibly selfish with my time and resources. I want to have kids, but I am afraid that I wouldn't share well with them.

6. Last year I finally read The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. It is a novel about love, relationships, monogamy, trust, betrayal, and companionship. I am so thankful to have read it as a 30 year old woman, rather than at a naive 22. Otherwise, I believe it would have beaten me down and stolen my will to connect with others. It is easily among my top 10 most loved books. (Behind 'Harry Potter' of course!)

7. I have a wretched short term memory and will often forget things 15, 10, even five minutes after discussing them...

8. However, I have an excellent sense of direction and can often relocate places I have visited just once. This is prolly why I made such an epic pizza delivery girl.

Can I start making stuff up yet? Damn, this is way harder than I thought...

9. I have very few rituals, or things I do methodically and consistently, however I always put my left sock and shoe on first, I always read Postsecret on Sunday mornings, and I never brush my teeth before bed.

10. If I am friends with you on Facebook and you've just had a child, I will publicly congratulate you, but I will privately block you from my news feed. One person can only take so many "Jasper pooped like a champ!" or "Grayson is finally eating pea puree!" posts. Come on.

11. I secretly envy Canadians' patriotism. And their poutine. America's got nothing on poutine.

12. Although I know it is absolutely professionally necessary for me to start and complete grad school, I am fucking scared shitless to return to the daily grind of schoolwork and homework. Can't I get an honorary degree??

13. I almost never act on my crushes. I let them silently fester. It's more fun that way.

14. My hair smells like maple bacon as I type this. I made some kick-ass bacon sliders with homemade steak fries and grilled veggies for dinner. I need a boyfriend if only to have someone to cook for.

15. If 2010 was The Year of Follow Through, then 2011 is The Year of New Beginnings.

16. I am really afraid to go home. It's as if I've passed some sort of threshold after which living in a foreign country is no longer a novelty, but also no longer really fucking hard. It just is. I think this every time I go to the corner mart and my cashier speaks to me in English. And every time I have dinner at Taco Bell.

17. I wish I had the patience to learn a musical instrument. Then my resume would be true...

18. When I was 16 I worked at Taco Bell. At night, the manager on-duty was often a 19 year-old dude named Nick. When he wasn't looking, we'd clean the hot table by wiping all the excess beans, meat, red and green sauces, and nacho cheese into the pizza sauce, as it was already really chunky and absolutely disgusting. Also, we once served moldy flatbread -- we just friend those suckers up and served 'em as gorditas. I'ma go ahead and guess that every teenager at every Taco Bell in the history of the world has done this. Fair warning!

19. I had a one night stand in a tent at a Dave Mathews Concert when I was 21. So cliche.

Al. Most. There.

20. When I was 23, I got so drunk that when I puked, some of the upchuck got caught on my tongue ring (don't judge). This made me even more nauseous and disgusted, so I puked even more. When my stomach finally went into dry heaves, I stuck my fingers in my mouth, unscrewed that damn thang and flushed it down the toilet, along with the contents of my stomach. Good riddance, tongue ring.

21. I will never bungee jump. It's just stupid, y'all.

22. At age 8, I used to pop in my Dirty Dancing cassette and choreograph elaborate dances for my babysitter. She would clap and holler and play along like a champ. She was so good, in fact, that I was able to fool myself into thinking I was a good dancer well into adulthood. I both love and hate her for this.

23. When I was a junior in high school my chemistry class, indeed the entire front half of my high school, was evacuated. The SWAT team was called and everyone was in a panic because the old curmudgeonly man across the street was firing shotgun rounds into the air. Apparently he was pissed at all the whippersnappers for parking in front of his house. That man was my great uncle. I never told anyone.

24. I have only ever called in hungover once. But I have called in emotionally distraught countless times.

25. Name that movie:

"Charlie, what do you look for in a woman?"

"I know everyone says 'sense of humor', but I'd really have to go with breast size."

26. I has taken me over an hour to complete this. In that time I have eaten five Oreos and drank two glasses of milk; cleaned my ears and my fingernails; gone pee; changed into pajamas; IMDB'ed Angela Bassett; and thought of at least three new ways to secretly insult my boss.

27. In order to earn my Sous Chef title and apron, I must first cook a three course meal for Grandpa and Eurohot. I cook everyday, and yet this is overwhelmingly intimidating. But dammit, I deserve that apron!

UGH.

28. I have no idea who the British Prime Minister is, but I can name all the countries of South America, Africa, Europe and Asia. Does that make up for my glaring hole in geopolitical knowledge?

29. I spelled 'whore' without a 'W' last week and didn't even notice. I think Asia is making me dumber.

30. I'm always in it for the laughs.

That's it folks.

This is Why Mindy Doesn't Blog About Vacations: Costa Rica Edition

2011-01-09T08:31:00.003-07:00

When I was 24 I bought a ridiculously cheap plane ticket to Costa Rica. After taking my sweet-ass time to finish college, it was the least I could do for myself. So two days after graduation, my friend Dawn and I headed south for two glorious, sun-drenched weeks of absolutely zero responsibility. To say it was an adventure would be an understatement. This being my first experience out of Uhmerika, I was overwhelmed with the, well, foreignness of everything. My brain literally ached from all the mental translating. (Mayhaps this is why I stubbornly refuse to learn Korean...)

Anyway, hopping a ride on a rickety bus from Puntarenas to Jaco Beach, we arrived to find our American-run hostel in EXTREME disrepair. No worries, we thought, and hiked up the street to The Beautiful and Luxurious Best Western Jaco Beach. At $30 a night, it was a motherfucking steal: private beach, manicured grounds, and full continental breakfast. Yes, please! We booked three nights.

For two days we were queens; we lounged carelessly next to the pool and ordered fruity drinks. We plowed through tattered paperbacks while our skin turned the color of bad 70's hard case luggage. And then tragedy struck. Whilst frolicking on the beach and generally creating merriment and joy, a rogue wave crashed into my left knee and slid my kneecap out of place. As you may well know, I'm a Drama Queen and I generally do not care who knows it. I dropped to the sand, writhing and screaming in agony. This being a private beach and all, The Beautiful and Luxurious Best Western Jaco Beach immediately came to my rescue by calling an ambulance.

Amidst great crisis, we've all had those moments of lucidity and thought, "I should really get a picture of this. For posterity's sake, of course." No such moment struck me and I have been kicking myself (with my good leg, of course) ever since. See, the "ambulance" was actually a white hearse whose prime was sometime around the Eisenhower Administration. The driver was a tanned man in his twenties who wore cut-offs and a t-shirt, and stopped to pick up a buddy on the way to the "hospital".

But wait, it gets better.

Once in the "emergency room" the "doctor" took one look at my kneecap and pronounced with great certainty that I most definitely needed "surgery" and was to be airlifted back to Puntarenas ASAP! He then pulled out a gargantuan syringe and offered ease my suffering. My emotions went into overdrive and I pleaded with Dawn to get me the fuck out of there, post haste. Dawn was a champ. Without a second thought she wheeled me back out to the dirt road, shoved my screaming ass into the first cab and "andale"-ed all the way back to The Beautiful and Luxurious Best Western Jaco Beach.

By this time, my knee was the size of a grapefruit, but my tears had subsided. My spirits were further lifted when The Beautiful and Luxurious Best Western Jaco Beach offered me a set of crutches and 40% off our current room rate. We booked three more nights.

Poolside recovery seemed to suit me, for just a few days later I was showing Dawn my now-famous "A Christmas Story" fra-jee-lay leg lamp impersonation:

I have a whole other vacation story starring Mindy's early 2000's foray into bad Mandarin-inspired tattoos, but that's for another post...

*Not so interesting side-note: I am, perhaps, not-so-conspicuously avoiding real life, current event blogging. Get ready for more Back to the Future posts, y'all.

Musings from Blue Class

2010-12-09T21:25:00.000-07:00

I want to work today. I really do. But seeing as how Boss Lady (in a stroke of frugal geniosity) outfitted the school with Samsung notebooks sans Microsoft Office, I have nothing better to do than blog the afternoon away.

*In reality, I have a shit ton of work to complete, but access to the network is blocked. And also, Blue Class is driving me abso-fucking-lutely bonkers today.

That is all.

Hana, Dul, Set... Thanksgiving

2010-12-05T09:33:00.000-07:00

Once again, I'm 'bout a week and change late on my annual Thanksgiving post. Maybe it's because in the past week I've become all introspective and contemplative and I soft. Where did the snark go, you ask? I ate it. Along with about two pounds of turkey (we had three this year), Grandpa's homemade stuffing, Justin's hobak juc, Jon's green salad, and a myriad other offerings at this year's Thanksgiving.

This was my third T-Day with Jamie and Jonathan and Jinhee (last year Justin was there in spirit, as he was living it up in Palm Springs.) And for that, I am thankful.

A Very Norae Thanksgiving 2010, the one with the epic game of Trivial Pursuit

Thanksgiving 2009, the one with the most Canadians and an epic game of Dirty Scrabble

Thanksgiving 2008, the one with the Jewish turkey and a bacon yarmulke

I am thankful for my circle of supportive, interesting friends, both in SoKo and at home.

I am thankful for My Weekday Mistress, who, when I first met her, took me to coffee, then promptly told me she wasn't really looking for new friends. She better be thankful that I give second chances. But honestly, just thinking of going home and not laughing with her everyday is already making me sad beyond belief.

I am thankful for Grandpa, who, in the past three years has gone from being my boss to my best SoKo friendo. He is quite possibly the most open-minded, non-judgemental person I have ever had the pleasure of befriending. And he can cook like a mofo.

I am thankful for Blue Class. They may have single-handedly (is that possible since there are ten of them) turned on my biological clock. Everyday they amaze me with their ability to absorb and retain and apply all the retarded things I teach them.

I am thankful for Stephanie, my BFFAE. She is an amazing listener, a constructive critic, a supportive friend and an epic ass-shaker. I miss her everyday.

I am thankful for Justin's humor, talent and thoughtfulness. He wrote this piece for themorningnews.org (which I love and think is fantastic, BTW) and even gave 'ol Idaho a shout out. And he can cook like a mofo.

But most of all I am thankful for my family. I know I have been an epic pain in the ass this year, and they have always been supportive of my choices. It's always easier to be the one who leaves, rather than the one left behind, and sometimes I forget that. As hard as it is for me to miss out on their lives, I know it is just as hard for them to not be an everyday part of mine. This year especially, I needed them more than ever. I am glad to know they are always just a skype call away. (You didn't really think I would finish this post without mentioning skype, did you?!)

*Interesting sidenote: I must be all grown up because I was not thankful for one material, tangible thang this year. AHA! American Materialism, I have finally BEAT you!

The Freak Out, Part One

2010-12-05T04:01:00.004-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, it has finally happened. After two+ years of using and abusing the free (read: I just bought my 15th toffee nut latte this month and I DESERVE it) wireless, Starbucks has finally cut me off. KT is now sponsoring all ‘Bucks wi-fi and is asking me to pay for the service. Please. As if I wasn’t already paying...

So I’m composing this post on Appleworks (yes, I know). Hopefully it gets posted in a timely manner.

Alright, about that freak out. A mere six months ago, my blathering and bitching and moaning came to a head when I emailed my stepfather, asking him to get me the fuck out of dodge. Yes. I did that. I am not proud of it. I was in a bad place. Exhausted, miserable, lonely and full of spite, I was ready to pull the plug on this bitch and start fresh at home. Besides, he offered to foot the bill after reading this. Apparently my parents were all sorts of worried about my winter time carousing and thought I was seriously fucked up. I don’t blame them.

But then a whole slew of thangs happened that turned my frown upside down, and it started with three little words: Stop being stupid. Wise words, Grandpa. Guess he didn’t earn that nickname for nothing. After a week of playing the “should I stay or should I go now” game, I called up Grandpa from classroom 405 and dumped all my frustration on him . His response? Stop being stupid. So I extended my contract one more time, and vowed to make peace with Seoul. I broke the news to the family, assuring them I would do my best to be home for Christmas, and all but promising I would indeed be home at the end of this contract.

In protest, my mother used up all her skymiles and bought a ticket to come visit. If I was willing to tough it out, I guess she figured it was time to see what all the fuss was about. To say I was ecstatic is a gross understatement. I was fucking beside myself! Suddenly the world was filled with rainbows and unicorns and chubby-cheeked babies all singing We Are the World. Immediately I started a countdown.
There were so many things to see and do and buy and discover.

HongdaeItaewonGangnamddoekbukiInsadongnoraebangjimjalbangsubwayshoppingBusan!

AHHHHHHH!

In my cloud of excitement, a funny thing happened: my sadness all but disappeared. With a newfound focus and fresh eyes for Seoul, I called a truce with the city. Seoul is a bitch, but I decided I could rough it out with this frenemy, as long as she promised to keep it together for moms.

As the summer wore on, My Weekday Mistress and I became closer. Thursday Night Taco Bell Bitch Sessions turned into weekend rendevous. Before I knew it, our weekday affair had bled into the weekend and I got to meet her wife. Basking in our newfound love for all things TB and Glee, we planned a trip to Taiwan for Chuseok. Again, my focus shifted from bitching to planning. Sadness was staved off once again.

Before I knew it, Halloween was around the corner, along with a two week vacation, and mom’s impending Korean Takeover. Nothing could stop me; I was on cloud nine. With the spring’s bitterness all but forgotten, I boarded the airport limo to Incheon to retrieve moms.

For seven fun-filled days we shopped, explored, laughed, and cried. She was adventurous and outgoing and seemed to really enjoy herself here. I had an excellent time playing tour guide and wowing her with my shamefully limited Korean speaking abilities (I think I fooled her, though.) The visit allowed her to see my life in a way she never had. As a thirty-year-old college grad, she was aware (in the abstract, at least), that I am independent. However, I’m not sure she (or I, for that matter) really understood what that meant before she got here. For seven days she relied upon me for everything. I will admit this was an intense burden and by the time the week was up, I was ready to have my life back.

After a particularly raucous evening of cooking and drinking with Grandpa, Eurohot and Jonhee, we piled into a cab and headed for Gangnam. We had all consumed copious amounts of wine and beer and were fairly lit when she asked, “So, have you thought about staying?”

The question caught me off guard and I was truly unsure how to answer. Of course I had thought about staying. My job is going well, I have an awesome circle of friends who regularly amaze me with their wit, talent, and resourcefulness, and I have affordable health insurance. At this point, America’s only batting .33 on this front -- Korea 1, America 0. But I don’t think I had admitted this to myself, let alone actually said it out loud. Besides, admitting that yes, a part of me wanted to stay, was akin to slapping my mother in the face (at least in my mind.)

So I said no, not really. To say she planted the seed is unfair, however, since her visit I have been more and more unsure as to my next move. To make matters worse, my boss *just* asked me to re-sign for another year.

*Parenthetically: OMFG YOU GUYS, I cannot believe she asked me to stay!! I have worked my ass off to make her life a living hell this year. Just goes to show that the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t... Also, I told her no.

Anyway, I feel like I just puked up three months worth of neurosis into one epically long and boring post. I’ll finish this bitch tomorrow...

And back to our regularly scheduled programming...

2010-12-02T06:44:00.000-07:00

Top Ten Things I Did Instead of Blogging: November Edition

10. Sat on my ass in Starbucks for six hours a day, five straight days, and wrote the mother of all essays. Those crazies in the School of Social Work better recognize.

9. Moms came to Ko-ree-yah and brought me a shiny new Nikon. Hilarity ensued.

8. Casey, my Weekday Mistress, is now old, just like me. To celebrate, she subjected all her peeps to a two-week-long game of ASSASSIN! My assassin better pray to god we never meet in a drunken soju haze, because I will cut a bitch. Andrew Haglin, you are officially on notice.

7. To better meet my "laying around on my ass in my pajamas" needs, I bought a couch. Yeah, two and a half years in with four months to go, I finally bit the bullet. The boys call it the Norae Couch.

6. I read this book. Do not read this book. I actually think I am stupider because of it... See?!

5. It's Christmas Drama time again, and this year Blue Class is doing a rousing rendition of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". The Know-It-All is the Grinch, Bueller, Bueller is Cindy-Lou Who and the rest of my hooligans play Whos 1-7. Yeah, I got SUPER creative this year...

4. After watching my washing machine fill up with water, then shut itself off for the THIRD time in one night, I hauled my ass up to the Building Ajumma's. Maybe she could Koreason with it. Please. She took one look at the ancient machine, sighed, and started pulling my clothes from the icy water. I tried my best to stop her, I really did, but when she insisted on doing my laundry, how could I possibly resist?! Twenty minutes later she returned with my jeans and tees neatly folded, along with a few photos of her summer vacation to "Harbar-duh". So sweet!

3. Flickr finagled me into another year's subscription. I have uploaded nearly five year's worth of vacation pics, from Central America to Asia. If you enjoy perusing the vacations of others (and really, who DOES?), have a look. But don't say I didn't warn you: I am boring. http://www.flickr.com/photos/mindywindy/

2. The Chef (but he'll always be Grandpa to me!) hosted another epic Thanksgiving. More on that later.

These were the die hard stragglers hell-bent on grazing for as long as possible.

1. And the number one thing I've been doing for the past month?

Freaking the Fuck Out.

In less than three months, my *final* contract in Korea ends and I am set to return to the Land of the Living. I am literally scared shitless, because after nearly three years of living in this Kimchi Paradise, I'm not sure how I'll fit back into my life in I-dee-ho.

I think these last two deserve entire blog posts of their own. so for now, I'll leave you with this:

*Thanks mom! See, I'm totally putting the new Nikon and two years of high school photog classes to good use.

Winner winner, chicken dinner

2010-10-26T04:10:00.001-06:00

I should prolly just go ahead and rename this blog Ashley Kwan: Musings of a 7 Year Old Korean Cutie because, basically, I'm just ripping her off at this point.

Usually Steph, Casey, Laura and I trudge down the stairs each morning to a chanted greeting courtesy of Ash and (her far less enthusiastic counterpart) Ashlee.

"Minnndeee. Steph-an-neee. Cay-seeeeee."

This morning Ash was standing at the foot of the stairs, all alone, hands hidden behind her back.

"I have a present for you, Mindy Teacher, " she cooed, then presented me with a small canary yellow envelope, complete with Aristocats stickers. "I made an eraser for you. Remember our game yesterday?!"

*Let me back up a bit. Yesterday I was wandering through class while my students dutifully attempted to complete FOUR pages of double-digit addition and subtraction problems. Some of them are very slow, and some of them are quite fast. But none are as fast as Ms. Kwan. I stood behind her in awe as she robotically and methodically wrote each answer, never bothering to "carry" or "borrow" or show her work AT ALL. It was amazing.

Naturally, I had to show the child who was boss, so I did what any self-respecting teacher would have done: I challenged her to an old-fashioned Math Duel! 36 addition and subtraction problems, winner takes ALL. (Including their opponent's dignity and self-respect, apparently.)

I photocopied a review page from her math book. We each sat at our respective desks, and when Cailyn yelled "GO!" we flipped those suckers over and counted for our lives. The students watched over my shoulder, marveling at how efficiently I completed first grade equations. They taunted Ash. I finished first and cheered Ash on, because not only am I a teacher, I'm a good sport too. She finished about 30 seconds behind me. If only I'd taken those precious 30 seconds to check my work, perhaps I would have seen my errors. But alas, my confidence got the better of me.

Ash missed only one problem. I missed three. Because I didn't pay attention. Because I did what I accuse my students of doing. Because I worked too fast and valued speed over accuracy. Because I added when I should have subtracted. DAMMIT!

Blue Class cheered. Mindy Teacher hung her head in shame.

Back to this morning. Inside the envelope was a homemade eraser and a handwritten note:

10/25/2010

Dear Mindy,

Thank you for teaching us in Blue Class! Do you remember yesterday we had a math game? Good game! I am the winner winner, chicken dinner. Where did you learn all the silly words? Like winner winner, chicken dinner and lier lier, pants on fire? I think you learned it from your mom. Or your dad. I like you very very much! What are you going to be on Halloween? I want you to lead us to the scary haunted house. I made this earaser. Do you like it?

To: Mindy

From: Ash

Your Student

Ash <3

Methinks she made the eraser as some sort of subliminal message.

"Winner winner, chicken dinner"? "Good game"? Ugh, I am such the smitten kitten for this kid!

Salinger, Hemmingway, Han and Kwan

2010-10-13T06:31:00.001-06:00

Gah. The silence is killing me. Apparently putting fingertips to keyboard proved far too much work for me this month. Lazy ass. Well, since I'm already in the shitter for October, might as well continue my indolence with a post fit for a Lazy Ass.

Coming to you all the way from Blue Class is Jeffrey Han, Dumb Blonde Thorn in My Side. Seriously, this kid fell from the Tree of Common Sense and missed EVERY damn branch on the way down. I can actually see the hamster standing on the wheel. But sometimes Jeffrey pulls a perfectly cut gem outta his ass; one with so much clarity and insight, I am compelled to bow down before him and kiss his stupid little "indoor shoes". (BTW, what is up with the whole "indoor shoe" thang, Korea? It's not like teachers or staff or parents take off their shoes in our halls or classrooms. What's the big fuss? Mindless Drone-ism, methinks.)

Anyway, without further ado, I bring you:

The Strangest Thing I Have Seen

By Jeffrey Han

Something strange I have seen is a monkey. Two months ago, my family and I went to the animals park in Everland. We watched a group of Japanese monkeys. Some of the monkeys have red puffy butts. It looked so disgusting and dirty. I thought they got a Swine flue or cancer. I couldn't leave because they were so weird. Finally, we found a staff and ask him. He answered when they wants to marry the male, their butt gets big. It was so strange I have seen.

He's right. That's pretty damn weird.

My second offering comes from Ashley Kwan. If it were at all possible to bottle up sass, spunk, and pure unadulterated personality, she'd be the fucking Daddy Warbucks of that shit. She is amazing. Today, she told Stephanie that Blue Class was gonna take Green Class "down to the town", as in downtown. She's an epic shit talker. It's like she was birthed from mine own sarcastic, snarky loins. Oh, and she's got some wicked vocab application skillz. (Of note: compromise, a word Blue Class knows well.)

For your reading pleasure:

The Strangest Thing I Have Seen

By Ashley Kwan

I saw something strange it was a turtle with two faces! I saw that in Coex auwkqureaum (Aquarium. This is why English is hard.) and I saw a snake with two faces too!! I thought it was a monster or an eliain, but it was not a monster or an eliain it was an animal. I am worried that the two faces on the turtle don't compromise! Because when one face goes to the left, the other one is going to the right! Then they will have a fight and that will happen to the snakes! I think the snakes will bite each other. I was surprized when I saw them!

"Surprised" is an understatement, child. That is just gross.

On a serious note (I know), Blue Class has been honing their writing skills over the past seven months. They have been working diligently to development their "writer's voice". We have practiced informative writing, summary writing, and enough personal narratives to last me a damn century. But it wasn't until last week when Casey offered them the famous Halloween prompt, "In a deep dark forest there was a deep dark house..." that I realized just how far they've come. Their journals were full of super sentences; full of details and imagery; full of imagination. I was astonished.

I do not fancy myself a writer; It is a hobby I enjoy, and if I happen to entertain a few along the way, well then, fuckin' ay. But I do think it is important. At least as important as speaking and listening and definitely more important than most of the rote memorization hagwons cram down my kids' throats. I guess what I'm getting at is that they're getting it! and I couldn't be prouder.*

*I actually typed "pruder". I prolly could be pruder.

An open letter to H&M

2010-09-25T22:49:00.001-06:00

Dear H&M,

My name is Mindy Page. For the past few years I have been living in Seoul, South Korea. Last Saturday I decided to make the trek to one of your two Myeong-dong stores. (BTW, why are there two H&Ms within 100 meters of each other??) On most days shopping in Myeong-dong is an exercise in masochism -- at best it is frustrating and overwhelming and at worst it is downright fucking disastrous. But on this day I was feeling optimistic. I was readying myself for an epic beach vacation on the sunny sands of southern Taiwan. Thinking at the last minute I might need a pair of lounging sweatpants, I crossed my fingers and elbowed my way through the crowds.

Now, I am ALWAYS too much woman for Korea. I live in a country full of leggy, boyish ballerinas who all seem to wear the same size: FREE SIZE. A good 50% of the time H&M is a complete bust for me. I have a lot of tits and ass (and a little in between) and to be honest, I'm usually too much woman for you, too. But sometimes a big risk reaps big rewards. I happened upon a pair of cropped black sweatpants in the "sports" section. On a whim, I took those suckas into the dressing room, tugged them over my ass, and whaddya know?! They fit! At 29,000 won, they were overpriced, but sometimes you can't always get what you want. But you do get what you need. I forked over my cash with a smile.

Boy am I glad I did. Typhoon Motherfucking Fanapi decided to blow straight through Southern Taiwan, wreaking havoc and flooding everything in its path, including the beach town of Kenting, my destination. And all I'd packed were my swimsuit, two beach cover-ups, three tank tops and my new H&M sweatpants.

For five straight days I wore the shit outta those sweatpants. They rode a luxury bus, countless cabs, the subway and one bullet train. They went to the top of Taipei 101 in the day and the Shilin Night Market. They strolled Ximen and dined at World Toilet. I dressed them up for a night of sashimi, and down for a morning of shepherd's pie. They weathered hurricane force winds, buckets of rain, sand, sweat, and two 100+ degree days strolling the city. All this without stretching out, piling, or fading.

This was the best 29,000 won I've ever spent. Thanks, H&M!

Love Always and Forever,
Mindy Page

"Oh hey guys, wanna see my hair extensions?" Um, YEAH WE DO.

2010-09-06T05:43:00.002-06:00

Thursday night I decided to park my ass in front of the Mini-Stop and do what foreigners do best: drink into oblivion. Of course, this being a school night and all I had to start early. I decided 6PM was completely socially acceptable. Besides, the locals in my neighborhood set the bar pretty low; being wasted by 8PM is a total WIN. Anyway, because I shot my wad before the weekend had officially started, I was retarded by Friday night and wanted nothing more than to curl up in an air-conditioned cocoon and check out until Saturday afternoon, when I would no doubt emerge a refreshed butterfly, ready to take on the weekend.

The ladies had other plans.

Friday night Casey decided to have a yard sale, or as I preferred to call it, "Come take all the shit I no longer want because I went to America and got loads of WAY BETTER shit-travaganza". This is also when Casey whipped out the hair cape. Check it out:

And because video is never, EVER enough, we had to strike poses in a hair cape photo shoot.

"Oh hai."

"We are fucking fabulous."

"Do you think god will smite us for wearing really bad hair extensions? 'Cause Paris Hilton's still alive and all..."

Mother's milk, jellyfish, and Andrew Teacher's wandering eyes

2010-08-31T08:50:00.002-06:00

This is Andrew, my co-teacher:

He is a tasty dish, no?

On Friday, he got all spiffy and came to work in a tie and dress pants. The kids said he looked like a husband. Me? Well I rolled into work looking like I'd hopped the 6AM train from hell with just enough time to change my clothes, scrub the bed sheet creases outta my cheeks and throw on a hoodie. Or you know, a No-Shower Friday. Typical.

Anyway, after my kids saw Andrew, one of them was apparently inspired to write this gem. In it's entirety:

Mindy Teacher and Andrew Teacher is married. Mindy has a baby in her belly. (We just learned 'belly'. Hello, retention!) When they married Andrew Teacher and Mindy Teacher kissed. (You bet yer sweet ass we did.) After nine months the baby was born. Mindy Teacher and Andrew Teacher was happy. Mindy Teacher made mother's milk. Mindy Teacher feed the baby mother's milk. Andrew Teacher saw Mindy Teacher's jellyfish. (Blue Class slang for boobies. And also, note the use of possessive nouns. So proud!) So Mindy was surprized so Mindy Teacher yelled "don't look at my jellyfish!" And the baby was surprized so the baby cried. -Ashley Kwan

There are literally no words for how proud I felt. Vocab retention and use of possessive nouns?! Hallelujah, they ARE learning!

My favorite color is rainbow

2010-08-31T05:55:00.000-06:00

Sometimes a girl needs a break.

Anyway.

You know how when you have a dog and it's the center of your universe? You smother it with love and kisses and peanut-butter filled kongs. Everything you own is covered in dog fluff because you take that damn dog with you everywhere. It is your constant companion.

And then one day, you bring home another dog. This New Dog is in no way a replacement. As a matter of fact, this New Dog is supposed to keep Top Dog company. But that's not how Top Dog sees it. New Dog is the ultimate threat, only there to usurp your limited amount of love, kisses and peanut-butter filled kongs. So Top Dog starts vying for your affection in the most pathetic ways. Top Dog is all, "Look at me! Look at me!" Barking and dancing around as soon as you open the front door; using his free time to devise elaborate fetching routines to impress you with; smothering you with love, kisses and peanut-butter filled kongs.

On Monday morning a new student joined Blue Class, and Blue Class instantly became all, "Look at me! Look at me!" By lunch time my desk was littered with I Love You cards and Thank You for Teaching Us cards. They had even turned the entire white board into one giant Thank You note, complete with pictures of Shelby, my *actual* Top Dog.

Most of the cards are tacked to walls around my desk, but this gem had to come home with me. It's fridge-worthy, dammit!

From Ashley, who is ambidextrous

and insists upon signing her name with hearts. *SWOON*

And inside:

An explosion of hearts and stars and rainbows and gumdrops.

No need for words; I think this says it all.

So, how was your day?

Extremely Frustrating and Incredibly Boring

2010-08-11T07:21:00.000-06:00

So yeah, I finished the damn book and was utterly... UNDERWHELMED. The ending was so frustratingly devoid of, well, anything. Kind of like this post.

So here:

My second favorite ginger, Josh Homme, lending the "What, What in the Butt" guy a little harmony.

Happy Hump Day!

Extremely Fast and Incredibly Slow

2010-08-07T19:43:00.000-06:00

I read very quickly. Last week, I read five books. (I was also broke and on vacation.) None were particularly interesting, thought-provoking, or even that memorable. Perhaps that is why I read them so quickly. However, I started a book last night called Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer. He also wrote a pretty famous book called Everything is Illuminated, which I have yet to read. Anyway, I started reading this book last night, and was instantly so engaged that I *almost* passed up sex. Yes, sex. I almost never pass up sex, unless it's for food, in which case I have to play a mental game of Rock, Scissor, Paper to decide which to do first.

But I digress.

This book is heartbreaking. I want to cry every time I open it. Foer writes with a longing that is palpable. I can feel this book.

I usually devour books; I cannot get through them fast enough. When I was a kid, I used to read the last page of every book just to know how quickly or slowly I should read it. Once, I locked myself in my room on Christmas Day and read Stephen King's Desperation, all 1.8 pounds of it, in one day. The next morning, when I triumphantly announced that I'd finished, my dad was pissed. "Why do I even bother buying books if you're just going to read them in one day?! Make them last a few days, for fuck's sake."

But this book is like my favorite meal. When placed in front of me, I want to devour it and savour it. I'm starving and yet I want to taste every word. It is filet mignon: juicy, tender and full of flavor. Foer's words roll around in my mouth and in my brain and I never want him to stop writing. But I'm reading it as if it were Taco Bell: quickly, and without thinking.

Dad, I will try to make this last a few days, for fuck's sake.

Hitler has to Desk Warm

2010-07-16T09:26:00.001-06:00

Perhaps the greatest thing to hit the ROK since Kickin' it in Guemchon. (Which, btw, was THE anthem of 2008.) Thanks, Casey.

And also, I was completely unaware of the "pristine beaches of Bangkok." Must have missed those my last time through.

Ashley Kwan: Like Kim Yuna, but with more personality

2010-07-13T07:11:00.001-06:00

No, this child has not been sucking on Otter Pops all morning, she's like this EVERY DAY. Also, this vid was taken around 9:30AM on a field trip day. That's why everyone's got their super special Ajumma Visors on.

Also, moms is coming to visit her spawn in Korea this November. 116 days and counting. One more reason I can't wait for summer to be o.v.e.r.

Wigs, Wizards, and Jacob Black's Abs

2010-07-12T08:12:00.000-06:00

At the movie theater, waiting to see Eclipse: We Spent Our Entire Budget on Bella's Wig and Had Nothing Leftover for the Peons.

Me: Ahh, I can't wait for Harry Potter. BTW, why in the hell does Lithuania have a release date for Deathly Hallows and Korean's got nothing?!
Casey: Because Hogwarts is really close to Lithuania.

And later:

Casey: Mindy -- oh my god... *giggles uncontrollably*
Me: (groggily) What? I was just resting my eyes. I heard everything.
Casey: I should have known you were asleep. You were quiet for, like, the last ten minutes.

(I have an extremely low tolerance for cheese and have an uncontrollable need to narrate, asshole-style, when the cheese-factor reaches epidemic levels. Which it did.)

And later still, after Jacob's valiant attempts to battle the vampire Blah Blah (I have no recollection of names here, people) find him with multiple cracked ribs, writhing in pain. The gang is gathered outside Jake's house, waiting for word from Father Cullen.

Me: Doesn't this remind you of when Baby's dad went to check on Penney after she got that really horrible abortion and everyone was waiting around the cabin to see if she was gonna, like, live?
Casey: Go take off that make-up. You look like a whore.

Aren't movies fun?

This is why you're fat

2010-07-11T09:15:00.000-06:00

My new favorite website. As if I needed another reminder.

The BEST DAY EVER!

2010-07-11T08:06:00.009-06:00

Today was the big day, the day Taco Bell threw open its doors to welcome me and my bulging wallet with crunchy taco supremes and mild sauce galore. But I didn't go. I wanted to go. I rode the bus all the way to Itaewon with a grumbling belly and high expectations. When my bus rolled past its doors, however, what I saw made me bust out laughing -- a line o' white people wrapped all the way around to Itaewon station. It was bedlam! (This is particularly funny because the bar next door is called 'Bedlam'. Sometimes I kill me.) Instead, I opted for a quiet trip to Myeong Dong for some shopping zen.

I know, I know, there was so much build up to this day, how could I possibly bitch out on my beloved, you may ask. Well, because I ATE THERE ON WEDNESDAY!!!! Ha ha, suckas!

It started Wednesday morning when Casey heard from a friend via the interwebs that Taco Bell was open. He said people were streaming outta the restaurant and it definitely looked like business as usual. Not wanting to get my hopes up, I told her my friend Liz said the same thang LAST Sunday. We all know how that turned out.* I stewed on this tidbit until lunch, when my friend James ever-so-politely asked if I was headed to Itaewon after work.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously.

"Because Taco Bell is doing a 'soft opening' before the Grand Opening on Sunday," He ever-so-politely replied.

"Do not get her hopes up, James! She's fragile this afternoon!" Casey implored.

AHHHHHH! I scoured the internets searching for confirmation of this alleged 'soft opening' but could find nothing. The only way to find out was to haul my ass back up to Itaewon for confirmation. Uggh.

All my hard work was rewarded, however, when I rolled off the bus to find my lover waiting patiently for my arrival. She was shiny and sparkling new, just as I'd never remembered her. I scoured the menu for my favorites; they were all there: Crunchy Taco Supremes, Nachos Bellgrande, Bean Burritos, oh my! I queued up and waited patiently for my turn. Casey said I was glowing. Shit yes, I was.

We both ordered and within minutes had our trays in hand, ready to dive in. And we were not disappointed. That first crunchy bite was like tasting America herself. Nothing in Korea has reminded me so much of home. It was awesome.

Burrito Supreme, Crunchy Taco Supreme, and in true Korean Fashion , a Nachos Bellgrande to share. WIN!

Is it completely vain that I wished for the opening to be a rumor, as I had not showered before work on Wednesday? Dammit, I knew there'd be picture-taking...

Nom nom nom...

*I would personally like to thank Marty for being a friend of a friend in this vast abyss we call the interwebs. Without his word of mouth, I'd prolly still be standing in line tonight, anxiously awaiting Taco Bell Bliss. Oh yeah, and thanks Facebook for being my home away from home at work.

If people-watching were an actual career, I'd be CEO of that shit

2010-07-10T06:40:00.004-06:00

Sometimes (oh fuck, MOST of the time) I need quaint reminders as to why I choose to live 5000 miles from my friends and family. Last night all it took was a little cheesy samgyupsal, a vinyl bag and some wicked people-watching. Thanks, Hongdae.

I love street art.

Justin being super creepy at Go-Go's

The Hongdae Biker Brigade

Ho Bar II. One of FOUR Ho Bars in Hongdae.

Still not enough to service all of Hongdae's Hos.

Open container laws are nonexistent.

Cue the Instant Bar in a Park, complete with friendly Korean bartenders.

You know I'm a sucker for social sleepers.

This is perhaps the finest specimen ever caught on film.*

A favorite.

Shiny, happy people.

*I haven't actually used film in a camera since my high school photography class, but whatever. You get the idea.

Screw Twilight, Where's My Potter?

2010-07-06T08:53:00.001-06:00

Oh all-knowing universe, please tell me why Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows has release dates in Kazakhstan, Lithuania, and Slovakia, but NOT in South Korea.

I Told You I was Obsessed

2010-07-04T11:49:00.000-06:00

August 24th, 2008:

"Now, if I could only get my hands on some Taco Bell."

Ask and ye shall receive, indeed.

July 4th

2010-07-04T08:33:00.000-06:00

Oh yeah, Happy Birthday America! I love you!

Seize the Moment

2010-07-04T08:12:00.005-06:00

My first paycheck was $92.18. It was printed on flesh colored paper and stuffed into a business sized envelope. Miranda Lynn Page was visible through the tiny plastic window. It smelled of office and self-satisfaction. Oh, and tacos.

I think everyone fondly remembers their first job. I don't think anyone is in love with their first job. I am obsessed with my first job.

During the spring of 1996, a sign went up down the street from my high school announcing the opening of a brand-spanking new Taco Bell. I was 16 and my dad and step-mom had been hounding me for months to start looking for a job, especially if I wanted a car. (Or school clothes, or CDs or anything else my father thought I was now old enough to foot the bill for.) Throughout that spring I watched as Taco Bell took up residence at the corner of Sprague and University. As soon as the "Now Hiring, Apply Within" sign went up, I was there. I remember asking for a dozen or so applications, just in case I fucked one up and had to start fresh. Everything had to be perfect; this was real life and I meant business. With high hopes, I returned the application the very next day. I never even bothered applying anywhere else; my heart was set on Taco Bell.

A few days later, Rob McLoughlin called me in for an interview. I have no idea what I wore or where it was or what he asked (I have what my mother calls "a 5 year memory"), but I do remember being scared shitless. Rob was a middle-aged dad, with a rotund belly and two stick legs. His skin was greasy and blotched like a day old pepperoni pizza. He was disheveled and scatterbrained. And he also happened to be a baseball coach. After what seemed like forever, he asked me to be part of his Team. What an honor.

Weeks passed before I was called for orientation. Because the store was not yet open, I had to hitch a ride on the Spokane city bus all the way downtown. An exercise in character-building, my dad claimed when I asked for a ride. So in the sweltering June afternoon heat, I hopped the bus with the crazies and headed for town. The orientation was held in the lobby of the dilapidated, but no less charming Taco Bell Downtown. Joining me was the entire University High School baseball team, and one other lucky lady. It seems that Mr. McLoughlin had reached out to those he knew when looking to man his TB franchise.

After minimal training and one food safety course, I was ready to man the drive-thru like a pro. And man I did for the entire summer. That was the summer I learned how to make change and to rotate the walk-in according to the bright orange FIFO stickers. That was the summer I learned how to whisper into my headset at the unsuspecting pedestrians waiting to cross Lincoln Street, and then watch their befuddled reactions on the drive-thru camera. That was the summer I learned how to intentionally fuck up an order so that I may "stage it" for a mid-break snack. (And let me tell you, nothing's better than hours-old TB!) That was the summer I learned how to "fluff" tortillas, "drop" meat and "bump" orders. That was the summer I learned that "If you got time to lean, you got time to clean." That was the summer I learned financial freedom.

So you can imagine my excitement when I heard through the grapevine that Taco Bell was making another go at an Asian Invasion. Sometime after Christmas, my friend Lane said his girlfriend's student's dad (I know, right?!) said Taco Bell was opening up shop in Itaewon AND Yeoksam. A quick internet search led me to this.

Soon after, this appeared in Itaewon:

For months, my trips to Itaewon were dominated by that towering taco. My bus stop happens to be just to the right of this picture and every time I passed it, I'd peek my head around the banner, searching for signs of... Tacos? Mexicans? Fire Sauce packets? I'm not sure.

Anyway, somewhere around mid-February I heard the official opening date was March 1st. Fuckin' ay. I spread the word and set aside an afternoon to Think Outside the Bun. But March came and went with no TB.

Then, on May 29, this banner appeared:

Seize the Moment! Hot damn, Taco Bell was hiring, only this time the "Apply Within" had been replaced with the more modern jobs@tacobellkorea.com. I wondered how much they'd pay this waygukin, as I'm pretty sure I'd give my left tit for a chance to "Seize the Moment." I'd show those Koreans my mad burrito-wrapping skillz -- one with each hand, y'all! BTW, I totally went home and checked out www.tacobellkorea.com. D-minus 33 days! Opening Day was July 3rd!

Then, a mere week later:

Things were lookin' good. I could practically taste the red sauce.

Then, on June 11 after dining on empanadas at a charming little Paraguayan restaurant around the corner:

I could hardly contain myself! Less than 30 days until cheesy gordita crunches and taco supremes. God, food makes me so happy.

So you can imagine my frustration when today I saw this:

Uncle Sam is pissed, y'all. America's birthday is friends and family day? And you're STILL not open?! I gave you four years of blood, sweat, and tears Taco Bell.
If I'm not family, I don't know who is.

*Calm*
As of today, the official opening day per this sign AND the propaganda website is Sunday, July 11th. And on that day Taco Bell better watch out, 'cause I'mma make it RAIN.

Lunch Booyah?

2010-06-29T09:10:00.011-06:00

Thirty days, twenty... six(?) blog posts later, and I'm finally finished. But before I go, let me leave you with this delicious morsel of goodness.

Monday morning this snack and lunch menu graced my desk.

Click to enlarge, I promise you'll be rewarded!

Most days I like to play a game called Lunch Roulette which usually involves me ducking into the teachers room, rubbing my hands together and exclaiming, "Pizza again?!" All the Korean teachers laugh as I eyeball what is inevitably a lunch made up of kimchi/rice/murky soup/odd foreign vegetables/mystery meat.

Enter the gambling: Do I wager against my better judgement and wolf down the mystery meat, risking a potential wicked tummy ache later, OR do I fold and hightail it to the Family Mart for a lunch of a Coke and Snickers? (Occasionally I take option number three: edit the existing lunch, which today meant I had corn salad with mayo and krab, and a bowl of rice. Delicious, no?)

Having this menu is seriously fucking with my head, mostly because now I have nothing to look forward to. I like to be surprised. I like the mystery of not knowing which days are spaghetti or dong kas (perfectly acceptable lunches), and which days are quail's egg in ketchup or stir fried baby octopus (so obviously NOT acceptable lunches.)

However, it does afford me the opportunity to make fun of Google translate. For example:

1. Monday 6/28: boiled dry fool fish
2. Monday 7/12: environmentally apple milk
3: Monday 7/19: anchovy panbroiling and yellowish overripe cucumbers salad
(Looks like our cooks have def got a case of the Mondays.)
4. Friday 7/16: meat rice gruel... just like in prison

Also on the menu: fiied fish, fiied shrimp, rice punch, and fish sausage soup. Don't be too jealous.

Summer time and the livin's easy

2010-06-28T08:08:00.000-06:00

Seoul in snapshot.

And one more for good measure

2010-06-28T07:36:00.002-06:00

After a thoroughly enjoyable evening of Papa John's, True Blood, and manicures I logged onto the Facebook to find this status update:

"Dear Treasure Valley elementary schools,

Please hire me. I'm awesome. And if I can't have my own classroom, I'd be more than happy to accept a para position. I just want a job, in a school, working with kids.

Thank you."

The writer of said update shall remain nameless, but suffice it to say they are educated (two undergrad degrees), experienced (hello, americorps grad!) and altogether awesome. If they can't find a job, then I'm screwed with a capital S.

I think I'll keep my cushy 9-5 hagwon gig for another 8 months. God I hope I don't regret it...

It's so hot, milk was a poor choice

2010-06-28T07:19:00.001-06:00

I forgot how much naked time summer in Seoul affords me. As a result, I'll be blogging in the nude for the next 70 days or so.

The World on Time

2010-06-25T09:32:00.002-06:00

This is why I will always and forever be FedEx's bitch:

Date/Time

Activity

Location

Details

Jun 25, 2010 9:10 AM

At local FedEx facility

BOISE, ID

Jun 25, 2010 8:15 AM

At dest sort facility

BOISE, ID

Jun 25, 2010 4:12 AM

Departed FedEx location

OAKLAND, CA

Jun 25, 2010 4:11 AM

In transit

OAKLAND, CA

Jun 25, 2010 3:33 AM

In transit

OAKLAND, CA

Jun 24, 2010 9:45 PM

Arrived at FedEx location

OAKLAND, CA

Jun 24, 2010 4:44 PM

Departed FedEx location

ANCHORAGE, AK

Jun 24, 2010 1:18 PM

Int'l shipment release

ANCHORAGE, AK

Jun 24, 2010 12:11 PM

Arrived at FedEx location

ANCHORAGE, AK

Jun 24, 2010 9:11 PM

In transit

INCHEON KR

Jun 24, 2010 8:26 PM

In transit

INCHEON KR

Jun 24, 2010 5:56 PM

Left FedEx origin facility

SEOUL KR

Jun 24, 2010 1:36 PM

Picked up

SEOUL KR

Punctuality, efficiency, and sense of urgency in all matters of parcel delivery.

My dear friends Kevin and Krista are gettin' hitched Saturday afternoon. I dropped off their gift at my local FedEx around 6:30 PM Wednesday, 6/23. It was picked up for delivery around 1:30 Thursday afternoon. From there, that sweet little package of love and joy time traveled allllll the way back to noon, Thursday, Anchorage time. By sunup Friday morning (6/25), the parcel of joy had arrived in Boise, ready to deliver my best wishes to the happy couple.

A mere 48 hours. God, could you imagine if FedEx ran the Federal Government?

Things to Do in Korea When You're Klassy

2010-06-24T06:18:00.002-06:00

Awesome stuff I saw at the park tonight:

1. Two tanned and waxed Germans engaged in a photo shoot. Fully Clothed German Number 1 was lying in the middle of the bike lane taking pictures of Not So Fully Clothed German Number 2. Number 2 was perched atop a concrete divider, I assume because this afforded him the least offensive backdrop while seductively disrobing. He was tanned and smooth. How do I know? I stopped dead in my tracks to gawk, of course.

2. A mother/daughter combo playing a heated match of badminton, whilst wearing heels and baseball caps. Sadly, this is not uncommon.

3. An Eager Beaver ajumma wiping her dog's ass. She and Dog must have just gotten to the park, as Dog was in a right fit state to shit. He sniffed the grass for a few minutes, searching for the perfect spot to drop a deuce, as Eager Beaver followed his every step. Deciding on a suitable spot, Dog's body became rigid and tense in the classic "Dog Pooping" stance. But just as Dog was about to pinch off a turd nugget, Eager Beaver swooped in to catch it with her handy plastic baggy. Dog was clearly annoyed, however:

"Bitch, back up off my ass for Christ's sake. Let me shit in peace!"

Dog tried to escape Eager Beaver's clutch, but he was no match. She whipped out a wet nap and wiped Dog's ass clean.

4. Ajjoshi Massage Circle. Maybe this is the old man equivalent of a circle jerk.

Lucky for me I got to bear witness; unlucky for you I did not have my camera.

The Little Engine That Almost Could

2010-06-23T09:00:00.001-06:00

I'm great at starting things; I'm terrible at finishing things. Unless of course that thing is food. I will almost always finish food, especially if it's fried shit with cheese. (Well, not actual shit.)

I'm a bit behind, but proud nonetheless.

Korean Grocery Stores: Not for the Faint of Heart

2010-06-23T08:16:00.000-06:00

I'm convinced there are two schools of grocery shoppers in Korea.

One school are the Treasure Hunters, those foreigners who revel in the search for exotic foods and rare finds. These kinds of foreigners travel great lengths in search of American staples such as, say, cheese or tortillas. The Treasure Hunter proudly braves the Saturday crowds of Shinsegae in hopes of snagging a mere 100 grams of cilantro, a pittance in comparison to traditional American offerings. Food is their drug. They jones for $12 liters of maple syrup and $20 watermelons. For them there's no shame in the exorbitant prices Korean mafia grocers charge. They take joy in perpetuating the cycle.

Treasure Hunters also posses the rare medical anomaly of a robust immune system coupled with a total lack of hearing. Traipsing through the mart, they sample all the offerings: the doekkbuki and mandu, the seaweed snacks and wine, without the slightest stomach lurch. They are also impervious to the Grocery Auctioneers parading throughout every mart, bodega, and superstore on this peninsula, imploring shoppers to buy, buy, BUY! Their carts overflow with the exotic and the mundane.

Treasure Hunters are also expert drivers. Weaving and sideswiping are the rules of the road in the mart and Treasure Hunters come prepared. They graduated from the Bumper Cars School of Driving. They muscle and elbow through the crowds like an ajumma on the subway prowling for the noyak seat.

For the Treasure Hunter, their perseverance and patience pays off in the loot.

"Look! I found limes! LIMES, people!"*

(*Possibly not-so-interesting side note: My friend Jamie is a Treasure Hunter. A few Saturdays ago, we sat at a bar sipping mojitos with actual limes. Jamie, always the Treasure Hunter, asked the bartender from whence the limes came. The bartender said something in Korean [I think. I may have been drunk, so I'm taking a few artistic liberties], and disappeared to the back. He reappeared holding a bag of perfectly ripened frozen limes. Jamie and Korean Bartender chatted for a few minutes, at which time I checked out. That is until Jamie called the distributor's number listed on the bag at 1AM on a Saturday night. Not surprisingly, some dude answered AND he spoke English. Score! And that's about the time the conversation went from cordial inquisitiveness, to all out drug deal. For the next 20 minutes, Jamie asked the Lime Dealer important questions such as, "How many kilos are in a bag?" and "How long will the product stay fresh?" and "Where was the product grown?" and "When can you deliver my bags?" A few days later, Lime Dealer made a drop at a local bar. Cash was exchanged and now Jamie and I can sip mojitos in the privacy of his home. Jamie has also been known to pick up a few mint plants on the way to the bar simply because he spied them in a storefront. See? Food IS like a drug.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, schools of shoppers.

Then there are the other shoppers. The "I'm perfectly happy living on spaghetti and ramen if it means I never have to go to Lotte Mart because that place makes my ears bleed" kinds of shoppers. These shoppers find a mart that works for them and stick with it. The believe in mart-monogamy, but not for the traditional reasons. Knowing the routines of their mart is key: when the cute English-speaking butcher works and how to avoid the Headset Vegetable Hawkers. They know where all their favorite foods (read: spaghetti sauce, ramen and tortilla chips) are located. These shoppers crave familiarity and routine. Leaving their dong just for a block of Tillamook cheddar or some dill pickles is patently out of the question. (However, these shoppers are not above abusing the Costco privileges of their friends and coworkers. They find no shame in the "Could you pick up an enormous box of Cheerios and some sour cream and lug it home on the subway for me? Thanks!" request. Best to send others to your dirty work, eh?!)

I am this kind of shopper.

Side-side note: Treasure Hunters who brave Costco on a Saturday are just masochists. I don't understand them and I refuse to acknowledge them.

Things I Wish I'd Written: Volume 52 (At Least)

2010-06-20T23:02:00.000-06:00

I recently stumbled upon this blog, Hyperbole and a Half. After reading this post, I officially have a cyber-crush.

Oh, and I, too, may never be an adult.

Read the entire post HERE.

Sexy Ugly

2010-06-20T04:18:00.026-06:00

I'm in love with Hugh Laurie. Or more appropriately, I'm in love with Dr. Greg House.

For the past two weeks I've cultivated a deep and fulfilling relationship with the curmudgeonly crippled doctor. I've whiled away countless hours transfixed in front of my computer, gazing into his deep blue eyes. His course stubble and crass words beckon me. And oh, that shuffled gait. To say he's sexy is an understatement. But when I confessed my longings for House out loud, I was quickly chastised.

WTF? He's fucking hot, I argued.

Am I right, or am I right?!

Um, no he's not, apparently. And then it dawned on me: perhaps House falls into that murky gray area known as "Sexy Ugly."

Many moons ago, my then-boyfriend and I were perusing the shelves at Hollywood video. Remember when people actually did that? Anyway, we happened upon a movie called Kissing Jessica Stein. The movie was entertaining, but what stuck with me most was the term "sexy ugly." Stein's GF uses the term to describe dudes like Mick Jagger, whose mug is totally repulsive, but who exudes so much sex appeal you can't help but be intrigued. (Well I can, but Mick doesn't really fall into my sexy ugly category. Yeah, he's just ugly.) Ever since then, I've not-so-secretly used the term to justify my ridiculous celebrity crushes, which include:

Funny Sexy Ugly

Oh Conan O'Brien, how I've lusted after your fluffy ginger pompadour and chiseled jaw. At 6'4" you tower over your Sexy Ugly brethren. But you're so much more than looks, baby. You're wicked smart, too. I'd off your wife and kids in a heartbeat for a romp in the sack with you. Conan = silly sex. Just my type.

Weird Sexy Ugly

Stringy hair? Check. Creepy glazed-over stare? Check. Unflattering facial comparisons to Michael Jackson? Sadly, check. But whatever, Jack White plays guitar and I really loved Elephant. Sometimes I'm easy to please.

Best Impersonation of Fredrick Douglass Sexy Ugly

Mr. Cheadle here wasn't really even on my radar until I saw this video. Since then, my loins lust for the man who told Mary Todd Lincoln, "Thankyoumuch. For this walking Stick." I'm a sucker for funny.

Baby Pate Sexy Ugly

Together, Tom Colicchio and Evan Handler's shiny bald heads could harness enough solar energy to power my internet searches for "bald guys who can cook, who I'm not convinced are totally straight and who exude Jewish charm." God, what if they mated? I think I'd die.

On a related note, I'm also hot for these decidedly sexy men:

Then all that internet searching for Bruce Willis led me to this pic of my dad. Is that weird?

And on that note, Happy Father's Day, Dad!!!

The World Cup

2010-06-17T03:08:00.000-06:00

Most days Korea's insane patriotism and nationalism are frustrating at best, and utterly mind-boggling at worst. Today, they are inspiring.

대한민국!!

*I know I said I'd be up and running, but Korea plays Argentina at 8 and the city's excitement is palpable. I couldn't help but get excited. GO KOREA!!!

The glass is half empty

2010-06-16T06:10:00.000-06:00

So, I'm officially halfway through the month and I've run out of mojo. I still have a handful of posts piling up in my head, but actually putting fingertips to keyboard is proving really effing hard tonight.

Life is better, however. Yeryn told me she had to "do a poo-poo" today. After 10 months of consistently showing up to work late (including this morning), I am still employed. I made some kick-ass chicken fajitas for dinner tonight. Taco Bell opens in T-minus 16 days. Shit, that alone has got me jumping for joy.

I'll be back tomorrow fo-shizzle, my nizzle. Peace out.

Those are some mighty big shoes to fill there, Ms. Page

2010-06-15T07:46:00.003-06:00

I have not been an ideal employee this year. As a matter of fact, I have apparently tried my damnedest to make sure Mr. Lloyd-Jones's "Mindy gets fired" Facebook prank actually comes true. Despite my time and best efforts, Hagwon Director propositioned my services for another 6 months today. To say I was stunned was an understatement. My first three months of Kindergarten were hell -- my gang of four were a total snoozefest; I was practically in tears of frustration and boredom by most day's end. So I made a silent pact with myself to abscond in the night after an epic trip to China. But then shit just kept coming up -- I fell in love with Blue Class, Grandpa J and I started hosting epically ridiculous Sunday dinners, and I actually quit hating my job.

As a matter of fact, I love my job. So here, in no particular order, are the Top 10 Reasons (insert mystery hagwon name here) is Lucky to Have Me:

10. I have expanded my students' vocabulary by tenfold. It now includes, on any given day: classy, bonkers, chile (as in: chile, you makin' me crazy today), triskaidekaphobia, shart (yes, it's what you think it is), vomit, tautology, and brown chicken, brown cow. That last one they like to do in a call and answer style.
*UPDATE* I can't believe I left out MYOB and Booyah. MYOB serves a very important purpose as a teacher: it empowers students and maintains my sanity as I no longer have to put out retarded fires such as "Teacher, Alicia not do her homework!" Plus, I love hearing kids turn to the tattler and chant "MYOB."

9. "You get what you get and you don't throw a fit." My students dutifully repeat this any time one of them starts to complain about not getting a desired object/color/seat/any other random crap kids fight about.

8. Arriving ten minutes late to work, if done consistently everyday, is technically on time, right?

7. Blue Class does a mean rendition of the Gnarls Barkley classic, Crazy:
.

6. My ability to create elaborate and expensive art projects with the full expectation that they will come to fruition:

In may have been a pain in the ass, but I'm so glad my peanut butter play-doh dreams were realized. Suck it, Boss Lady.

5. 101 ways to say how are you?: what's up? what's the haps? what's crack-a-lackin'? what's shakin' bacon? how's it hangin'? what's the word, yo? how's trix? Yes, I speak like a thirteen year old boy, what of it?!

4. I will fight for what I want. I will bitch and complain and wreak havoc if necessary. I will make you see my side. I will do it with a smile and I will win. I'm not sure why you kept trying...

3. Consonant -le syllable: quite possibly the most important syllable, ever.

2. Trans-Pacific pen pals. Thanks to one Miss Silva and her class of super stoked 5th graders for enlightening my often close-minded, sometimes xenophobic group of third graders.

1. I am The Yeryn Whisperer.

Oh, Eric

2010-06-14T07:58:00.000-06:00

Sorry. I'm busy enjoying gratuitous sex scene after gratuitous sex scene. See ya tomorrow.

"Chicken and Cheese" OR "It Hasn't Stopped Raining for Days"

2010-06-13T07:57:00.009-06:00

A couple years ago I had a student with echolalia and Asperger's Syndrome. Echolalia is a fun and funny speech disorder wherein the speaker repeats, ad nauseum, a series of vocalizations. Asperger's Syndrome is characterized by a ridiculously wide range of symptoms, including poor social skills, an intense need for routine and structure, and self stimulating which can include hand flapping and rocking. I hit the jackpot with Jonathan; he presented all of the above symptoms, often at the same time.

(BTW, do we even need doctors anymore? Seriously, this site offers parents a characteristics checklist starting in kindergarten and continuing on through high school. I'm gonna go ahead and thank Jenny McCarthy for that one. Also, be glad you don't have vaginismus. Zing!)

Anyway, one of Jonathan's favorite phrases was "chicken and cheese." He'd fold his pasty white hands into two talking "mouths," hold them at eye level in front of his pudgy face, and there they'd chant back and forth "chicken and cheese." Chicken and cheese chicken and cheese chicken and cheese. It kinda has a way of bouncing around in your mouth, doesn't it?

All this brings me to my current attack of echolalia. See this blog is about me, not some bespectacled third grader I taught my first year outta college. However, like Jonathan, sometimes my brain gets stuck on a particular word or phrase and I can't stop repeating it. It's like the needle in my brain has gotten caught in the groove and the repetition of words just keep spinning around and around. Sometimes it's words like discombobulated or gimcrackery.

Or sometimes, like this weekend, it's the phrase "It hasn't stopped raining for days." Rolling thunder and pouring rain woke me Sunday morning. The same rain that started Friday night. The same rain that continued into Monday morning.* The same rain that is likely to wash out the remainder of my week and perhaps my last Korean summer.

It hasn't stopped raining for days. It hasn't stopped raining for days. It hasn't stopped raining for days.

And then of course I am forced into a sad rendition of Jars of Clay's 1995 hit, Flood. "Isn't that a Christian rock band?" Casey so helpfully asks. Uggh, yes. At least I'm not miming the rain with some insane hand gestures.

*Blogging and time traveling

This is the song that never ends...

2010-06-12T07:48:00.004-06:00

"NKorea vows to blow up South propaganda facilities"

Perhaps Kim Jung Il would prefer the Wonder Girls?

Kimchibilly

2010-06-11T07:15:00.001-06:00

Blogging on the weekend is hard. Monday night catch-up is easy. So I'm cheating. Besides, isn't it a testament to my pursuit of happiness that I'm actually out making merriment as opposed to holing myself up in this two room hovel, pounding away my frustration? I think so.

Last weekend my Weekday Mistress, Casey (the human, not the cat), invited me to a Speakeasy party. What is a Speakeasy party, say you? In an attempt to make better use of her time here in Seoul (as opposed to pissing it away), Casey has joined an indie mag called Speakeasy. For the past few months, Casey and crew have been throwing fundraising parties in Hongdae to raise money for printing costs/get the word out about the mag. Usually the parties are priced right at about 10,000 won, and include a free drink and some local live music. She had me at free drink. Anyway, last weekend I managed to drag Grandpa J all the way up from Pyeongchon to join me in the debauchery.

Now, I'm not usually too stoked to drag my ass all the way to Hongdae for a drink, but last Saturday the Rock Tigers were on the bill. The Rock Tigers are Korean's interpretation of rockabilly, and my need to see them was overwhelming -- partly because I was intrigued: Korean Rockabilly?! And partly because I covet any opportunity to make fun of others, as my friend Jon so gleefully and frequently points out.

I'd heard about the Rock Tigers from a friend last spring and had been itching for the chance to see them. I mean, rockabilly is a woefully under-represented subculture in Asia. Japan's pretty much got the market cornered, what with their Harajuku Rockabilly:

and:

True to form, the Japanese have taken the whole greaser/rockabilly genre and twisted into an unrecognizable mash-up of leather, your grandma's Aquanet and ramen. In Korea, being "different" means breaking rank and sporting a polychromatic work wardrobe. It almost never involves a sky high pompadour, bared chesticles, or public dancing. How could Korea ever expect to compete?

Well, like this:

Slick black pompadours? Check. Vintage-inspired bowling shirts and shined black boots? Check. Leopard printed stand-up base? Check. Pixie-ish front woman in a shock of pink tulle? Check. The Tigers had all the makings of classic rockabilly ( I'm using that term loosely here), but none of the the shock and awe of the Harajuku Rockabilly.

But they do call it Kimchibilly, so that's a bit of pioneering, I suppose. A Google search tells me China's not even on the map.

Check that base, yo!

I'm a sucker for even mildly famous people.

The Weekday Mistress and I.

Not bitching and moaning.

One of our finer moments.

If only I knew now what I already knew then

2010-06-09T12:15:00.001-06:00

A direct quote, from Yours Truly, about the fine city of Seoul:

"I can usually only take so much time in the city in my free time before I am so overwhelmed that I head home where I can breathe. (Kinda.)"

So yeah, August 2008 Mindy was far wiser than August 2009 Mindy.

Hot Child in the City

2010-06-09T07:33:00.010-06:00

Sometimes technology is so intuitive.

As I walked home tonight, I indulged in a modicum of self-pity. I say modicum, because my view of "home" has become ever more romanticized, as I am frequently reminded by my incessant, yet bleak, job searches and weather checks.

Anyway, summer is here.

The skies are a "kind of" blue, the masses are "kind of" donning summer weather clothing, and my face is "kind of" freckling. Kind of, but not quite. Summer in the city officially falls into the" Uncanny Valley " category -- at first glance you think everything is normal. But really, upon further inspection, you are jarred into the reality that the people are, in fact, sporting umbrellas and jackets with the fervor westerners reserve for winter. And then you are repulsed.

But tonight Poddley, my always trustworthy shuffle, shuffled through to this:

Built to Spill's Carry the Zero.

For years, I have associated this song with road trips to the cabin:

Summer pool parties and backyard BBQs:

Warm summer bike rides to the bar:

*God, I wish I had pics of our "One Gloved" bike ride to honor the passing of The King of Pop, Mr. Michael Jackson. That would have been epic. Kevin, if you're reading, I still blame you.

But most of all, it reminds me of K&K:

Don't you just love how Kevin looks all innocent in his attempts to serenade Krista, but all he's really doing is looking at her boobs?!

Oh yeah, and this fridge. Weird how BTS reminds me of a fridge...

The people on this fridge have wandered in and out of my life for the better part of the past 10 years. I've laughed with them and at them; I've bitched with them and at them; I've conspired with them to get Sue McNutt on the "Do Not Deliver" list.

This fridge is like a visual time capsule : there are party pics, graduation announcements, stickers, photo booth pics, souvenir bottle openers, art... the list could go on. I have spent many sober (and drunken) nights admiring this fridge. I love this fridge.

And now I'm not sure how to wrap this up, as I've wandered so far from my original train of thought that I'm lost in this No Man's Land of pictures and video and bitching.

So yeah, it's hot and I miss my bike.

Meet the Tiger Dog

2010-06-07T09:56:00.005-06:00

Reading this made me feel both intrigued and disgusted. Which is usually how I feel about a China, so I guess it's par for the course.

Thanks to Erica. I miss you, dude.

*Update* Did I actually type "a China"? I'm gonna go ahead and chalk up this egregiously inappropriate use of articles to my extreme fatigue and not because I live in Asia. I know, sometimes I can be so gracious.

That's what (girl)friends are for

2010-06-07T08:58:00.001-06:00

A typical payday night:

Casey: Oh, I would so get a massage right now.
Me: And a pedicure? (On payday, I'm totally a Yes-Man.)

After ducking into a handful of overpriced salons on Gangnam-ro, we wandered down to Nonhyeon and stumbled upon a "mah-sa-jee" joint. Weary, but wanting some pampering, we crossed our fingers there'd be no happy ending and ducked in.

Then later:

Casey: ...I mean, when was the last time you truly pampered yourself Mindy?
Me: January, I guess. When I got my hair did.
Casey: That's not pampering, that's personal maintenance. There is a difference.

And later:

Casey: ...I mean, she just spreads herself too thin. But I guess some people are like that. They need to be busy.
Me: I know. I'm far more productive when I'm busy and I have to employ some actual time management skills. As opposed to indulging in a one hour leg massage on a Monday night.

Perhaps I have too much free time.

Ants are not nature, but rabbits and squirrels are

2010-06-06T08:43:00.004-06:00

* I'm cheating a bit here. I'm gonna go ahead and fudge the date on this one, as I found myself out of the house, making merriment, for the majority of Sunday. It wasn't until my midnight bus ride that I remembered this damn daily blog resolution.

In an effort to be more proactive toward the "Seoul is a fucking hot cesspool of vomit, garbage and poo and I'm tired of elbowing my way through the melancholy masses " type of feelings I seem to be prone to lately, I've been trying to make a point of doing more thangs that remind me of why I returned to Korea for round two. Hence the lack of Sunday posting.

I am not physically fit. Hell, I'm not entirely convinced I'm mentally fit either, but I suppose that's neither here nor there. Either way, Sunday morning I found myself saying yes when Justin called for a "quick run up Gwanaksan." Before I trek on, allow me to put some thangs into perspective. Gwanaksan is a big mountain. It is rocky and densely forested and vaguely resembles Grand Central Station on a hot, sunny Sunday afternoon. According to Wikipedia (the end all, be all, right?) Gwanaksan is a "small mountain." Wikipedia would be wrong. There is absolutely no arguing with my ass, thighs and shoulders, who all agree Gwanaksan is big. Oh, and so is Justin.

The hike was exactly what I needed. The mountain is truly breathtaking. The route varies between gently sloping packed dirt trails warmed by the the summer sun, and craggy outcrops of challenging yet manageable rocks. Each twist and turn is banked on either side by dense green foliage, a fact that had me sighing "Ah, nature!" on more than a handful of occasions. And speaking of nature, we happened upon a black squirrel and a white rabbit. I strongly suspect the rabbit was a "Beomgye Bunny," one of the many things hawked in Beomgye after dark. It was prolly dumped there after some poor fool woke up Sunday morning and realized he'd bought a fucking bunny. Being wasted is fun.

Anyway, I mentioned Justin is big. Being 6'7' he's officially attained celebrity status in Korea, so crawling up the mountainside is like hiking with Paris Hilton: everyone stops to ogle and giggle. But he's gracious. By the time we made it to the summit, he was ready to drink. The Makoli Men stationed at the top all greeted him with laughter and hugs and smiles. Having no such celebrity status, I bought myself an ice cream and wandered over to the edge to mingle with the townies.

And this is what I got:

Ahh, nature. Breathtaking, no?

Anyang from the clouds.

Every mountain summit has a Korean flag. We take patriotism very seriously here in Korea.

He's got a big stride.

These are the farms at the base of the mountain. They reminded me of Gaga and Papa Tom's cabin at Applegate, a place I hadn't thought about in ages.

Oh, and then I saw this. What a douche.

This weekend Gwanaksan, next weekend Everest. A girl's gotta have goals, right?

A lazy Saturday post

2010-06-05T04:58:00.000-06:00

It's Saturday people, and I got shiz to do. So here, for your weekend enjoyment is Yeryn. Yeryn is literally from another planet. She has a perpetual stream of snot dripping from her nose, during lessons I can usually find her licking the air or scratching her butt, and Thursday I found her sitting in the men's urinal, grinning from ear to ear. When I leave Korea, I will be packing three things: a year's supply of scrubby pads, my collection of street posters, and Yeryn.

Please note the ease with which I ignore the word "Teacher" and how Yeryn works that ice cream. Hot damn!

Part Deux

2010-06-04T04:52:00.001-06:00

*Ahem* Where was I? Oh yes, trekking back through Gangnam.

Yura and her mom were amazed at how hot, crowded and noisy the city is. I was amazed that they had no idea how hot, crowded and noisy the city is. Whatever. We made it back to my place and enjoyed a lovely, if not entirely satisfying lunch of spaghetti with homemade sauce, salad and garlic bread. The bulk of my lunch was spent silently repeating the mantra "dear god, please do not puke." I strongly suspect the bulk of Yura's mom's lunch was spent judging me. I am, after all, 30, unmarried and partying like a rock star. She must think I'm a total fuck-up. At least she still let's me spend time with her offspring.

Anyway, Yura quickly tired of our conversation and asked to watch Home Alone. I obliged. Yura's mom and I chatted in the kitchen while she cut fruit and I whipped up a pot of chocolate fondue. (I'm not a total heathen; I was prepared to host.) And that's when I heard the strangest sound. From my bedroom came thunka-thunk, thunka-thunk. Finger to lips, I quieted Yura's mom and peeked my head around the corner. My heart skipped, my uterus sang with joy: Yura was jumping on my bed, bouncing with pure childhood abandon. Her pigtails flounced about, eyes glued to the screen. Not wanting to spoil the moment, I stifled a giggle. She stopped, turned her straight, round face to me and asked, "What?!"

Smiling like a fool, my hangover was instantly forgotten. The world was butterflies and rainbows and unicorns. I wanted nothing more than for her to carry on, jump around, but I had surprised her and she became sheepish. She crossed her legs and plopped down. The moment was gone.

The rest of the afternoon was most excellent. Yura presented my gifts of purple nail polish and FIVE pairs of socks. We passed the time painting each other's fingernails, her mom's fingernails and even my Cow Cow's* fingernails.

*Cow Cows are the cows my mom bought me after I complained about the lack of nature in Seoul. They watch me blog. Don't they look sassy?

Then she drew me two birthday pictures:

And now I've gotta split for dinner. TBC.

I cannot be bothered tonight

2010-06-03T08:41:00.001-06:00

I saw this mammoth beast tonight on my way home from the park. He was easily the size of three Shelbys and had enough fur to carpet a small apartment. Also, there was a fly caught in the knappy snarls of his fur. I parked my ass outside a cafe and watched that fly struggle in his fuzzy prison for a good ten minutes. What can I say, I'm easily amused.

I will finish the Yura post later.

The Yura Chronicles

2010-06-02T07:29:00.000-06:00

If you've been reading for a while, you know I *heart* Yura Han. She makes my heart swoon and my uterus cry out. She is sass on a stick. She is quick on the uptake and knows when to call bullshit. She is a nine-year-old smartass with a heart of gold. Of course I jumped at the chance to have her and her mom over for lunch.

About two months ago I got a phone call from Yura reminding me my birthday was fast approaching. She called to inquire about what I might like as a gift and if she could come to my house for lunch. Our convo went a little something like this:

Yura: Mindy Teacher (I love that she still addresses me as teacher!) what do you want for your birthday?

Me: Socks. I like socks.

Yura: Be serious.

Me: I am. I like socks. (This is how you know you're old.)

Yura: Maybe I will draw you a picture. What do you like? (She's always so succinct.)

Me: I like animals. You know, giraffes and dogs and cows.

Yura: Do you like flowers and trees and houses?

Me: Yeah. What can you draw, Yura?

Yura: Flowers and trees and houses. (A girl with a plan, I see.)

Me: What do you want to eat for lunch?

Yura: What can you make? (You see what she did there?!)

We carried on like this for a while longer, finally deciding to meet Sunday afternoon, April 11th. And this is where my geniosity sets in. In my infinite wisdom, I thought it wise to schedule a lunch with a Korean family at NOON the day after my 30th birthday party. The same birthday party I spent a small fortune on? The same birthday party that found me stumbling home around 12:30 as I'd already consumed enough alcohol to blitz an entire frat house? The same birthday party I cannot exactly recall? Same, same, and same. Apparently I'd been battling a bout of Koreasoning that day, as I rationalized this ill-timed lunch by telling myself it would help keep me in check Saturday night.

Oh, how foolishly, ridonkulously wrong I was.

(Side note: After years of working with criminal offenders, I learned that addicts revel in retelling war stories. Their greatest pleasure comes from recalling that night of ultimate fucked-up debauchery and mayhem. So if I recount just how disgusting I was, that'd be akin to admitting I may have a problem. Which I don't.)

I stumbled out of bed miserable, but coherent. I tidied up my place and my face, threw my sheets in the wash, and headed to the subway to fetch the Hans. On my way I downed a Coke and a few Excedrin and was feelin' fine. However, all the bobbing and weaving through Gangnam Sunday Afternoon Retarded Korean Street Wanderers did not agree with the remnants of the alcohol cage match raging in my stomach. I suppressed the urge to retch (which is saying a LOT), and seouldiered on...

*It's getting late and I'm still feeling blah. I'll finish this bitch tomorrow.

Step one: We could have lots of fun

2010-06-01T07:01:00.005-06:00

Happy June! The morning dawned bright and shiny -- too bad it also found me with a sore throat and a slight fever. And that's officially my excuse for a picture blog. Way to start off on the right foot, Page.

Enjoy.

The Mighty Han.

Exercise is fun.

Hannam Bridge underbelly.

True, blue sky. I enjoyed nature today.

Crop circles.

Bridge Underbelly, part deux.

My wicked hair.

Biker on the Han.

All these pics were taken at Hangang Park. This was the first sunset I'd seen in a while. No wait, scratch that, I saw the sunset at the beach two weeks ago, but that doesn't count because I had to ride a bus in wicked traffic for three hours to see it. Anyway, I think the pics are pretty fly considering I took them on my super nifty and thrifty camera phone (because I am a retard and forgot my actual camera.)

Cheers.

The Little Engine That Could

2010-05-28T18:28:00.000-06:00

My June resolution: a new post everyday. My hagwon director alone should provide enough fodder for the masses.

See ya Tuesday.

Why I'm a Bitch: Reason Number 649.

2010-05-25T09:18:00.001-06:00

Quick! How many syllables in the word uncle? Two? Good. Now try table. Still two? Great, excellent. Alright, what about people and riddle, little and candle? Two, two, two and two, say you? Fantastic! Congratulations, you are officially smarter than the Average Hagwon Director. Or more accurately, my Hagwon Director.

English is a tricky language, I'll concede that much, but even my students know a syllable when they hear one. Stick to what you know, Hagwon Director, 'cause phonics ain't it.

And for the record, the -le syllable found in many English words is commonly referred to as the Consonant-le syllable. It is often found at the end of a word and consists of a consonant followed by the letters le. It's one of the Six Syllable types used in modern English. I scoured the internets searching for the history of -le spelling (as opposed to spelling tabel, peopel or candel), but could find nothing definitive. I have concluded, through my super scientific deductive reasoning, that the wonky spelling is probably derived from the Latin suffixes -able and -ible. Ahh, Latin strikes again!

Here, for your nerd word pleasure: uncle (The word that started it all. Seriously, this was top of the list. Ah, sweet validation!), paddle, tingle, humble (Apparently a word with which I am unfamiliar...), bundle, circle, settle, simple (As in, Simple Minds.), people, trouble (What my ass is gonna be in if said Director reads these interwebs.), middle, gentle, table (Hagwon Director actually tried to convince me this was a single syllable word. Blasphemy.), example, throttle, obstacle, miracle, muscle, syllable (I just wish I'd realized this during the course of this afternoon's conversation.), poodle, pickle, noodle, saddle, juggle, riddle, able, candle, little, chuckle, tickle, fable, vegetable (Technically four syllables, but lazy English speakers omit that second e.), cable, probable, apple, cuddle, bottle, kettle, wobble, article, and double.
And of course, the Bible, 'cause that's how Jesus rolls.

Next Up: Tales From the Dark Side AND Georgina Sparks is BAAAACK!

2010-05-17T09:01:00.001-06:00

Over the past month I have started and stopped a handful of posts. I have composed entire monologues in my head, spun charming yarns of my *adventures, all without conclusions. Drafts upon drafts have piled up, cluttering my hard drive and my mind, both of which have limited space at this point. It seems I have an abundance to say, but an inability to focus my thoughts. I guess that's what happens when I let too much time lag between posting. Lucky for you, none of those stories are going into this post. Nope, this one's all about my neurosis and my flagging ability to control it.

Now that it's spring, and winter is a memory safely tucked away (praise jesus, hallelujah!), I've had some time to breathe and think. First, I should prolly stop linking this thang to Facebook as the overlap of people who actually read it AND whom I know in Real Life grows to scary proportions. Lest I reveal some trivial part of my psyche on the internets, I wish only to suffer condemnation from those in the greater Tri-State area, which, as it turns out, make up the bulk of this blog's followers (thanks, Sassy Curmudgeon!) Plus, FB's privacy policies have gone all FUBAR, so they probably already own my firstborn.

This winter was a bitch, y'all! It was long and wet and wholly uncomfortable. It wreaked havoc on my wallet, my liver, my patience, my endurance, and my psyche. Truth be told, I'm not very good at confronting my demons and dealing with my emotions. I am, however, VERY good at hot-stepping right past those things which make me uncomfortable, squeamish, or frustrated in favor of more pleasant endeavors, like, say, drinking.

*Mom, if you're reading, STOP NOW.

So I drank my way through the winter. I suppose it's not unusual, especially considering drinking is a national pastime in Korea. Fuck, it's practically an Olympic sport. Rarely a day goes by that I don't see middle-aged men hobbling through the streets, suited up, but practically falling down drunk. It's not surprising that my drinking tirade was not only acceptable, but wholly unnoticed by those around me.

Apparently a whole slew of thangs were banging around in my head, most of which I chose to ignore for the better part of four months. Among the topics not up for discussion in my head:

My apparently unmarketable and, might I add, expensive skill set. Yes folks, I'm not actually a teacher, a fact even my mother has forgotten. I am, however, the proud owner of a BS in Criminal Justice, which affords me... well, I'm still trying to figure that out.
My failed grad school essay. This one still burns. Despite my inability to confront my own demons, I am quite adept at assessing others and guiding them down the path of enlightenment. No, really. People fascinate me in a way few other things do. Unfortunately, the application includes a highly personal essay, one which I was hardly in the frame of mind to write. ( I tell myself this is prolly the universe's way of making me face my own shit before I start proffering advice, but really it was just an epic FAIL on my part.)
My overwhelming loneliness. Seoul is a huge city crammed full to the gills with people. It seems an impossibility that one would feel lonely here, being surrounded by so much humanity. But I was longing -- for community, for normalcy, for routine -- for anything resembling real life. Those things are hard to come by here; things that are real and true. Seoul is an gigantic misnomer. The city is Seoul-less.
My crushing homesickness. My three month Summer of Awesome Shit (read: summer 2009) only served to highlight all the things I was missing. My family grew up and moved on despite my absence. My brother is married with child. He bought a house with a yard, and a sprinkler system and a bonus room. Friends married, procreated, lived. Time marched on without me. And I remain in a state of limbo, never engaging wholly in Here or There.
My 30th Birthday. 'Nuff said.

Anything else? Oh yeah, did I mention that I hated my job, my apartment was infested with ants, my best friend moved an hour away and the seasons of both Gossip Girl and Project Runway were sucking major balls?

And so I drank. I drank Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday. Sometimes I took Friday off, only to return with a vengeance Saturday. I often topped off the weekend with a Sunday night drinking binge that rarely ended before 2AM. I rocked at mid-week beer pong. I happily forked over $15 (each!) for second-class mojitos. I drank in Gangnam, and Sinsa-dong. I drank in Seocho, and Beomgye, and Anyang. I drank in Hongdae and Itaewon. I drank with friends and strangers. I drank so much I once fell asleep at the bar. I drank until I forgot my loneliness and frustration. I drank until I forgot everything. I was a champ.

All retarded things must come to an end, and so my drinking tirade did as well. But not before I managed to alienate several friends, confess past transgressions to total strangers, wreak cake-havoc in a bar, ruin one perfectly soft and snuggly down comforter and spend nearly $700 dollars on a birthday party I have next to no memory of.

But it's over.

The past few weeks have been filled with much contemplation and reflection, things I rarely engage in as they force me into corners of my mind I'd rather not visit. I'd just as soon leave those corners to gather dusty cobwebs than confront the realities I have created. I'm still lost. I'm still struggling to make choices that are financially responsible, but that maintain my sanity. I do not want to be in Seoul any longer than necessary, but the reality is: America Sucks Right Now, and it makes more sense to wait it out here. And so I labor on, creating community where I can, building routine and engaging with my surroundings as much as I know how.

And Gossip Girl just got really effing good, so there's that.

The XX

2010-05-17T05:12:00.002-06:00

a slice of real life

2010-04-19T05:08:00.001-06:00

a few years ago i worked with a student named eric. he was in his senior year of high school and just starting to emerge from an adolescence filled with shit you and i can only imagine. the other day he posted this on facebook:

"I am 21 now, every breath I take serves my pride. I have survived places while growing up that were filled with rapists, murderers, and drugged up lunatics. I have survived myself when I saw no possible hope in life. I am an adaptive person who strives to cope with all the issues of my life so that I can smile and be positive for myself and for those I encounter everyday. Being happy is a neverending pursuit. :)"

it takes some people a lifetime to understand the role they play in the pursuit of their own happiness. cheers to eric for "getting it" at 21. happy birthday, man!

all grown up

2010-04-05T08:55:00.000-06:00

it's almost my un-birthday. a vignette, if you will, of my day:

a birthday note from The Artist Formerly Known as Ashley. in an incredibly gracious move, ashley has foresaken her name so that ashlee, the newest member of blue class, may continue to operate uninterrupted. (nothing stalls an esl student like a name change. well maybe articles, but that's another post.) i think she's enjoying the new identity. and also, she included my old bitch shelby in the birthday note. gotta love a brown noser.

blue class singing "happy birthday jesus." apparently our savior's big day takes precedence over my 30th.

a different kind of birthday note from my SK ladies. they know me too well.

apple crisp LIVE! it's no queso LIVE!, but it definitely hit the spot.

"today birthday."

i might wear this everyday. thanks to jon and jinhee for indulging my ridiculousness. also, ignore the laundry in the background. i can only be so much of an adult in one day.