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.
6.06.2010
Ants are not nature, but rabbits and squirrels are
* 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?
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?
6.05.2010
A lazy Saturday post
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!
Please note the ease with which I ignore the word "Teacher" and how Yeryn works that ice cream. Hot damn!
6.04.2010
Part Deux
*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.
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.
6.03.2010
I cannot be bothered tonight
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.
I will finish the Yura post later.
6.02.2010
The Yura Chronicles
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.
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.
6.01.2010
Step one: We could have lots of fun
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.
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