I Got Two Shoes

Pale Shelter

2010-08-24T23:58:00.003+09:00

It occurred to me a few minutes ago that cigarettes are playing a part in my not writing. When I used to write stuff, you can bet that I was pausing between paragraphs to light a smoke and sit back and stare at the screen, changing a word here or a thought there. These days I spend a lot of time sitting at a table in the shaded cobblestone backyard of my brother's house. I'm reading a lot. (And smoking too much.) The inside of my brother's house is both lovely and non-smoking, as is pretty much everywhere I go these days. I was just trying to think of the last time I smoked indoors in Canada, and I really can't recall.

I went to see Tears For Fears the other weekend. While the band were very good, the Casino Rama audience was not. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the first few rows of tickets were given out as comps, and the people sitting in them had no idea who it was they were there to see. That's got to be a real drag for the band. (At a party the other night, someone told me that Toronto audiences are renown for their snobbishness and stoicism - so maybe it's just a trend.) Tears For Fears introduced the guy who had been singing along with them, a Canadian named Michael Wainwright, and announced he was about to do a duet which was no mean feat. As the notes to Woman in Chains began, I started to compose an e-mail to Roland that nice try with the guy singing, but I can do it better and I'm not busy and can come on tour with them. Then Michael Wainwright started singing and I just x'd out of the e-mail in my head. Holy crap. That link there is to the TFF show in Manila, which is how an audience should behave I think. Watch them do "Shout" in Manila. The crowd goes mental.

As for writing, I'll quote Tears For Fears,...."I find it hard to tell you 'coz I find it hard to take."

Isn't blogging strange? What's that quote? Something like "Never before have so many had so little to say." Or instead of "little" it's "meaningless?" I've shared parts of my life with all you lovelies and all you spam robots who stop by here, and now I feel obliged to update.

But how am I supposed to write about the things going on right now? How can I share here the shit I can't even bring myself to tell the people in my life because I'm sort of terrified? Like, I can't tell you I think my mom is insane and I'm pretty sure it's not a good idea for me to be seeing her. That wouldn't be nice. I shouldn't tell you that I'm not sure I want to be married. That I'm worried I made a mistake and that I can barely be responsible for my own life let alone a partner's. I shouldn't admit that here.

When people ask me how I am I always tell them I'm alright. If I responded truthfully now, though, I'd jump up and down and shout, "I don't know what to fucking DO!" How on Earth could I write about how I feel like I've got just about no family to speak of and how hopeless and useless I am at being able to do one single thing to reconcile that? I can't seem to bring myself to tell my brother and my friend (and sister-in-law) how much I love them and their two girls, and how grateful I am that they've welcomed me into their home since I've been here, but that me having to leave in a week and a half and not knowing where to go is really freaking me out. So if I can't seem to admit that to them, how can I tell you?

"When people run in circles it's a very, very mad world."

I certainly shouldn't tell you how overwhelmed I am. How I just can't look at the big pictures because I don't know what to make of this world. I would be too vulnerable if I told you I've spent many moments these past few weeks wishing myself into non-existence.

So. I'm alright.
Next time you're at a concert, get the fuck up and dance.

It Lives

2010-08-23T00:36:00.003+09:00

I was just on another site that linked to my blog and noted it has been 38 days since I last updated. Forgive me. It's been 38 days since my last confession.

I really don't want to kill my blog. Tonight, after I've gotten some sleep, I'll tell you a story or something.

Summery

2010-07-15T21:57:00.002+09:00

I keep noticing the warning on my disgusting ten dollar pack of Canadian cigarettes: "Tobacco smoke hurts babies." Every time I glance at it, it annoys me. I keep on thinking "stupid babies shouldn't smoke, then." Then I get to thinking how silly it is they put the warning on the pack of smokes anyhow - it's not like these smoking babies can read yet, after all.

It reminds me that being able to understand just about everything people are saying for a change is both a blessing and a curse. People say a lot of stupid shit, eh?

There hasn't been a lot going on to report. After the hospital, I felt as completely and consistently awful as I've ever felt before in my life. I'm not all better, but it's getting better all the time. I'm starting to work on the deep brown tan of the unemployed, and often change from pajamas into my uniform of bathing suit, T-shirt, and shorts - and then I go to the pool or the beach. Tough life, huh? The weather's been sunny and mahvelous, though we've had a few hot ones. When you're living at the edge of a pool, though, it doesn't matter how hot it is, so whatever!

Oh, Canada. Oh, Toronto. Me loves.

So, Here.

2010-06-27T11:27:00.003+09:00

"Open your eyes." the voice commanded. So I did.

"No. Really look at me," the voice scolded. "Really open your eyes." I knew I hadn't done it right the first time. I'd opened my eyelids, but knew my pupils were still rolled far back, probably seeing the middle of the backside of my brain. I couldn't help it. "Aim forward and look into the flashlight he's beaming into your skull," I ordered my pupils. As I somehow figured out without ever having seen him, my doctor was extraordinary looking.

The problem had started in Korea. Listening to my husband, and following the listed rules on the American Airlines website, I loaded the maximum sized carry-on bag with the maximum amount of stuff. My friends, when they came to collect me to deliver me to the airport instantly ixnayed it as "way too big," and in a rare instance of common sense, I brought the smaller bag. We ended up having to re-pack that as carry-on, and shifted clothes and books from the other maximum two check-in bags.

Here. Did you come here having found this blog by googling "Korea" or something? Are you a visitor looking for some advice? Here's some advice,...are you thinking of going to Korea for more than five years?

Don't.

That's my advice. Moving back is a pain in the ass. I have entirely too much shit! I digress, though. I realized in the Smoking Lounge at the Tokyo Airport what I'd done. One pocket in the bigger carry-on. The side pocket. In my mind, I could see the contents. Couple books. Couple pairs of glasses in cases. Drugs.

I looked in my purse. Six. I had six pills left. That wasn't how that was supposed to work. I was supposed to wean in Canada, and yet six pills meant I was going to bottom out fast. So I took the last two pills in Canada Wednesday morning and then it was cold turkey.

Sunday evening. Time passed and the door opened. More questions. Me answering as best I could for about the twentieth time since early Saturday morning. Another flashlight, but this time a fingertip prying my eye open, "Look at me," another voice commanded again. He concurred and I was officially in withdrawl - something I'd been pretty sure about for quite some time. Ha! And they stuck me to a pole and sent morphine into my veins through a pump that pushed it into my arm every four hours. I shant complain about that.

Here's something you might not have known: the last many months I'd been high. When I flew out of Korea it was after three consecutive days of taking 280mgs per day. A whole tray of 14 pills - enough for more than 2 days at the prescribed dose. I'd been doing that for months. I always went back to the doctor twice as fast as I should have. That was one accommodating Korean doctor.

I realize that fessing this up will probably get some judgment, but I don't care. I really don't. I have been thinking over the last few days how every single person has got their story. No one is alright, not all the time. I feel defenseless. Maybe there's something about spending two days writhing and puking and contorting and, oh god - my poor family - I just scared the shit out of them. But I was honest. Almost all honest.

I forget in which movie it was that one of the main characters replies, "I'm pretty fucking far from okay right now." I was just recently there - but I'm getting better. Now seems to be a time for courage. Still, I feel out of my skin. Nothing even fits me anymore.

"She just got out of the hospital," I heard my brother say to someone. I looked up to see who he was speaking to. Costco employees commenting on my attire. Yah. I was wearing pajamas. Suck it, bitches. "Check it out," I said - lifting my sleeve to reveal my multi-coloured arm, bruised entirely from the crook across from my elbow to the knuckles and covered in tape-rash I was just happy to be out. Out, out, OUT. My brother has a Toyota MR2 and it's the sexiest little car. I could ride around in it all day long. My brother has been also been suddenly embracing me and saying "I really love you, man." He said even at my worst I was curled in a ball with my head lagging backwards declaring, "I love this car, man."

I've been left alone now for the next few days. Somewhere in this house is a package that arrived while I was in the hospital. It's the rest of the drugs. I started looking for it already in high up places on the 2nd floor, telling myself that I was only trying to see if I could find it. I've since abandoned the search and am trying not to think about it. I don't want to search this house when chances are the package is in his desk drawer at work. Who knows. I'm not drug-free, the doctor gave me a prescription for Tylenol 3s for the pain. We'd been getting the bottles of pills at Costco when I appeared on "What Not To Wear. To Costco. After Detox."

You know, I was discharged and landed back in Emergency exactly three months to the day after my father died, which also happened to be Father's Day. Coincidence? Maybe. Here's something you didn't know: I didn't go to his funeral. Sunday was the first day of the last three months of what I hope will be the conclusion of The Year of Absolute Sucktitude. There's a lot of crap I haven't discussed with anyone, let alone you - but now it feels like I've got shards to pick up to try to re-assemble a life. What has been my life has exploded.

Late Thursday night I passed two Jewish men in black guiding a stretcher through the first floor hallway. The guy at the end of the stretcher was a giant albino, commenting "It's 3-West." I thought I was in an episode of Twin Peaks. Soon after I was sitting on a rock smoking a cigarette and they brought out a body bag on the stretcher, loading it into the back of a silver van before driving off. The next day I peeked out at the third floor as the elevator stopped on it. Damn. It was Pediatrics. I had hoped the smallness of the bag meant it was a withered old granny. Somewhere in the city, a family was grieving for a child as a pump ticked down measures of time into my arm. Everyone has a story; go easy on us all.

I'm not all better, but I'm trying. I'm joining the fight, which is all I can do. Now's a time to be brave, yeah?

Please VOTE and PASS THIS ON!!!!

2010-06-13T08:43:00.003+09:00

I've been a fan of Jef for a LONG time! His video, entitled "R.O.K." really is the best one in the contest. You don't have to watch it to vote, but you really should spare a few moments and take a look - especially if you are, like me, still IN the ROK! Then, you should encourage everyone you know to vote via your e-mail and your blog. I haven't asked you for a favour in a looooong time, but for this I'll even break out a "pretty please!"

VOTE HERE!!

Now I'm busting out a "thank you!"

I Did.

2010-06-05T16:26:00.002+09:00

I updated my Facebook status earlier this week. Did you see that? Are you my Facebook friend? No? Why not? You should be! Let's get on that, eh?

So if you are my FB friend, or if you've read my friend John's blog, then you already know the news. John scooped the story, which is fair enough considering I've had almost two weeks to write a bloody post already. But my desire to write has just slipped away pretty much. Many many things have happened since the last time I posted. I promise to elaborate soon, I really will. But here's the short version of the most notable things that have happened in the last couple weeks:

I got married! (Big smiley face!)
I got fired! (Big frowny face!)

I'll just leave those two bits of information for the time being, because I've got to go now and take care of my husband who's in a downtown hospital. He had surgery a couple days ago on his leg. He's doing alright and will be in there a few more days recovering. I just got a message that he's got a fever today. I hope he's not developing some sort of infection.

And even though I've gone through just about every major life-altering stress filled situation in the last few months, I'm doing alright. I suppose there's some truth to the saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." I certainly hope that's true, anyways.

We got married on May 23rd. Sunday will be our two week anniversary. So far, so very very good. More to come very very soon. I totally promise.

2010-05-01T01:31:00.003+09:00

Kamikaze - my beloved cat,...my baby, died tonight. My boyfriend called me panicked because Kami was choking on something and he wasn't moving. I think by the time he called me, Kami might have already died. I don't know. I'll never know if I could have saved him because I would have known enough to Heimlich him or stick my fingers down his throat.

I won't know now because he's dead. He was dead by the time I rushed home 5 minutes later. Now he's wrapped in a blanket and lying in his carrot Someone is going to find a lovely spot in the mountains and bury him when the sun rises. I can't imagine I'm going to go along, but I might because I don't trust anyone to do a proper job.

I'm only able to type because my friend Herb in Japan picked up the phone and talked me off a ledge. I'd been crying and hyperventilating for a couple hours. I just don't know what the hell is happening to my life. Why is it unravelling? What the fuck?

Chances are I'm going to raise my little white flag and just go the hell home already. After Kami died the first person I called was my brother, forgetting where he was. They're burying my father in a few hours. The ground was too frozen when he died. My brother cried with me and urged me to just get on a plane already. I might be able to do that providing I can get my severance pay. I think it's possible.

Meanwhile, I am terribly sad. I feel broken. Kami was my constant companion and I loved him more than anything else in Korea. Everything in my apartment is a reminder of him. I can't sort words out to explain how low-down rotten I feel.

Just a Couple Things From the Inside of My Head.

2010-04-22T03:17:00.006+09:00

I think to myself all the time, "tonight I will write something for my poor neglected blog." Then I think up things to write about, and I'm all "Oh! That's a good idea," and "Hey! I'm going to write about this!" (whatever it is that's happening at the time) and then I come home and realize I've forgotten what it was I was going to write about. Then I realize I'm tired and then I wake up and the grey light of dawn is creeping through the spaces in my broken blinds.

My blinds have been broken for about a year now. I don't feel like buying any because I don't feel like spending any money on this shithole apartment. I don't even feel like cleaning it anymore. I'd rather burn it to the ground and start all over. I've been thinking about the amount of money my boss is going to have to cough up in a few weeks. He's going to pay me a double salary as well as well as pay for my one-way plane ticket, and the new person's plane ticket, as well as other little things like a bye-bye dinner for me, and a lot of stuff to make this apartment presentable. When I arrived here the place had these totally fugly orange pleather chairs that were surely snagged from a noraebang gone out of business. Their fugliness has been super-fuglified by the fact that Kamikaze has been jumping up on them, employing his claws to do so and has shredded them quite nicely. All of them. My boss is a cheap little rat-bag, but I doubt he's going to use duct tape on them and pass them off as okay. Likewise with the broken blinds, whose pull stringey chain thing broke and now when I want to get some light in here, I tack them up manually with a couple of big laundry clamps. So ghetto-trailer parkish. The TV is near-dead. Everything on the screen is orange, and when the TV Fixer guy came to repair it months ago, he asked, "How old is it?" I told him I didn't know, at least eight years old. "I think maybe twenty years old" he guesstimated before declaring it un-fixable. It's watchable if you're watching something that's occurring in a well-lit studio or in the daylight. If the scene is at night, forget about it. The screen is black, so you can just listen to the dialogue and imagine what's happening. If there's no dialogue, tough luck. It's like the TV has been turned off.

I'm taking every single thing I've bought for the place when I leave, be it extra spoons and chopsticks or pots and pans. I'm still thinking that I'm going to do one more year in Korea starting in September. I'd like to have my last experience here be a positive one, and that's not really the case with the feelings I'm having as I leave this job. I'd also like to teach adults, and am going to be looking into teaching at a university. I'm not going to take a job that's not AWESOME, though. I'm looking for a LOT of vacation rather than a huge increase in salary, though it would be nice to get a lot of time off as well as buckets full of money every month. Anyhow, back to the glee I feel thinking about how much dough my cheap-ass boss is going to shell out in June when I leave. It pleases me. Makes me almost giddy.

Then again, I imagine it's going to cost me an arm and a leg just getting Kamikaze back to Canada. He's a big boy, and going to take up half the plane's cargo hold.

I noticed two dixie cups with cola remnants stuck in the recycling bag the other day. I knew it wouldn't have been any of the teachers that put them there, and furthermore knew that the only cola in the fridge was mine. So I wondered what the deal was. Two of my co-workers were in the office and said they hadn't drank any of my Coca-cola Light. The only other suspect was my nemesis Alice, who was teaching a class. I'd have to find out what happened the following day. So I came in and said hello and settled in and all that, and then asked her all casual-like, "Oh, hey. Did you drink my diet coke?"

No, she replied. She hadn't. And then she BLAMED IT ON THE STUDENTS!! This isn't the first time she's sacrificed the students, and the other times have been flat out lies as well. There's just NO WAY that a student would grab a cup, open up the fridge in the teacher's room and help himself to the contents. NO WAY. It's an absolute assuredness that Alice offered them the cola, no question. I just don't understand her thinking. She didn't buy the soda. Does she think it just magically appears in there? Where does she get off offering things that aren't hers to other people? (It's not the first time this has happened by any means. Whenever I go on a trip my candy supply, or ice cream I've bought has magically disappeared.) But then for Alice to blame the students when she gets called out,...it's disgraceful. Of course she didn't offer to replace the cola (and why should she, seeing as it was the evil students who drank it?) I should have called the boys in and asked them about it with Alice translating. It would have been fun to see their confusion,...though Alice would probably tell them in Korean "take the blame for this and I'll buy you a pizza."

So, there. I have written. I'll even do it again soon. I do have a bunch of pictures on my camera that I haven't uploaded that go along with posts that I haven't written. Honestly, I'll do my best to get 'er done in a very timely manner. If you've read this far and haven't fallen asleep I thank you. If you're still hanging in with me on this here blog, I really thank you. So, thanks!

Sign Off

2010-04-14T09:36:00.007+09:00

My father left his estate, like his life in general and his relationships with everyone, in quite a bit of a mess. He doesn't have a signed Will, so the government has to become involved. We should see everything wrapping up in about 2018 or so.

My uncle had been vying to be the Executor of said Estate, a move I wasn't entirely comfortable with because for reasons unknown but just very recently learned, he is no fan of mine. (This obviously also means he is insane and lacks sound judgement and good taste, reasons numbers two, three, and four why he shouldn't be the Executor.) Because he lives out of province, the lawyers have decided he's not the best choice for the job, so I got the following email from my brother:

From: Jeff Vxxxxxx (jvxxxx@knxxxxxxx.ca)
Sent: April 8, 2010 8:47:51 PM
To: Jelly Vxxxxxx (jelly@hotmail.com); Barbara Vxxxxxx (bvxxxxxx@coxxxxxx.com)
1 attachment
image003.jpg (3.2 KB)

Hey Bunn and Poopie-pants*,

It turns out that I may end up executor of the estate. The lawyer is asking if either of you would have any objections to this? If not, would you mind signing a document to that effect?

Let me know.

Tata.

Jeff

Well this news pleased me, but still - I thought it maybe wasn't a good idea to just go signing off on things willy nilly, so I sent back a carefully thought out and well crafted response. Just to make sure, you know, we were on the same page and all that.

RE: Would you mind?‏
From: Jelly Vxxxxxx (jelly@hotmail.com)
Sent: April 8, 2010 9:39:25 PM
To: Jeff Vxxxxxx (jvxxxx@knxxxxxxx.ca); Barbara Vxxxxxx (bvxxxxxx@coxxxxxx.com)
1 attachment
image003.jpg (3.2 KB)

Jeff?
You? The Executor? Of the Estate? YOU?!?? (Bunny,...is this e-mail from Jeff? Is he serious? He's going to Execute the Estate? For realz?)

Well, Jeff - before I agree to you being the Executor of Anything,...I have a few questions. I hope you won't mind answering them.

(A.) If you are the Executor, am I going to have to call you that? Like, when you call my house am I going to have to greet you as "Hello, Mister Executor!" before you will speak to me?

(B.) Are you planning on cutting me out - - no, no - - cutting everyone out and running away to Cuba with your bags of money?

(C.) If you say I don't have to call you "Mister Executor" are you going to turn around afterwards and make me call you something similar? Like "Zhine Exhecutoor" or "The Big Ex?"

(D.) Do you solemnly swear that you will faithfully execute ~~the Office of President of the United States~~, the Executorship of My Dad's Estate, and will to the best of your ability, preserve, protect and defend ~~the Constitution of the United States~~ the Estate of My Dad and heretofor all said Things Having to Do With Said Estate forever and ever, Amen?

(E.) Can I have Dad's Big-Ass TV?

(F.) If there is some sort of course you should take in order to be the Best Executor You Can Be, will you attend said classes faithfully and do said homework diligently? (I don't know if there is such a class, but I'm going to ask Google after I e-mail this.)

(G.) Do I have to pay you to be The Executor?

(H.) Seriously,...that Big-Ass TV,...it's not like he's going to be watching it. Bro, can you hook me up?

(I.) Are you planning on exploiting the Estate of Our Father (who art in Heaven?) in any manner - such as appearing on some trash-reality show like "Pimp My Estate," or "The Biggest Loser (in Estate Executionism)?" or writing a tell-all memoir?

Okay,...for now that's all the questions I can think of, but if you answer these questions in the right way, (that would be "No, no, no, yes, yes, yes, no, for SURE YES, no") then OKAY! YOU CAN BE THE EXECUTOR and I shall sign a document to that effect! Congratulations!

Love, Your Just Making Sure Sis

So, I still haven't signed the document. Did I leave anything out, or have I covered all the bases well? Comments are a-oh-diddly-kay.

*This is not a common nickname of mine, so if you see me walking down the street and shout out "Hey, Poopie-Pants!" don't be surprised if I fail to turn around. I think my brother just addresses the e-mails he writes to me with whatever happens to pop into his head. I surveyed five random e-mails from him and they were addressed to "doiyoi, Dinger Donger, J-Poo, Homie, and Hey Favourite Sister of Mine."** "Bunn" and "Bunny" refer to my mother who would most definitely turn around if you shouted that name at her on the street. In fact, I think that's what her street gang nicknamed her when they jumped her in.

**That last one is most assuredly true, but I am also his Only Sister of His. I assume in that e-mail he wanted something. Maybe he needed me to sign off on his being "Master of the Universe" or "Space Cowboy of the Galaxy."

In The Weeds

2010-04-06T05:08:00.010+09:00

Life seems cartoonish.

I spent last week trying not to stew and stress, but I wasn't very successful. I didn't feel that bad overall, but nevertheless threw up Thursday night for no reason and then proceeded to throw up about fifty more times. Not, like, in rapid succession - but over the course of the next day and a half. Unlike the last time, I didn't wait around for half a day to see if I was going to get better on my own. I had gone to sleep after the first puke and woke up having to run to the washroom for the second. I barely made it. I recognized the wretched feeling - overwhelming nausea and muscle ache - which was the same as the last time, and I headed on into the ER. So, in less than two months I've been admitted twice. I was even in the same room on the sixth floor, albeit with different roommates this time around. They were still all in-my-face but I didn't care. For the first twelve hours or so I couldn't really speak. I slept, sort of, in between having to lean over the side of the bed to hurl. One of the worst things was how awfully thirsty I was. I knew I couldn't keep anything down, but that didn't stop me from greedily gulping a mug of wonderfully cold water that I should have been just rinsing my mouth out with in the ER. It was still cool when it came back up a few minutes later. On Friday evening, when I finally felt like I had enough ooomph to wobble down to the store a few hundred metres outside the hospital, I bought a small can of coke and a 500ml bottle of Pocari Sweat, which isn't sweat, but this ionized lightly carbonated beverage. Even though I knew what the outcome would be, I downed them both and just waited a few minutes before projectile vomiting them all over the pavement. It was worth it.

They unhooked me from the IV on Saturday morning, and I asked to go home that afternoon. They sent me down to the lab for a blood test and jabbed me in the arm with a hepatitis vaccination before agreeing to let me go. I had to ask to divide my bill in half as I didn't have enough money to pay it in full.

Between the couple trips to Japan and having to pay for Shingles/PHN medicine, my savings had been dwindling. Ponying up for the cost to go back to Canada and the money I spent while I was there has pretty much wiped me out. It's pathetic, and I'm not used to living paycheque to paycheque. I cut open the plastic gold pig I've been shoving coins in for about a year on Sunday evening and counted out ₩140,000 to give to the hospital Monday. I expect that my next paycheque (Friday) is going to be cut in half as well. My boss doesn't have to pay me for the time I was in Canada, but it would be a generous gesture. Then again, we're talking about the man who threatened to fire me if I didn't return from Canada after a week, so I'm not expecting any kindness from him. My first day back he gave me two envelopes: "condolence money" from him and the teachers. His was ₩100,000 and the teachers all put in a whopping 10,000 won each to total ₩60,000.

My boss tried to make good his threat about firing me, this time because of my having missed work on Friday. We had met last week to talk about my upcoming contract. He wanted me to sign on again for another year, and I stalled - telling him I needed to speak to my family before I made any decisions. Really, I have no intention of working there another year, but I was wrestling with the idea of being honest about that - and having to deal with whatever underhanded crap he might pull between finding out I was finishing and my actually finishing - or telling him that I intended to work for another year and then letting him know thirty days before my contract was finished that I had changed my mind. Revenge. Hopefully that would leave him scrambling to find a replacement. None of that matters now, as he attempted to axe me Monday evening. He likes me and the kids love me, he assured me - but my absences are causing problems and the parents have been complaining. Other than the two weeks I spent in Canada, I've missed two days this year, both times having been IN the hospital hooked up to a pole. He makes it sound like I've been taking time off to have a good 'ol party. "So," he told me through my translating ~~thorn in my side bitch~~ manager, "you will finish at the end of April."

"No, I won't." I argued. "My contract finishes in June. I'll finish then."
"He will pay you double salary at the end of April." the manager said.
"As well as severance pay?" I asked.
"Uhhh, no," she stammered. "It's a type of severance pay. Double sala-"
"No. I will finish in June."

I'm tempted to just get the hell out of here. I'm so tired of working at my school. I haven't written about it yet, but while I was in Canada the new teacher that just started a few weeks ago quit and they ended up hiring one of my former adult students. I was really pleased to hear that, as the new teacher was bonkers and I love my former student Anne. My adult class was halted a couple months ago when the students had dwindled down to just one. Anne had quit my class after Christmas because her mother-in-law was in the hospital with the same sort of brain tumor as Kevin's mom had. Anne's mom-in-law ended up passing away at the beginning of March. While I'm happy to see her everyday, Anne has told me she regrets having taken the job because "the atmosphere is not good." She ain't kidding about that. I cannot remember the last person that I loathed so thoroughly and completely before my manager, but I just absolutely hate her. Along with being the worst manager/co-worker I've ever had the misfortune to work with, she's a moody seemingly bi-polar miserable bitch with the worst listening skills that I have ever come across in a person. Today's exchange, two hours after I arrived to work and she still hadn't spoken to me was, "By the way, hello." from me, and "I'm okay, thanks." from her. I'm already stressed to a near breaking point - or at least to the point where I can't stop puking, and seeing her face every work day just makes me want to,...

I've been really hoping that no one gives me reason to snap and unleash the rage I feel hulking beneath my deceivingly calm exterior. I feel like I could just beat someone to a pulp.

Exhausted, broke, and stressed out I'm having to take it hour by hour and just hold it together well enough to get through a day. I just have to shake my head. Almost six years here at the same school and for what? Passed from boss to boss only to end up with this heartless little rat-bag of a director I feel like a grubby whore. Sorry to sound so ugly, but that's how I feel these days. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. My boss might try to re-fire me. I'm sure it doesn't go over very well with him (or his bitchy wife) that he tells me things are going to be one way and I insist that no, they're not. We shall see.

On a stupid note, though - one side effect of the sicknesses and the stresses has been that I've lost quite a bit of weight. The jeans I wore today didn't just slip down a little - they fell down to my ankles. Twice. Luckily the shirt I was wearing went down past my hips, providing me with enough underwear coverage. But, still. The vegetable-selling grannies out in front of my school had a good hearty laugh at pantsless me this afternoon. The second falling took place in an empty classroom, and I finally thought to use some string to tie my belt loops together, cinching the waist enough to stay up and let me use my hands for more than just holding my jeans up.

Now they're free to smack someone in the head.

Here

2010-03-29T05:19:00.002+09:00

I'm back in Korea and going to head into work in a few hours. Sorry for the silence. It feels like the last couple weeks was just an awful dream. My father died on March 19th, just over a week ago. These days if I can eat something and sleep a little while then it is a triumph. Thank you for the kind comments on the previous post. I feel so strange these days, so for now - that's about it.

Thought I'd Something More to Say

2010-03-16T12:46:00.004+09:00

That last post was from the airport in Incheon. I'd just gotten the news about having to be on a plane on Sunday or being fired. I was very upset and very tired. Not too much has changed in that regard. I wish it didn't bother me at all, what my boss has threatened - and the fact that now I know what type of person he is - but it does. I'm thinking about it all the time. What I really wanted to hear from him and my co-worker is "Go. Don't worry about us. Everything here will be okay" - and it will be! I went on an almost four week vacation to Canada in the summer of 2008. If I could get away with that, I'm sure students and parents would understand my going home to be with my family at a time like this. I don't want to be fired. After SIX YEARS at the same place - this is the thanks,...don't they say losing ones job can be as stressful as losing a loved one? Something like that. I don't want the double whamification, but I seriously don't think I'm going to be able to make that flight next Sunday.

I saw my father today. It took me a good hour or two to work up the courage to go inside his hospital room. When I finally did, I found him looking small under his blanket. He's so yellow, the effects of jaundice, and swollen - perhaps from the medication he's on. His breathing is slow and deep and I waited in between breaths, hoping there would be another one coming. I actually asked if he was on a ventilator because it's that kind of measured breathing. He has stomach and liver cancer, which are both secondary cancers. They still haven't figured out the primary source of the disease. At this point, the medical staff are just trying to make him comfortable. He's in a lot of pain. We all are.

I walked in the room and to the side of his bed. He looked right at me without changing the serious expression on his face. "Dad! Hi!" I said, and there it was - a big smile. He turned his head away and even laughed before turning it straight ahead facing the ceiling once more. "Just a minute" he whispered in a hoarse voice, and so I waited. Nothing happened. He didn't wake enough again to join in conversation, and he didn't acknowledge me once more. He opened his eyes from time to time, but didn't seem to be paying any attention to what was going on around him. On the wall at the end of the bed is a corkboard with a big white-faced clock in the middle of it. The second-hand moves around in a circle ticking off time as it creeps by. I wished he had something better to look at. My brother suggested a poster that kitten gripping onto a tree branch with the caption "Hang in there, Baby." "Yah, like that." I agreed. The clock blurred through the tears that filled my eyes. That bloody clock, ticking off time - which just reminds me of how little more of it we have with my dad. Just last week the doctors were predicting it could be "days, weeks, perhaps months," but they've updated that list and and have struck the last two options off. Days. I really don't think he's going to make it through the week. I can't believe a week ago I was in Korea, completely oblivious, and this week my world has uprooted itself and turned over on it's head.

I'm walking around feeling like I'm a hundred years old. I'm slow and twisted up, partially from the 26 hours of traveling yesterday and moreso due to stress. I had to stop in the ER with my brother today who was close to having a panic attack. He threw up loudly and violently in one of the examining room sinks before the doctor came and prescribed him some atavan. Tomorrow morning I should meet my grandparents at the hospital who have said they want to see their son one more time. My uncle cried when he hugged me hello, and then asked me "how do you say "this is a big pile of shit" in Korean.

That sums it up nicely.

Ultimatume'd

2010-03-14T17:07:00.002+09:00

I have a bad habit of saying too much. I'm honest, and that doesn't tend to get one ahead in Korea. I'm just calling it like I see it, and I have seen my fair share of liars and cheaters over here. What sealed the deal in me hating my manager was that she lied about my students, straight up - putting me in the position of either believing one of her or seven students who had no reason to lie. I instantly knew who was telling the truth.

When my brother called and said it was time to get on a plane I didn't even think to call my boss - the guy who doesn't speak English - to let him know I would be leaving. It didn't occur to me to ask permission, which I think is what he wanted. I'd already told him last week that there was a good possibility I'd need to go to Canada, but I was hoping that wouldn't be the case. He really pressured me to tell him when and for how long I'd be going - but I didn't know, and I wasn't going to pull an answer out of the air just to make him happy.

So after the tickets were booked, my friend called him to tell him what was up. As I mentioned in the previous post, I have a return ticket for a week from today. I'm not sure I'll be coming back then. I have to see what's happening in Ottawa. I should have just shut up and left it at the return ticket's in a week idea, but nooooo,... I was honest.

Long story short, I've been delivered the news that if I don't get on the plane come next Sunday I will be fired. Swell guy, my boss. He musn't REALLY want me to re-sign for another year, even though he says he does. Does he think I'm going to forget his lack of compassion?

I've got a plane to catch, but let me say I can't believe he's making me choose. Hmmmm - work or family? Seems like a total no-brainer to me. I only wish I'd told him to go ahead - start looking for another teacher, then - and jam my job up your ass.

I am so tired.

Low Down, Going Home

2010-03-14T09:45:00.002+09:00

I got a call from my brother Saturday afternoon. He'd been to visit my father and stayed for a couple days. He went back home to Toronto because my dad seemed to be getting better, but the following day my father took another turn for the worse.

He had a heart attack while he was in the ICU. He's also jaundiced and his liver is failing. The cancer is metastatic, but they don't know the primary source, yet. The results of the biopsy and a couple other tests haven't arrived yet, but my family has been told that when they do come back the news will not be good. They will show the caner is spreading into the lymph nodes. My father has been ill for quite awhile, but was misdiagnosed as having cardiac trouble - and was given medication to slow an erratic heartbeat, and blood thinners for god knows what. They missed the cancer. He will be accepted by the cancer treatment centre, but in his weakened state and with the pervasiveness of the cancer, treatment options are likely to be limited.

I was told if I want to see him, I really need to get on a plane as soon as possible. So, that's what I'm doing. I'm flying in about an hour and a half, and by the time I reach Ottawa I'll have been traveling about 26 hours. I have a return ticket for a week from today, but we'll see how that goes. There's a very good chance I'm going to push the return back by an additional week.

Meanwhile, things are probably going to be pretty quiet around here, but I'll update if I'm able. Thank you very very very much for the well wishes. This whole experience is an huge unexpected pile of horseshit, and life doesn't seem real anymore.

Take care.

Waiting

2010-03-11T08:18:00.006+09:00

In some respects I've been very lucky in the just over eight years that I've been overseas. (I added that "in some respects" because I don't think that I've personally been particularily lucky. If you've been around here awhile, you'll know what I mean.) Back at home my family has stayed relatively safe and sound. Sure, my mom got a robot arm last winter, but she's all better now. I'm sure that I share a common fear with a lot of expats here, though - and that's getting "the call."

It could come at any time of the day, but generally one would probably imagine it coming in the middle of the night. I've gotten over that fear, as most of my calls do come in the middle of the night. My family and friends know I'm a night owl, so they're not at all afraid to give me a shout at three in the morning. It's only one in the afternoon where they are, afterall - so that's reasonable. But the call that so many of us fear is the one with Bad News. It's a call that's going to change your life. Well - my luck, as it were, ran out yesterday - and I didn't even get "the call." I got an e-mail, simple enough - from my brother: "Hey Jenn, can you call my cell."

Turns out my brother had been trying to call me but I'd stupidly turned off the ringer instead of lowering it from the ear shattering volume my boyfriend had set it at. So I called my brother yesterday morning and we started off chitty chatty the way we always do. And then he said, "Listen. I got an e-mail and I've been on and off the phone all day with Uncle Mike. Our father's father is in the ICU in the hospital."

This was bad news, but it wasn't entirely surprising. My grandfather had had a stroke just about four weeks ago. (What happened afterwards was my brother gave them a call and my grandmother was lucid and my grandfather cheery as if nothing had happened. So I got word that things were okay. Apparently, though - they're weren't.) My brother went on to tell me some details but he kept saying "father." Why had he described our gradfather as "our father's father" anyway? That was weird. "Wait," I said. "Whose father? MY father?"
"Well, we have the same father."
"OUR father?!"
"Yes"
"Is in the hospital?"
"Yes."
"Dad. OUR dad?"
"Yes. What's wrong with you?"
"Sorry! I just couldn't understand who you were talking about. I thought you said father's father. I thought you were talking about grandpa."

No.
He wasn't.

I didn't know it, but my father has been sick for the last three or four months. The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong, and they were concentrating on testing his heart and lungs, which weren't revealing anything. But finally they found out what was wrong this week sometime. A tumor. On (in?) his liver.

I don't know much more than that. They'll do a biopsy on,... well I suppose they've done a biopsy by now. It happened Wedenday morning in Ottawa. My uncle was flying in from Vancouver as my brother and I spoke, and my brother was going to travel to Ottawa Wednesday morning as well. I'm waiting to hear what's going on, but I imagine I'm going to be getting on a plane fairly soon.

I've known for a long time that I don't have a proper support system in Korea. I went in to work yesterday with red ringed eyes above dark black circles and told them what was happening. They must have asked me ten times when I'm going and how long I'll be gone. I don't know, though. My boss seems to also be leaning toward me not coming back. My manager told him I wasn't renewing my contract, even though I haven't told them on way or the other yet. As a matter of fact, after I told her my father is gravely ill, she went to the boss and told him I'd be leaving as soon as possible. She came back to me to tell me they'd start looking for a new foreigm teacher right away, and I didn't understand what the hell SHE was talking about. I don't understand why, but she seems to be screwing with me. I walked out of the office thinking that I'm working for and with a bunch of heartless pricks.

Eveything is up in the air, and I'm still carrying around a solid headache that developed with ferocious intensity when I was talking to my brother. He said the same thing had happened to him while he was speaking with my uncle.

And in the meanwhile I'm waiting to see what happens.

The Glass is Half Full

2010-03-04T03:58:00.004+09:00

Ha! In my last post I vowed that I would try to do a post a night this week. Seeing as it's technically Thursday, I think I've pretty much sucked so far, hey? Well, I haven't been to bed yet so I'm counting this as Wednesday night's entry. So I'm going to try to keep half my promise, and will write something Thursday and Friday (technically Friday and Saturday surely. Whatevs.) I didn't post on Monday because I was still in Seoul. I was supposed to come back Monday afternoon but the weather was windy and rainy and pretty miserable, but more importantly I was really enjoying myself at John's place. He graciously allowed me to stay another night and we watched a fantastic movie that I hope to write about soon. I also snooped around his nice DVD collection and borrowed 5 seasons worth of "The Office!" Score! I've seen every episode of the British version numerous times, but have never even one full show of the American one, so I am verrrrryyy happy. I'm already halfway into the 2d season after watching for the past couple nights. Love it! Thank you very much, John. I intend to write a little more about my trip to Seoul as well, but for now my bed's a callin'.

In the meantime, here's another look at the rarely seen mole cricket. Another one showed up at my school awhile back. I first posted about these strange looking things at the end of last July. Time has passed, and they look as weird as ever don't'cha think?

Oh, and I wonder what the hell is up with my subconscious D.J. I've been waking up with the grossest tunes running through my head. I don't know why my dreams are tuned into Q104.3 E-Z Rock for the Granny set, but I woke up Sunday with the Beach Boys' "Kokomo" running through my head, and yesterday morning it was Michael Bolton's "Said I Loved You, But I Lied." Why am I being punished? If I promise to blog more, you think it'll stop?

Blog Bling

2010-02-27T12:44:00.000+09:00

This post is late and I'm terribly backlogged. I'll really try to do a post a night next week. How's that for optimism?

I got an e-mail a few weeks ago from someone entitled "A Quick Idea to Run Past You." I read it, and the idea was that this person wanted to send me a piece of jewelry from their store, and in return I could blog my thoughts on it. Well that's an idea I like, as I am a fan of both the shiny things and the free things! So I had a look through LuShae, the online jewelry store where I could pick out any single thing I wanted. It took me a few nights to choose, but I finally decided upon what is arguably their most unique item. Check it out on my finger!

Please ignore the wrinkles in need of some hand cream, and focus on the shiny!

This ring is called the "CZ sculpture" and it's a big'un. Look at the height from the side!

I did promise that I would blog my thoughts, and the woman who sent me the initial invitation and this lovely ring said that I could "post [my] honest thoughts (good, bad or ugly) on [my] blog." As well, you're all welcome to comment and tell me how ugly this ring is and how tacky my taste is. I don't care, because the shininess of my fancy new ring will blind me from your cruelty! I really enjoy this ring. It's very unique. I look at it and it gives me pleasure. It makes me happy. I think there is a good possibility that I was a magpie in a previous life, though - so I realize this piece might be a bit over the top for many people.

I'm a fan of silver, and don't own single piece of gold jewelry. I'll admit that I'm also a snob about "real" silver, and this new ring is my only piece of costume jewelry. This ring is fakeity-fake-fake, but I don't care. Here's from the website:
"White Gold Rhodium Bond is achieved using an electroplating process that coats the item with heavy layers of rhodium, a close cousin of platinum that costs three times as much, which gives our jewelry a platinum luster." So lah-dee-dah! I like the fact that I don't have to polish this ring like I do all my others. And it's so shiny. Did I mention that already?

There are a lot of different pieces to choose from, if you're interested in visiting LuShae Jewelry online. I very nearly ordered some pretty, pink, and far more conservative earrings. LuShae has lots of pretty earrings. Free shipping, too - which is always nice.

Perhaps you're thinking, "Man! What a sellout that Jelly is!" but I'm okay with that. Furthermore, if anyone else is interested in sending me things that are shiny and free, please do! If you feel like sending me a present, just let me know and I'll shoot you the address! Shiny free presents are goooooood, m'kay?

As for the bad, I'll just say that there are quite a number of two-toned (gold and silver combinations) items in the online shop, and I've never been a fan. Also in the bad department, I was seriously ready to buy another ring from them, one more conservative yet still shiny and green - but just before I placed the order I decided to google the ring's name and came up with quite a number of other sites that were offering the same ring at a considerable discount. I shall say no more, though. I am a fan of LuShae and still may very well place that order.

Finally, the ugly - which could fall into the good category as well. My ring came packed up nicely and securely in a cute little box within a well sealed envelope. I attacked the package with enthusiasm, excitement and a pair of not very sharp scissors. Even still,....

a blade's a blade, and this cut was surprisingly deep. Notice the nice placement on the bendy part of my thumb which opened and re-opened and re-re-opened my wound. Nice work. Ummm, and so yah - that's the reason for the lack of posts: I had to wait for healing. It wasn't at all that I was too distracted by the pretty shiny ring on my finger every time I sat down to type. Not at all.

Now I'm off to Seoul to visit my good buddy John. I'll write again on Tuesday. Kisses.

Hospital Stay

2010-02-10T01:54:00.007+09:00

That last entry, while true - was written when I was very tired and really feeling blue. I hate the fact that probably half the posts I write these days seem to warrant "I hope you're feeling better" comments. Life isn't all a drag here, but I tend to just not write much at all. When you're caught up in a bit of a self loathing pity party, you might tend to think everything you produce sucks. Ah well. Suffer along! I think you might know the words!

Let me tell you about my weekend. Some expats really enjoy a good weekend temple stay. I'm sure there is a lot that can be gained from the bowing and meditation one does and I'll bet you can learn quite a bit about Buddhism. But I've never been a good early riser by any means, so I opted for the less popular and more necessary (in my case) hospital stay.

By the time the doctor asked me Sunday morning if it would be alright if he admitted me I was just about out of my mind with pain. I'd been barfing for more than 24 hours by then and was again dehydrated with a blinding headache and seizing muscles. He wanted my boyfriend's number (who had already taken off to go to work) to be clear about the cost, which was going to run 600,000 won (about 520$ US) per day!! Whaaaaaat?!?! But I quickly found out that this was for a private room, and alas, I don't require such luxury. Until very recently I didn't have any sort of health insurance, but I snapped after breaking a tooth on a stale baguette and complained to the manager who spoke to the boss who finally actually DID SOMETHING ABOUT IT and enrolled me in some private insurance scheme. So now hospital bills and doctors visits and medications are covered to about 90%. Hallelujah. I still have to pay and get reimbursed and it's still unclear if medications for shingles will be covered from when the policy became active. (My boss was initially very confident but I was dubious that any insurance firm would cover a pre-existing condition. Since having gone to the hospital last week to pick up the correct form my boss has become less sure - and has re-contacted the hospital to give him new forms with dates of visits listed only after the policy started. As it is, it's costing me about a hundred dollars a week, which is a drag. I've spent my entire year end "bonus" - a month's salary - on shingles. Bummer.)

Anyhow. I didn't need a single room. I could share. Administrator Man asked me if it would be okay to room with some "halmonies" (grandmothers) and I said sure. If he had asked if I would mind staying in a fish tank filled with barracudas, but they doctors would make me feel better I would have agreed. So I signed a few things and they walked me upstairs to the sixth floor and into a room with four grandmothers and a blaring television.

The first many hours are a blur. I noticed two of the grannies had IVs but they only had one smaller bag of yellow stuff, where I had two hefty bags of clear liquid. ("I win!!") But, I couldn't do much of anything but feel horrible and miserable. Conversations were out of the question and even though two of the grandmothers seemed to have plenty to say to me and about me, I just ignored them. What really got them riled up was how I ignored the lunch tray they'd delivered to the table at the end of my bed. They told me to eat about 47 times and I kept moaning no, my stomach hurt. Later, when a snack came and I ignored that, too, well - apparently that was some sort of crime. There was quite a commotion as the grandmothers complained to one another and then to an orderly that came by, and finally to people passing in the hall. At last a nurse came in and hung a sign from my IV pole that read "No Food" on one side and "Requires Deep Rest" on the other side. I wanted to hug that nurse, but the sign didn't really dissuade my new granny-fans.

One of them, curiously the youngest one who was sixty years old, was the clear Boss of the Room. She was the controller of the TV remote control and no one seemed to question her choice of shows. Most were dramas with a lot of people who cried and screamed and hit themselves and threw themselves upon the floor as they cried and screamed. I didn't even really care. I imagined they were feeling my pain, so I understood their antics. Finally, the nurse who had hung the sign came back with a syringe of something wonderful and shot it into my IV tube. (Then I wanted to make out with her!) Within a just a few short minutes my stomach eased up just enough that I fell asleep. For about forty five minutes. I woke up to find the Room Boss yanking my foot back onto the bed and tucking it under a blanket. She wasn't very delicate, and scolded me for not staying awake enough to make sure my feet didn't get cold. I thought that was funny, since the room temperature was conservatively just a few degrees less that the surface of the sun. It's a wonder I didn't lose some toes to frostbite! Thanks G-Ma! I sort of dozed on and off for a couple more hours until my boyfriend swung by with some things from home, like my pillow - which unlike the ones provided by the hospital, isn't made of lead and filled with rubber tires. The grannies had to pass my bed to go to the bathroom and there was no door on that, just a shower curtain which slid in front of the toilet. Earlier, I had noticed a very old feeble-looking woman in the next room hoisting herself onto a combination chair/toilet thing right beside her bed in a room with four other patients. She just had to get her business done right there in the openm, so I was thankful for the still-mobile grannies in my room and the flimsy shower curtain that provided at least a tiny bit of discretion. Speaking of bathrooms, neither the unisex one in the ER or the one in my room had any soap. There ere signs illustrating how to wash ones hands, but nothing to wash them with. Seriously?

I thought the idea of a hospital was to make a patient comfortable while they attempted to recover, and even take some burden off the patient's family as healthcare professionals tend to their care, but Korean hospitals seem to go out of their way to do the opposite. The bed would have been only slightly more uncomfortable if they had an angry crocodile living inside it. It was hard and lumpy with zero cushion or support. It probably doesn't matter to the average Korean, I know, who has spent a lifetime of sleeping on the floor, but man! It sure mattered to me! I just couldn't find any position comfortable enough to let me slumber for more than a few uninterrupted minutes at a time. Also, the nurses would come around and take your blood pressure and temperature pretty often. They change the IV bags. But that's about it. All of the rest of life is left up to the patient or the patient's family. When I finally came around enough to look at a mirror I had to laugh at the crazy hair I had going on, and by the 2nd day my skin was just crawling for a shower. I also know they've got an a vault of nice narcotics in that place, but why they gotta make a sister beg for it? My moans of pain and whimpers of "bey appayo, jinja yo." were attended to, but only in pitiful increments of aid. At first they brought me a hot water bottle, because that's worth five hundred dollars a day innit? Then they double checked to see that my IV drips were drippy enough. I saw that they employed a flicky-finger for this, so that's good. I finally sort of very loudly asked my boyfriend to just take me home already because nothing they were doing was making me feel better - and he went over to talk to the nurses. This was about eight hours after the first syringe of goodness had been produced, so I knew for sure they had something that worked better than a pat on my crazy hair. I sent the boyfriend back home because I'd forgotten to ask for a couple things and while he was gone they finally came over and stuck another needle in my IV and I woke up about forty minutes later with the imaginary gut-fist tightening its grip yet again.

It wasn't until I finally chewed up about 30mgs of oxycontin, the dandy painkiller I have for shingles - and what I sent my boyfriend home to get - that I was finally able to get ahead of the pain. I slept solid for a whole two and a half hours despite the blaring TV and the sweat dripping down my back. My friend came and visited me around 12am. Families are encouraged to care for their sick relatives around the clock, so there is no such thing as visiting hours. My friend scolded me for medicating myself, but I didn't care. I'd finally beaten the pain down enough that it seemed to be slowly going in reverse. I was just relieved to finally be able to have a conversation after a day of a half of non-verbaliciousity. After she left I was even able to focus enough to finish the last few chapters of a book. Three nurses watched the over-sized TV in the common area of the floor and I enjoyed the relative peace of a hospital at night. There was one exception, what I thought was a man but was told was a grandmother in pain - she screamed ALL NIGHT LONG. I wondered why on earth they couldn't make her comfortable. Surely that verbalized anguish couldn't be conducive to healing. It certainly wasn't making me feel any better. I wondered what was wrong with her and how come no one went to check on her as she screamed in some private room at the end of my hallway.

I finally slid into the room which had cooled slightly, making me so thankful, shortly after 3am and I got to sleep for a couple hours before nurses slammed in and snapped on the lights to slap on a blood pressure cuff and stick a thermometer under my armpit. It was just after 5:30 in the morning.

I was finally starting to feel more like myself, and I could drink small amounts of liquids. I sat quite contentedly in the common room with three different bottles of beverages in front of me. I even scored the remote control and turned to some show on Vincent Van Gough. My boss, his wife, and the manager I've grown to hate (a steady growing source of stress) stopped by before noon. We sat and talked quietly and I appreciated the sympathy my boss had. I told him I'd be back to work on Tuesday and he argued the doctor wanted me to stay until Wednesday. I told him not to worry about it. My boyfriend stopped by later with a change of pajamas (since I was already wearing some, they thankfully hadn't insisted I don their P-Jays, flannel white and pink for the ladies, and blue and white for the lads.) I spent the day in the common room pretty much, avoiding the TV and bossy grandmas in my room - both seemed far too overbearing now that I was lucid. Still, every time I stopped in the Room Boss had something to say to me. You shouldn't drink that. You should lie down. Aren't you going to eat? They should take that sign off you, you can eat already. She even shrieked at my manager who failed to take off her whoes when she walked in the room. I liked her for that.

In the common room I got too much attention as well. The nurses would stop by and pick up my book or a paper from in front of me. An elderly couple sat at the next table and wondered what was wrong with me, where I was from, was I American, had I eaten, did I like kimchi, but they didn't ask me directly - just spoke about me like I wasn't there. A woman being fed by the only intern I'd seen in the hospital turned and glared at me between bites. An old ugly man scowled at me all day long when he wasn't scowling at the television.

It was that old man who helped me leave early. As staff stated to set out trays of food for dinner a nurse had set a container of kimchi across the table from me. The old man barked at her and she moved the container to the table behind me, smiling apologetically. I didn't care. Suddenly, though - an arm appeared before me and the ugly old man swept the contents in front of me, a book, my phone, a pen and some paper - violently to the floor. Then he started to yell at me and puff up like an angry fish. "Eassssssssy cowboy!" I said, as nurses rushed in to pull him away. Apparently I was sitting in "his" chair where he liked to dine. There were lots of patients there, as well as many of the nurses, and I was pretty embarrassed. I gathered up my stuff and brought them to my room and then went back out to the desk where I saw my doctor and convinced him to let me go. I was feeling well enough and assured him I would rest better at home. My presence was causing too much commotion for the patients there, and their curiosity was getting on my nerves. I went back to my room to fetch my wallet and heard the doctor yelling at the old guy. "This is not your hospital and that is not your chair. People are here to get better just like you are and you should treat everyone here with kindness." The old man grunted.

I wasn't even angry at the old guy anyhow. I get his need to stake some ground. When just about everything seems out of your control I understand the desire to cling to these little things that make a day seem somewhat routine - that make a person feel somewhat normal. So he liked to eat in the same chair everyday, fair enough. I don't think even if he could have he would have asked politely, but that's his problem. Even if he'd asked me rudely, I would have moved. He was really scary looking.

220,000 won later and after a nurse pulled the IV out of the top of my hand I was free to leave. I saw the skies overhead, just like my head, were starting to clear though a thick fog still blanketed the close-by neighbouring town and surrounding mountains. The air was damp and cool but smelled like spring and not like sterility and sweat. It was just what I needed.

So my advice for you is to stay healthy. If you're going to get sick, try to not to have to stay in the hospital here. But if you do have to, then bring your own soap or something. But really, just stay healthy m'kay?

**A little note - because of the comments I've gotten (thank you for them and the wishes for better health) I really think that I cast the whole hospital experience in an unfairly negative tone, which wasn't really my intention. The experience was negative - but only really because I was in a lot of pain. The staff was very courteous and helpful and the other patients, except for Billy Goat Gruff, were very kind to me. When I was finally well enough to interact with them we smiled at each other a lot and I understood it was strange to have a stranger among them and as usual regarded their interest in me with a laugh. It's been my experience that one does have to generally "beg" for mercy with doctors - especially the "countryside" ones**, who expect you to just endure a certain amount of pain. (I prefer the "medicate me until I'm realllly fiiiine" approach, heh.) Commenter Todd is right, I sometimes mis-use "yo" and use it for emphasis like it might be used in Japanese (honto yo, ne?) but I guess it's better than using "YA!" Honest, the staff wasn't put off by me, they were lovely and even the Room Boss was a sweetie. The woman who scowled at me - I think her face was stuck like that unfortunately. By far and away, the pain was what coloured my perception - and if you have to go to the hospital don't be scared; it's the best place to be if you're really ill as I assurred my worried mom Sunday night.

**As a matter of fact, after I was admitted, the doctor in charge of my are was the same one I had problems with when he treated me for shingles. He told me "I think you express your pain much." which I understood to mean either I'm expressive or more likely I over-exaggerate. I marvelled at his ability to be able to mentally climb inside his patients brains and be able to determine how much pain they're feeling. He has no idea. I hope in the future us humans will develop the power to temporarily mind-meld with others and just for a moment allow another person to feel exactly the same as us. Wouldn't that be trippy? Then you'd truly be able to empathize. I really don't think I'm a wuss, so if I'm complaining about pain it's for realz. (Have you ever had a sort of pain where that's simply all there is? I mean - like there is nothing else going on in the world that matters except for that pain. All you can do is focus on breathing and pain. I think I can understand childbirth now.) I need to call my mom and say thanks.

Here's a Little Post I Wrote

2010-02-09T12:29:00.003+09:00

Stress is a trendy little buzzword isn't it? Who isn't stressed out these days? Not enough time. Not enough money. Work. Need sleep. Everything moving so quickly, it feels sometimes like I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't figure out how to fix this crap that makes me unhappy. I don't know what to do, and it feels like no one is listening to me, and you know what? They're not.

This is my fault. I've surrounded myself with people who are unable to understand me because they lack the ability. I'm fueling the fire as well, because I've just stopped talking, pretty much - and thrown my hands up in the air in surrender because I can't sort out my feelings and simplify them enough to even get them half understood. It's difficult to get your needs taken care of when you're not sure what it is that you need, and you lack the energy to even try. I sometimes want to punch myself in the face because of how natural it is that I'd slice up every bit of me and serve it on little plates, giving everything away until there's nothing left at all. I'm so distracted lately and I feel so,...I can't even get the right word, but it's somewhere between unhappy, lost, disingenuous, fake, unsatisfied, owned, isolated and crowded. I feel like I can't write, and I hate that.

Stress. I feel it, and can admit how overwhelmed I feel, but I have never given stress the credit it deserves. We've been playing Hide and Seek it seems - but when it's my turn to hide I choose somewhere stupid. Like under a leaf. Or by closing my eyes and pretending that makes me invisible. Then it's my turn to seek and while I close my eyes and count stress just splatters itself all over everything so when I open them it's impossible for me not to find it. I feel ripped off because this isn't a game of Hide and Seek after all. It's a game of Find and Re-find.

I think maybe Stress gets angry when you treat it like a game anyhow. Maybe by capitalizing it I can appease for a bit?

I woke up Saturday feeling kind of weird. I thought it was just some leftover haze from the work party the night before, but I really hadn't drank that much. I was home and asleep just after midnight which is totally unusual for me. But I started doing things that needed to get done, tidying up and putting a load of laundry in. Sitting down in front of the computer it occurred to me that something felt strange. Was I going to be si,...and I barely had time to turn my head before I threw up all over the floor. I cleaned that up, rinsed out the towels and added them to the laundry I'd paused before it had even filled up half way. Then I walked back into the apartment and threw up all over the floor again. WTF?!?

I spent the rest of the day puking and by the time boyfriend came home from work in the late evening I was writhing, with my muscles all seizing and pausing only to retch into a puke filled bucket beside the bed. Welcome home, honey! It took an hour for me to get down into a taxi and in the ER the doctor said I had severe gastro-intestinal distress and my stomach was in spasms. I was really dehydrated. They shot me up full of whatever and hooked me up to IVs and sent me home three hours later. I fell into bed but slept fitfully and worsened again until dawn when I went back to the ER and they admitted me.

It's the first time I ever had to stay in a hospital, so I've been lucky. But I wouldn't recommend having to stay in a Korean hospital. The experience sucked, and I'll elaborate in a post later tonight, I promise. I've got to get ready for work, and I shouldn't be going. I campaigned for an early release yesterday evening, but the doctor wanted to keep me for another two days. If I don't go to work, though, I think my boss is going to really pressure me into not going to Japan on Friday, a trip I booked the day after I last returned from Japan at the beginning of January. But I really really really want to get the hell out of here for awhile, even though five days is far too short. I'll take what I can get.

While my boss, his wife, and the new manager were visiting me in the hospital yesterday morning they asked if I'd had stomach troubles like that before, and I answered yes. Just over eight years ago at Christmastime when I remember feeling similarly wholly dissatisfied and unhappy with my life I spent a day and a half retching and writhing and sweating and swearing and that culminated into a nice shot of demerol that finally smoothed me out. Just a few days after I applied for a job in Korea. I needed a dramatic change, and so I went for it. I had taken that illness as a sign that Stress isn't something to be toyed with, but I guess some lessons need re-learning.

So, okay. I get it.
Now all I have to do is figure out what's next and how to hang on until I can get free and get moving.

I woke up this morning to an e-mail from my brother who's waiting to hear I'm okay. He also wrote that my grandfather had a stroke on Saturday and is in the hospital. There's no word yet on how he's doing. I want to write and tell my brother I'm okay, but I'd be lying. I'm just trying to hang on until Friday in the hopes a little distance will give me a little clarity. (As if I'm not distant enough already, man.) But now I'm going to get in the shower in the hopes that a little soap will give me little clean.

A Bit More on Baking

2010-01-22T08:54:00.004+09:00

Thank you for the comments! I'm so pleased that even though I'm a bad blogger in need of a kick in the ass, you guys will still come around when I muster the oomph to get a post done. So I got some suggestions and questions in the comments and thought I'd just add a bit more in a new post.

Weve asked for some recipes, so here goes!
Martha Stewart's sugar cookies are scrum, and mine worked out very well even without the fancy schmancy stand mixer she employs, or the shot of fancy liqueur she ~~gulps from a mug during commercial breaks~~ adds to the recipe. For a little article on sugar cookies and icing, go here.

And for the video and recipe for sugar cookies, go here.

The seriously moist so very delicious and excellent chocolate cake recipe can be found here.

A version that looks a lot like my mom's candy cane cookie recipe can be found here. And there's a couple other candy cane cookie recipes that look interesting there as well. One is dipped in a mixture of sugar and crushed candy canes after the cookie is baked. That sounds yummy, eh?

Here's a recipe for the mini cream cheese crust pecan tart things:

1/2 cup butter or margarine
1 3oz. package of cream cheese*
1 cup all-purpose flour
filling

Beat the butter and cream cheese until thoroughly mixed and then add in the flour. Using 24 ungreased 1 and a quarter inch muffin cups, press a rounded teaspoon of the pastry int the bottom and up the sides of each cup. Fill each pastry lined muffin cup with one heaping tablespoon of filling. Bake in a 325 degree oven about 30 min or until pastry is golden and filling set and puffy.

Pecan Filling: Beat together 1 egg, 3/4 cup packed brown sugar, and 1 tablespoon melted butter or margarine. Stir in 1/2 cup coarsely chopped pecans**.

Lemon Coconut Filling:*** Divide 1/4 cup toasted coconut flakes between the cups. In another bowl combine 2 eggs, 1/2 cup sugar, 2 tablespoons melted butter or margarine, 1/2 teaspoon finely shredded lemon peel, and 1 tablespoon lemon juice. Spoon mixture over coconut in each pastry cup.

*Where are there 3oz packages of cream cheese? That's not a very large amount. I had to convert ounces to grams and then try to divide the 250g container of cream cheese I had into appropriate portions to make up 3 oz. Seems to me it was about 2/3 of one half of the container. Math hurt head.

**I toasted the pecans, just a few short min in a dry pan over medium heat. Stay with them to supervise their roasting. If you turn your back for even a moment, or like, even glance at your watch - they'll burn.

***I didn't make these even though I had all the ingredients which are easy to get here. (Larger supermarkets will have coconut.) I haven't included the pumpkin or spiced fruit filling recipes because pumpkin sucks, and the other one required dried fruit which I can't remember seeing in Korea. Besides, isn't dried fruit what's in Christmas cake? Christmas cake sucks. No one likes dried fruit. Ick.

Weve, if you want, I'll send you an e-mail with the caramel brownie recipe and apple pie bars. Likewise, I can have a look around for the bread recipe (not pictured in the previous post) and I will do a soup post soon enough. I recently got one of those hand mixers, so I can liquefy things. Soup is so good isn't it?

I can't understand Mike's comment which I think has something to do with football? Or, he's dissing my post and cruising for a bruising sort of thing. (Anytime, pal!) Hee hee hee.

Mike asked if the Koreans liked the baked goodies (and also questioned whether they'd say so - which maybe means would they be honest about their opinion?) I can report that that Koreans who ate mah cookies LOVED them. Every single one of them made a point to search me out and tell me how delicious they were and I do believe they were sincere. I tasted everything, afterall - and can vouch for the goodness. At one point I was thinking I would bake an extra large bath of sugar cutout cookies and share them with the kids in my classes. Probably they would have loved them, but I remember way back when I made crepes with my winter classes and they didn't go over so well at all. As soon as one kid declared them inedible the rest of the students would "bahhhhh" in agreement and soon the garbage bin was filled with half eaten crepes. Those crepes were GOOD, man - so I didn't want to subject my fragile ego to the harsh and uninformed criticism of my students. If they had taken a bite of mah delicious cookies and made a face, I might have smacked 'em one good.

I brought a very large assortment of cookies to the very late dinner I went to on Christmas Day. (It was really Boxing Day, since the party didn't start until 2 am.) I thought for SURE I'd be bringing leftovers home considering the amount of food on offer at the dinner. Everyone gorged on pig intestines, thin slices of marinated beef, shrimp, and finally crab. After all that, the guests meandered over to where my cookies were laid out and tried them. I was so happy watching people's faces as their eyes got big and they agreed "Ohhhh! Mashita!" (Or mashinun?) And they'd come over and give me a thumbs up, "Jelly! Belly GUD!" Ha! And THEN they ran to the back of the restaurant and returned with a box of little plastic bags which they handed out and everyone stuffed as many cookies into their little bags as quickly as they could until everything was gone.

I hadn't even thought about that.
Damn, I hadn't even saved any cookies back at my house for me.

Having just returned from Japan, I now remember some differences between the two cultures. I'd forgotten about "hon'e" and "mie'e" - namely the way a Japanese person appears on the outside versus their true feelings on the inside. Had mah cookies totally sucked, I think it would be my Japanese friends who would graciously bow thankfully at me, for having made the cookies, and discreetly stow away the remains of the bit they hadn't eaten in their bag for later disposal. My Korean friend, upon tasting a bad cookie, would be more likely to fall over whilst pulling faces and making moans of agony, scraping their tongues off with their fingernails. Then they'd right themselves and throw the cookie to the ground, asking me why I was trying to kill them with my bad baking - as they jumped up and down on the offending cookie.

In my experience, Koreans are not shy at telling you what they think about anything, even if it might be rude. (Think, "You're fat! Why is your nose so big? Man, you're as hairy as a gorilla!")

So, yes. Long story short, mah cookies were a success. Baking - even bread is really relatively new to Koreans. It's catching on a LOT, as you might notice when you walk around and see Paris Baguette is as ubiquitous as Starbucks in the States. (Or Starbucks in Seoul? I don't know.) And occasionally they can make a very fine bread or bun here. (Seriously - I'll say it again: Cake? Not so much.) But they're also able to screw things up quite nicely as well.

Baking!

2010-01-21T05:35:00.005+09:00

One cool thing I did before Christmas was to bake! You may think, "Well, what's so exciting about that? Just about everyone bakes before Christmas!" And yes, this is true. One of my favourite things to do before Christmas was to get together with my mother and help to make her repertoire of Christmas cookies. We'd spend a day or two mixing and shaping and rolling and decorating, and during the holiday season she'd visit the stack of Tupperware containers in the garage (it was cold in there) and assemble platters of cookies and bars for different parties and get-togethers. Every Christmas since I've been gone she always tells me that baking isn't fun anymore and she really misses me. I miss her too, and I miss the baking.

So this year I got it in my head that I was going to bake up some stuff for my friends and co-workers in Korea. It's the first opportunity I've had to bake in eight years! My friend moved to a posh new apartment building just down the road from me and her kitchen came with an OVEN! She's the only person I know in Korea that has one. Scratch that. My buddy John up in Seoul has one. I just remembered the last time I was there he made a scrummy blueberry cobbler to end off a lush roast beast lunch.

So I visited the big supermarkets downtown a couple of times to get supplies. I had to choose recipes that were compatible with what's available here, which was only a slight challenge. I think more and more Koreans are getting interested in baking. I'm quite sure that 5 years ago there was no baking section at the supermarket, whereas now there's a teeny tiny one. Since Tesco took over HomePlus, they'e got a lot of nice Tesco brand home products, and so I got a couple baking trays, a heavy square pan, and a mini muffin tray. I probably spent about a hundred and fifty dollars easily on Operation Cookies in Korea, and wished on a few occasions that I just hadn't bothered. Still, I had fun at my friend's place over three days, mixing and sifting and chopping and all that. Here are some of the results:

Sugar Cookies

I made a couple batches of these. One was a Martha Stewart recipe which turned out great, and another was a no-refrigerate recipe I snagged off the Internet.

I don't know which is which, but who cares?
These cookies are decorated with royal icing - a mixture of egg whites and icing sugar with a splash of lemon juice. I didn't tell the Koreans that I was possibly giving them salmonella for Christmas as well, but everything turned out fine.

This is a bad picture.

I remembered to take a photo of the last container of assorted cookies before they got all eaten up. Man,...my co-workers and friends would descend on the goodies like, well I can't make up my mind if they were more like hyenas or vultures. I just tried to stay clear and avoid all the sharp elbows. Pictured up there are mini pecan tarts with a cream cheese crust, caramel brownies, apple pie bars, and my mother's famous candy cane cookies - which are like melt-in-your-mouth shortbread goodness. I couldn't get the almond extract the recipe called for, so I substituted with about a cup of almond flour. They weren't quite like my moms, but I'm pretty sure the Korean folks didn't notice that.

Gingerbread and Cream Cheese Spirals

These were a refrigerated and roll out recipe. I couldn't make traditional gingerbread because I could not locate molasses in Korea. Oh well, I turned them into a spiced dough by adding cinnamon and cloves, and using a very dark brown sugar. I'm sure I could have gone a bit mental and added some gochu-garu (red pepper flakes) and it would have made them even more tasty and interesting. The recipe didn't call for the zig-zag of royal icing, but I thought the cookies could use just a little more sweetness. I think if I were to have a signature baking symbol, it might be the zig-zag. I imagine someday a posh woman bringing a box of treats as a housewarming gift, and the recipient - upon opening the box would gasp "Oh mah word! You have brought Treats by Jelly! I recognize that zig-zag anywhere! Why you have really outdone yourself, Lorna-Jean! You shouldn't have! It's too much!!!" My target demographic are rich Georgian socialites, I think. They talk in exclamations and would take their box of treats to munch on as they got sloshed on mint juleps.

Moving on.

I made a cake for The Princess (the manager,) whose final day at our school was on Christmas Eve. The day before, I secured a cake box from Paris Baguette. When I came into school with the box, The Princess spotted it and said "Oh! You bought a cake!"
"Nuh-uh!" I said, smacking her on the arm, " I MADE this cake for you!"

I kid you not,...she actually started to cry!

I think the whole baking idea came from my telling The Princess that I was going to try to make her a cake before she left our school. She had lived in Australia for almost a year, so she knew what Western cake is like. Moist and rich with some intensely sweet frosting, it is a beast that cannot be found on the peninsula. The Princess knows this because she has tried. At some point, Dunkin Donuts had a tiny overpriced cake that was kinda sorta almost but not quite really what she was looking for, but a few months ago they discontinued that cake. That's probably because Koreans weren't buying it because it wasn't like cake-uh should be, which is dry and airy and not overly sweet with a cuh-ream-uh topping. Use some sweet potatoes to make the cake-uh! Yah!! (They say "yah" but I say "BLAH!") So I went searching on the Internet for a recipe that I thought would produce a sinfully rich, moist, verrry chocolatey cake. I've just spent 15 minutes trying to recreate the magic combination of words I used to google my way to the recipe I ended up using. I think I have the website stored in a folder at work, so if anyone really wants it, leave a comment and I'll post it (or I'll just edit this and give the link tomorrow iffen I remember to.) I can recall the ingredients though: flour, sugar, cocoa, oil, baking powder and soda, vanilla*, sour cream, and hot coffee. The batter comes out very liquid-like and you might think it could never turn into a solid mass, but after about an hour in the oven it did!

Viola!

The frosting recipe came from this thread and was pretty much cream, corn syrup, icing sugar, a pinch of salt, butter, and a bucketfull of chocolate. Rich, man. I didn't skimp, and along with a whole bag of Hershey's semi-sweet chocolate chips, I threw in a box of Lindt 70% cacao thin chocolate squares. And then, because it was insanely sweet and way too liquid, I threw in some flour. ("Flour?!?!" shouted my mother!) Yes, flour. Whatever. It wasn't much, but it helped to thicken up the frosting and ease up the punch-you-in-the-face chocolateyness <---totally a word. I still had to leave it out on the cold balcony for hours in the hopes that it would thicken up to a spreadable consistency. Score! It was perfect.

The Princess shared the cae with our co-workers and still had half of it to bring home. Before she boxed it up, I asked for a piece so I could bring it to my friend's restaurant to give them a taste. (They were the ones who loaned me the oven and their kitchen to work in. I also thanked them on the second night by baking them two loaves of sundried herbed bread and a massive pot of creamed roasted vegetable soup that I served up to them when they came home from work at 3 am.)

About a week after they tasted that cake I got a call from my friend. "You know how my husband loves chocolate? He can't stop talking about that cake you made. Ummm, could you come and make another one?" And so last week I re-visited their kitchen and made two more, one for them and another for my other co-worker and her Taekwomdo boyfriend. And, because that cake wasn't already just too much (in a very very good way, though) I added half a can of cherry filling to the middle of each cake. My god, it was goooood.

Let me just wrap up this far longer than I intended post by saying that I was really impressed with everything I made. I would have totally expected at least one dud, especially considering I haven't baked a thing in eight years, but no. Everything was fantastic. Actually, the top of the caramel brownies were just a little too done because my friend accidentally flipped the oven to "grill" but still, they looked a bit crispy but tasted great. I had a near-flop with the no-refrigeration sugar cookies when the dough turned out a crumbly un-rollable mess, but I googled how to rescue them with a little water and more kneading and they turned out fine. I had loads of chocolate frosting left over(my friend described that cake as "delicious cake with a chocolate bar on top) and decided to combine the best of everything into one pièce de résistance:

Sugar Cookie Sandwiches with Chocolate Frosting Centres and Royal Icing Stripes.

*Oh, vanilla. I can't seem to find vanilla extract, but they probably have it somewhere up in Seoul. I did get some "vanilla sugar," which was more like a cross between flour and sugar. When a recipe called for vanilla - and really, they all did - I just threw in a couple teaspoons of that stuff. Improvithse people, *clap clap!* improvithse!

Legless

2010-01-08T05:11:00.003+09:00

Santa has gotten into the scotch again. He's so loaded he can't even hold his sax. He just blows pitifully into it, and it sounds like an injured goose.

There are lots of things to update, but being a better blogger wasn't on my list of New Years resolutions. Not making any resolutions was on my list of resolutions, so we're just going to have to see how it goes over here at I Got Shoes.

I came home last night to find my next door neighbour barely standing outside his door, much like poor 'ole Santa. It was a bitterly cold night and even though I was all bundled in layers and winter accoutrement, I hurried toward my door looking forward to turning on the ondol to toast my tootsies. I greeted my neighbour with a "hello" and he responded with "help-uh me." Turns out he was on his own - I guess his wife and 4th grade son have gone off to visit the grandparents while the kid is on winter vacation. Dad, still dressed in his factory uniform sans coat was so sloshed he was falling asleep whilst standing, and he had no keys. "Hmmm," I said, "You're in a real predicament, eh? She's a mighty cold tonight. What'cha gonna do?" Dad barely raised his head, having understood nothing I'd said, and slurred again "Help-uh me."

Inviting him in was out of the question. I could call a taxi and somehow coax him down the eight flights of stairs to it. I wondered if he had any money. I could pay for the cab. Tell the taxi driver to take him to a motel. I could pay for the motel. I could ring the neighbouring doorbells. It was barely midnight. We could all help-uh. Maybe there was a locksmith still open. Maybe one of them could shimmy over from my balcony to his. Maybe if I roused enough neighbours we could carry him down to the parking lot and fling him up to his 4th story balcony.

Or not.

"Don't freeze to death," I said as I slid into my now unlocked and open door. Inside I sighed as I felt the heat from the floor radiating into my tired feet. I had spent a long day at work, busy and very stressed out by the new manager who is quickly revealing herself as a moody bi-polar controlling bitch with an autocratic management style. I've been concentrating my efforts to leave the day's tension outside my door, and so I was relieved to be home again, solo, safe, and sober. The tension I'd left outside had now manifested into a cold, drunken adjosshi who was now alternately kicking my door and ringing the bell. Adding a simile to my alliterative status update, like a selfish shellfish I retreated into my head and popped in my MP3's earphones, refusing to let the problems on the other side of the door get a rise out of me. I checked a couple hours later, and my neighbour wasn't waiting for me in popsicle form, so I suppose he'd somehow managed to solve his own problems. Good news for both of us!

I think I mentioned it before, but one of the medications I'm (still) taking is called Enafon in Korea. It's amitriptyline, which is an anti-depressant - and I feel almost lucky that I've been prescribed it for the after-effects of shingles. Considering all the upheaval that's taken place in the last few months, it's really worked well; despite all the crap, I've been feeling alright. Something has to change at work, though. We can't carry on like we have been, so I've been trying to figure out how we can work together in peace. We shall see.

For a long time, my thoughts have been on my friend Kevin and his family. If you've been around the Korean blogoshpere for awhile, you'll surely remember Kevin from his Big Hominid blog. His mother passed away on Wednesday after a short battle with brain cancer. If you're so inclined, you could stop by and offer your condolences. I'm hoping his family can find strength in remembering Kevin's mom during happier periods of their lives as they go through these difficult days.

And for you,...yes YOU! I wish you a very belated Merry Christmas and a peacuful New Year.

How It's Been

2009-12-17T00:23:00.003+09:00

Oh, hai! Iz on da innernets, updating mah blog. If I wrote this whole post in LOLcat speak, that would be annoying right? I'll spare you then.

In the last installment I was walking along crying, unsure of what was about to happen at my school. If you've been following along, bless you. I'm sorry I suck so thoroughly at updating regularly. Of you've been following along, you sort of know what happened on Monday but I'll fill in some details.

I didn't get to say an official goodbye to my boss on Monday. He had already come in and collected his things before I arrived at work. I was disappointed, but also relieved because I didn't want for the waterworks to start up again and I knew they would have if I'd have gotten to watch him walk away. As it was, I still had to hurry down the hall during a couple breaks to have a little boo-hoo in the washroom. I'm not a overly demonstrative person when it comes to sadness, really - but for a while there I was having trouble getting a grip. I know it was everything that was happening; I was sick and in pain, unhappy with my boyfriend, and just flattened by what was happening at school. My nerves were raw, both literally and figuratively - and yet I didn't really feel like talking about any of it. I just wanted to get back home and back in bed as quickly as possible. I'm taking an anti-depressant for the shingles complications, and I suppose it's working. I just cringe when I think of what a total bloody mess I'd have been left to my own devices.

So I didn't meet my boss that first day or the day after. It was mid-week before he appeared in the Teacher's Room and we had just enough time to greet each other before I had to go to my next class. I'd been told that he couldn't speak English well, and that's the truth and a half. My first grade students are able to speak better than him or his wife. That's fine. He's not teaching any English classes. Still, it's a bit odd to own an English school and have to struggle to recall the word for "goyani." (That'd be "cat.") But my new boss is a Math Man. He's owned three math schools and I believe he was far more interested in acquiring our fledgling, and frankly failing, math school.

He and his wife have since completely moved in. All their stuff and all their students have been incorporated into the fairly empty shell of a math academy my boss was running and now, like Frankenstein, "It LIVES!" Things are hopping over there, with each of the four classrooms now filled with students. They've brought over two more teachers as well, and our first hwe-shick, which happened a couple weeks ago was a good time. I spent most of that gathering in silence, as The Princess - who had been getting on my nerves - was seated at the opposite end of the table. My other co-worker sat beside me, but I've never had much to say to her. Otherwise I was surrounded by pleasant yet reserved people who don't speak English. And don't drink. It was a regular yawn-fest, and I fought hard just to stay awake. (Which is pretty much my standard M.O. these days anyways.)

There was some concern for a couple weeks after my former boss walked out the door. They hadn't changed bank account numbers quickly enough and tuition fees had been deposited into former boss's account. He was not answering his phone or responding to their messages. I'd sent him a couple messages that week as well, but didn't expect him to reply. All I had texted was, "I miss you." He called me on Friday night, drunk, to ask me if I wanted to take a drive across the country the following day to visit some pachinko parlour his friend was managing. I declined, telling him I was pretty sure he wouldn't want to see me cry all weekend. He then told me that if he had the power to, he would destroy the schools. I said I understood, and made him promise not to drink and drive. I didn't tell The Princess or my new boss I had spoken to him, but I hoped he hadn't gambled away all the money that had appeared in his account.

I had a conversation the following week with a very agitated Princess. The former boss was still ignoring them and the new boss was starting to consider staking out his apartment. They connected on Friday when the old boss finally called in. The Princess was irritated he wasn't returning the tuition fees pronto with a big red bow on them, but instead was requesting the cash ledger from the months before he'd sold the school. "Some parents were late with their fees in September and October," the Princess explained, "but he signed a contract that said he would get no more money after Novemeber 1st," she complained.
"But that's technically HIS money, those late payments - since they were covering periods when he owned the school," I pointed out.
"Yes, but he signed the contract that said,..."
"You know," I interrupted, "I hope you guys go easy on him, since he's had a hard time. How much money are we talking about anyhow?"
"Yes, but the contract says,..."
"Princess, I know about contracts here. My contract," I said, nodding my chin toward the book that houses it still says that I have medical insurance, and we both know that I don't. I know contracts here are bendable and breakable. I bet it wouldn't be worth the effort to take him to court over those fees, and the truth is that should be his money, since he owned the school during the time those fees are covering."

I don't know what the outcome was. I haven't seen my former boss since. We keep making plans that haven't worked out for some reason or another. I answered my phone one cold rainy Sunday a couple weekends ago and it was him, telling me to go check outside. I opened the door to discover a giant bag filled with cabbage and radishes and a huge container of his mother's kimchi, which is the most delicious kimchi I've ever had. There was one more present tucked inside a cardboard cylinder. His father sent a long scroll of calligraphy on beautiful deep blue handmade paper. The characters are painted in gold. It's easily the most precious and gorgeous souvenir I'll take home with me. I'll have it framed back in Canada.

Speaking of Canada, it's on my mind. Last Friday I began counting down as I passed the sixth month mark until my last contract will finish. When my former boss sold the school I called my family back home and said they'd probably see me at Christmas. I was hasty and reacting on my jagged nerves and hurt feelings. With some perspective, I've reminded myself to quit taking things so personally. It seems I've lucked out once again, and my new boss appears to be a really good guy. My co-workers are in agreement, and they're far more able to make that call since they can communicate with him. I've really been given a lot of freedom lately. My boss spends almost the whole day down the hall at the math school and I see him at some point during the day when I say hello, and usually at the end of the day when I bow and wave goodbye.

Slowly but steadily the number of students at our school is increasing. Most are math students who are migrating down the hall to us. I think a new teacher is going to start tomorrow at my school. The Princess is leaving us next week. I sense that she didn't really want to go, but she told me she must - because of what happened with the old boss. His decision to give up was a reaction to her declaring she was quitting.

I've got just a few small things to write about before this particular drama is wrapped up neatly and can be filed under "O" for "OVER." I'll try to get that done tomorrow, and hopefully we can return to some lightheartedness 'round here, just in time for the holidays.

When my old keyboard quit working I went shopping for a new one and picked out a fairly cheap model. I think I paid about fifteen dollars for it. It's a piece of poorly-made shit, and the letters have been steadily disappearing from the keys. Now only the ones in the middle can be faintly made out. The most commonly used ones, where you would rest your right and left hands, are completely gone. I've discovered it's very very difficult for me to type without being able to see the letters. I wrote my mom an e-mail over the weekend and she told me she was convinced I was drunk before she read my explanation at the end about the keyboard. I've got an early start tomorrow morning, so I'm not going to proof this properly, and there will surely be a lot of things that spell check misses. Forgive me, and I'll try to clean it up tomorrow. Until then, I'll just bow and wave goodbye.

How it Went

2009-12-06T19:13:00.005+09:00

Can I just say that if there were such a thing as the Sleep Olympics, I'd be a strong contender for the gold medal. I'm a champ!

So in the previous episode I arrived a little late to what had turned out to be our last work dinner with my former boss. The Princess was alone at a table reading a newspaper. The new math teacher arrived shortly after. (You might recall the Math Teacher Saga.) "Sol" (his nickname) stepped in to cover for the run-away. He's a church friend of The Princess and a genuine good fellow. He ended up staying on. Good. Soon after, my boss arrived with a friend if his and dinner commenced.

It went alright, pretty much. I suppose. I ended up being fairly angry at myself. What I really felt like doing was throwing a fit: wiping clear the low table covered with dishes of banchan, bottles, cutlery and cups. I wanted to overturn the tables and kick everything around the restaurant, screaming that I was uppppset and I didn't want my boss to leave. What I really wanted to do was to throw an absolute tantrum. What I did instead was make nicey-nice small talk with The Princess and Sol.

My co-worker showed up with her boyfriend almost an hour late and stayed for a whole 15 minutes. That really ticked me off and I wanted to ask her wtf was up with that. Instead, I tried to smooth the tension. The Princess's whole demeanor changed when my co-worker sat next to her. She stiffened and became non-verbal, not even once looking in the co-worker's direction to greet her or her boyfriend, who had taken over the grill duties for my boss and his friend. I spoke to alternately to the Princess and then to my co-worker, never involving them in the same conversation. I wanted to lunge across the table and snack the Princess for being so rude. But what I would have really liked to do was to somehow divide myself in two, leave my body, and punch me in the face for being so people-pleasy. I might as well have just added to the super awkwardness of the evening by sulking silently, or bawling quietly - which is what I probably would have done if my boss had spoken to me with The Princess's help, but he didn't. And, I was thankful for that because I would have lost my shit. Instead, The Princess visibly de-tensed when the co-worker left with her man. Just after, my boss got sloshed on soju and started speaking to the Princess who then re-tensed, staring down at the table only to occasionally nod to indicate she was listening. I stepped outside and then to the bathroom and then back outside to give them some privacy. My boss was confessing that he'd sold the school to spite her. It was all for revenge.

There was no "ee-cha." We would not drink beers together at a hof. There would be no singing at the karaoke. We all bowed and said our good-byes and it was barely eight o'clock. I walked a block up the street with The Princess and Sol, listening to her complain that she hated talking to anyone who was drunk. I wondered if that judgey attitude had prevented her from actually hearing what my boss had to say, but honestly I didn't really care. We said our goodbyes and I hoped they didn't notice that my voice cracked with emotion. I turned around to walk away just in time, as I finally broke down and cried. I was really going to miss my boss.

He wasn't very confident in his English ability with good reason. However, I could always understand him. We had jeong ( 정, hanja: 情.) Together, we'd saved Bella and her three puppies. (I'm sorry, I don't think I wrapped that story up properly, by the way. I will in the next couple days.) My boss had taken care of me. He introduced me to his family who spoiled me with the most delicious kimchi and wonderful fresh vegetables from the farm. And, I'd taken care of my boss, learning how to cook more Korean dishes and making sure he had a better dinner through the week than cups of instant ramen. I had wanted to work hard for him and to see him succeed. I'd signed on for another year here for him. I was so angry and hurt, I felt like he was abandoning me, and I was kind of jealous of how free he must have felt, not having to worry anymore about whether the school was going to do well or finally go belly up, and how he didn't have to deal with The Princess anymore.

So I walked up the street a lot farther than I had to, just letting myself cry. I didn't bother wiping the tears off my face and I didn't care what the people passing me must have thought. I tried to clear my head and stop worrying about what was going to happen Monday morning.

How it Was

2009-12-06T05:09:00.003+09:00

So where were we? Man! It was over a month ago, yet only three measly blog posts since when I last wrote about the continuing saga of work. In case your scrolly finger is hurting, the brief re-cap is my boss suddenly sold the school on a Friday, the day before Halloween, and announced I'd have a new boss come Monday. I posted jut before I was about to walk to work and meet the new guy. My boss was going to be present one last day before I would officially bid him adieu.

That didn't go as planned. My boss was out the door before I even came to work. It turns out he was so disgusted with The Princess he refused to spend a moment longer there than was necessary. He had come in the morning, collected his things, and bailed. I didn't meet the new boss that day either, or the day after for that matter. He was busy with his other school and it wasn't until mid week that I finally met him and his wife. We spent about three minutes greeting each other. The Princess did most of the talking as I smiled and bowed.

For a couple of weeks I grieved. I couldn't walk into the building and pass the window where I used to smile and wave to my boss each day as he sat at his desk in his office at the math school. I'd hold it together fairly well in my classes and sneak off between them to cry a bit in the bathroom. I was a mess, pretty much. It all just had happened so fast and I felt so sad and angry, like I was some cow that had been sold with the farm.

The last ~~hoe-down~~ hwe-shick (work party) we had was the day after my boss sold the school. I REALLY didn't want to attend, but my boss had called a couple hours before and convinced me I should go. There were things he'd wanted to say to me, but he needed the translating help of The Princess. My other co-worker had begged me the day before to go as well. She was going to officially debut her relationship with the Taekwondo instructor from the school next to ours. They've been dating since the spring, and everyone knows about it but no one but she and I actually speak about it. The Princess disapproves of the relationship for some reason, saying it would somehow be bad for our school if people knew. I don't get it. Anyhow, when my co-worker had said she wished her boyfriend could come with her to the party, "Bring him!" I'd encouraged. My boss had invited my boyfriend, who couldn't join us until "ee-cha" (the 2nd party locale) so I didn't she why she shouldn't be able to bring hers.

So it was that I turned up at the restaurant downtown, exhausted and with red-ringed eyes. Much the same as I am right now, though my eyes are more bleary than they are swollen from crying. I'm posting this with the promise of continuing the tale later today. I've got to go back to bed now because I'll be using this here keyboard as a pillow very shortly if I don't.

Like a Dream

2009-12-02T01:18:00.004+09:00

I just wish there was a way that I could smash my head against the keyboard and it would somehow form intelligible sentences expressing what's up. I promised to update on what's been going on, but I did so assuming that I was going to be able to stay awake to finish off a single post. Jeeze Louise, my sleeping is all mental. The weekend before last, when I was at home with the flu, I decided on that cold grey Saturday afternoon that I would have a wee nap. So, I curled up under the blankets with Kami the cat at about 1:15 and drifted off. When I woke up, I squinted at the clock beside my head and it read 2:30 which was fair enough, but I was so very confused. Outside my window it was pitch black. I thought maybe there was a terrible, I don't know? Storm? And then I saw the moon. My cellphone rang just then and I had to ask my boyfriend calling what day it was. Technically it was Sunday, 2:30 in the morning, and I'd been asleep for over 12 hours.

I had a similar problem Monday morning when I woke up at 2:30 in the afternoon. I had slept right through TWO alarms. Since I got shingles I've been setting my normal alarm and my cellphone alarm for 5 minutes later. In over five years I had NEVER not heard my alarm ring, and suddenly within the first two weeks of getting sick I'd slept through it twice. Luckily I'd woken up just a few minutes late, each time with just enough minutes to stick something in my pie-hole, jump into the shower and then into clothes and rush out the door. I started setting the cell alarm for back-up.

So, a week ago Monday I'd finally managed to somehow not hear both of my alarms. I had to call work and tell The Princess I was going to be late because my first class of the day was starting in about 30 seconds. The Princess was understandably unimpressed. I'd already missed work the previous Thursday and Friday with the flu, and now I was screwing her over again - requiring her to cover my first thirty minute class. She gave me some attitude about it, and because I am an asshole I served her up a triple serving of attitude right back.

The thing is I absolutely HATE being late for work. It throws my whole day off, and I don't like arriving to work feeling frantic and unprepared. So, I was already pissed off at having to call in late that Monday. I understand The Princess being ticked off as well, but really, what's the point in that? I didn't purposefully not hear my alarms. I could not get in my time machine and wake up two hours earlier. I apologized in earnest - but when she started in on me I snapped right back. Charming.

A few minutes later the hospital called to tell me I didn't have H1N1. I had figured as much. Except for the fatigue, I had started feeling a lot better by Friday evening. The Princess and I spent most of monday pretending the other didn't exist. I finally broke the silent tension by asking her something about one of my classes. She left a post-it note on my desk before she left, thanking me for speaking first. she wrote that she didn't know how or what to say to me.

Sleep stalks me these days, and he's no gentleman. He doesn't gently tap me on the shoulder and inquire "Would Miss be interested in a little nap?" No. He pounces on me and smothers me with a dirty old rag soaked in whatever concoction they use in action movies to knock the good guy out just as he's solved the mystery. I wake up groggy and confused, often in some chair, with a stiff neck and drool running out from the side of my mouth. I'm all-round charming these days.

So here's another update that doesn't really update anything. BUT!! I'm going to continue typing after I hit publish on this sucker, and providing I don't slip into unconsciousness, there will be another post,....ummmm....post-haste.

Back and Blue

2009-11-20T11:38:00.005+09:00

Man, I sure did fall off the blogging wagon, eh?

Truth be told, I've got about six started and either not finished or not published entries sitting in my folder. I'll have a look through them but it's doubtful I'll do much more than delete them. No doubt they're all rubbish.

There have been times in the past where I've been out around town and looked up to see someone I know - a good old friend. A blast from the past. A person I haven't spoken to in ages. And, instead of hurrying up to them and tapping them on the shoulder to greet them with a big smile and a "Hey!! How are you doing? It's been TOO LONG!" I turn and duck behind a building. I slither away. I run as quickly and as quietly as I can in the opposite direction hoping my friend won't recognize the back of me as I flee.

It just feels like too much has happened. It has indeed been TOO LONG. It would require too much energy to slap on a smile and try to explain all that happened between the time I last saw them and now.

It sort of feels like that with this blog. And, it's not even been three weeks since my last post. Weird, eh?

Thank you to the people who commented or sent me an e-mail wondering when the hell I was going to write something again. I want to apologize, especially to Kevin, who remains a good friend to me, expressing concern even when he's got so much more concerning things going on in his life. I really am an idiot sometimes. It was only this morning that it occurred to me that I could have sent him an e-mail telling him I'm alright, even if I didn't feel like writing anything on this blog. Total duh.

I'm sort of alright.

Earlier this week I missed a window of opportunity to write when I was feeling downright fantastic. On Tuesday and Wednesday I was clear headed and energetic. I kept commenting to my students and co-workers about how great I felt. It was just such a dramatic difference in the way I had been feeling for weeks and weeks before. I still had the shingles, which technically aren't even shingles anymore. I've now got post herpetic neuralgia, which is kinda sorta like Shingles: The Sequel. Or the third installment in the Chicken Pox Trilogy. It's just easier to keep calling it Shingles. There are too many syllables in post herpetic neuralgia, and no one knows what the hell I'm talking about when I say it. Granted, not too many people knew what I was talking about when I would tell them I had shingles either, which is called "teh-sang po-jin" in Korean. So I was just saying "soo-doo part two" (chicken pox ii) which sounds cute.

But anyways, despite the shingles and perhaps boosted by the drugs I'm sill taking which include oxycontin and an anti-drepressant, I was skipping merrily along for two days this week until Wenesday evening at 7 o'clock when I stopped mid-sentence and told my class, "Man, I've got a headache!" Thirty minutes later I had the students open their workbooks and get their pencils out because my throat was hurting too much to continue speaking. By the time I left work at 8:15 my teeth were chattering and I was shivering from a chill that was coming from inside my bones. Back home at 9:30 my temperature was up to 38.9 - about 102°F. Can you guess where this is heading?

When I say "H" you say "1!" (H-1, H-1!) When I say "N," you say "1!" (N-1, N-1!)

It's not for sure, but it's probably almost surely and hopefully for sure that I've gone and caught the dreaded H1N1. Every week there are more kids coming down with the 'shin-jeon inplooenza" at my school, and it was just a matter of time, really. For sure I've got some kind of flu, but I'm not going to know if it's H1N1 until Monday morning. I said "hopefully" by the way, because since I have the flu - I want it to be swine flu so I can have it over and done with and not have to worry about getting it anymore. I'm taking Tamiflu plus fourteen other pills a day for whatever kind of flu it is I do have - and to be honest, it's not that bad. I'm not feeling too horrible at all. I'm just exhausted again and have already nodded off three times while typing this. Last night I decided I'd have a nap and figured I'd be down for about an hour, maybe an hour and a half. I wanted to try to eat some soup after my nap because I hadn't managed to eat anything all day. I didn't even bother turning off the television or turning out any lights. I woke up with the sun shining on my face almost 10 hours later.

I didn't go to work yesterday, and I'm not going again today. I'm sure my co-workers just adore me. In some weird demonstration of empathy my computer decided to die on Wednesday night as well. Luckily, my boyfriend showed up Thursday morning with his PC which he set up before driving me to the hospital, so I'm not entirely quarantined from the rest of the world.

In between naps I will march right up to this blog and say "Hey! It's been TOO LONG!"

We WILL catch up. I promise.

Write, Off to Work

2009-11-02T13:15:00.006+09:00

I'm heading to work in a few minutes, and I'm going to meet my new boss. My real boss assured me that he is a "wonderful man," but he doesn't know that at all. From what I understand, he met the guy on Friday when he made an offer on the school - and my boss followed the advice of The Steve Miller Band: "Go on, take the money and run." So he did. Only he's not running until tomorrow, so I'll have one last day with him at the school.

I'm sad. Like pure and simple straight up sad.

I was out for a quick dinner after work on Friday night. The table next to us had four women grilling up their meat and drinking up their soju. Eventually two other men joined them. The women seemed happy to see them - one of the fellows made like he couldn't find the door to get into the plastic wall encased patio we were sitting in (can you believe they're forecasting for minus 2 degrees Celcius tonight?!?) and the women laughed at his little comedic entrance. At one point not too long after I said, "Ahhh, settle down!" toward the table of six, not loud enough for them to hear by any means, but more for the benefit of my boyfriend sitting across the table from me who I was having trouble hearing amidst the laughter and enthusiastic "GUMBAEs!!" coming from behind him. They certainly were having a good time, that other table, whereas I was sporting red swollen eyes and trying hard not to cry more while recounting the miserable day I'd had at work.

Soon, the mood at the table behind us shifted - and one of the women was clearly unhappy with one of the men sitting across from her. The other members of the party hushed up as she got louder and angrier, filling her speech with a lot of "YAs!" and "dog babies" through gritted teeth. At one point, she threw her napkin across the table toward him and started to gather up her belongings like she was leaving, but her friends reached for her arms and convinced her to sit down and stay, and she seemed to calm down for a moment. But the guy across the table said something that displeased her and she "YA'd" him just once more. He stood up very suddenly, knocking over his stool, and picked something up from the table. With the fluency of a major league pitcher, he wound back and hurled whatever was in his hand as hard as he could, which connected with precise accuracy on the woman's head. Chaos ensued, with all the women screaming and the other man ushering the attacker out the door. The ladies checked the injured woman's head (her ball cap had protected her well) and the object - what I thought was one of those heavy soju shotglasses - which could have been perhaps lethal, turned out to be a metal rice bowl.

The women all sat in stunned silence for a long time. All of them were crying, but the one with the sore noggin and the woman sitting next to her, holding her hand, cried the hardest.

I feel like that woman. I feel like I've been hit in the head by a sudden unexpected object, and the sadness I'm experiencing is a bit overwhelming. I'll write about the hweshick later, but after it I just felt exhausted. I turned off my my phones, crawled into bed before eleven on a Saturday night (unheard of!) and slept until the sun was well up in the Sunday morning sky. I kept my phones off all day and hid myself away in my apartment.

But now it's time to go to school and meet the new boss. Unable to sleep much last night (about 3 hours or so) and uninterested in eating anything since Saturday night - I'm feeling sad. Sad sad saddy sad. One of the drugs I'm taking for the shingles is an anti-depressant, enafon - and I'm glad for it. Praise Jeebus glad. Without it, perhaps I'd be a weeping blob of sad, instead of a walking semi-functioning mess.

There are lots of questions. What's the new guy like? Am I going to be three times lucky? (I've been incredibly lucky to have really good bosses two times already. I worry I might have run out of luck.) My initial inclination is to quit; give my notice and leave at the six month mark in December. That's still the leading horse in this race of unknowns. My boss expressed happiness at the work party on Saturday. I can imagine what he's feeling. He must be so relieved to not have the daily stress of this job. I think when the time comes I'll be elated.

But, now I'm sad. And I have to go to work. Before I do, let me say there's no point in laying blame - but let's do it anyhow. If The Princess hadn't started this all,...

To be continued.

Upside Down

2009-10-31T15:33:00.004+09:00

I wrote about some of the turmoil that's going on at my school in a recent post. I got more of the story the following day and it goes a little something like this.

My manager, The Princess had indeed approached my boss about buying the school from him and apparently he said it was a good idea. I didn't know that he had initially approved the idea. Then a couple days later he changed his mind and told The Princess he wanted things to stay the way they are. Ever since my boss bought the school from Karen, there have been ongoing financial woes. I never knew the details, and since I was getting paid - even though usually not in full nor on time, I was eventually collecting- so I didn't want to pry. After I heard The Princess was interested in buying the school I was hopeful that things aren't as bad as I'd thought. We have picked up more students in the past few weeks, so I guess things are turning around. The Princess handles all the books, and she's a pretty savvy lady - so I'm sure she wouldn't be wanting to sink her money into a school that was bound to fail.

She wasn't pleased that my boss decided he wanted to keep his school, and made the decision a few days later that she wanted to leave and open up her own school with her sister in early 2010. This angered my boss, who really relies on her. She's a good manager and really does well with parents who bring in their kids to check out the school. I don't know why my boss doesn't take on more responsibility in the PR department; he's an amicable fellow - but I think his confidence was shaken by having his previous school, a large downtown hagwon that employed around fifteen teachers, go under in the spring of 2008.

So he decided The Princess is selfish, which is surely true, but I can understand how she's thinking. When she originally agreed to work at our school it was in a managerial capacity. She didn't want to teach classes. If you've followed this blog for awhile, you'll know I used to lament that the size of out school didn't warrant a full time manager - and indeed, for a short time we did have enough teachers to cover all the classes and so The Princess got her wish and was able to spend a large portion of her day sitting at her desk examining her fingernails. That didn't last (I can't remember why. At this point it's all fuzzy - I feel like we're gone through a billion teachers) and she's been back in the classroom for months. Still, on her busiest teaching day she only has three and a half classes - so, I'm not going to cry her a river. Anyhow, she had decided it was time to move on, and told my boss she would be finishing up with us at the end of the year.

Even still, my boss was pissed off. And worried. He went back to The Princess a few days later and told her he'd changed his mind: he'd decided to sell the school. Only thing was, he wasn't willing to sell it to her. (He probably phrased it cleverly - like "I hope you'll be happy in your future business, now that you've made up your mind to leave us I've decided I want to leave as well - so I'm looking for someone (not YOU) to buy the school.") This, of course, enraged The Princess. The two of them have been walking around for a couple weeks like Grim and Grimmer. It's been a real goddamned pleasure to be at work with them.

So I found out some of the story last Friday from my boss. The Princess filled in the gaps on Tuesday. On Wednesday, the boss pretty much asked me to be the manager. I agreed that I could administer level tests and meet prospective parents who surely couldn't speak English but might enjoy my pleasant Charlie Brown's Teacher "Mwuuuu mwuuh mwuh" voice as I speak to them. I can't answer the phones and I can't speak to the "omoni's" (mommies) about their kid's progress. I can't do a whole lot of stuff that a manager needs to do - and frankly I don't want the job. I'd prefer if they didn't add one little iota of more work right now. I'm still fighting the shingles and I'm exhausted. I need calm. I need peace.

On Thursday night, the boss asked me to lend him a thousand dollars. "This isn't going well." I thought. I avoided answering him, but knew I wasn't going to do it. The boss was freaking out, and I tried to get him to calm the hell down. "Don't worry. We'll find a manager. We have time. Everything is going to be all right."

When The Princess told me on Tuesday the boss was considering selling the school, I immediately told her I'd quit if he did. One of the main reasons I even agreed to re-sign for one more year was out of loyalty to him. I didn't think he could really bear the cost of getting me back home and hiring a new foreign teacher, and frankly - I didn't want to add to his stress. (Plus I'm lazy and going through the rigamaroll of securing a new job seemed like too much of a hassle, having gone through it the previous summer.)

On Friday I woke up even stuffier than the day before - I'm fighting a cold - and I had only a squeak of a raspy voice. "No worries," I thought. "Today is our lame-o Halloween thing - so my classes will be shortened by a good twenty minutes." With only one day before the weekend, I figured I'd wing it.

Three minutes before my second class of the day, The Princess rolled her chair over to my desk and whispered, "He sold the school." I used all my "W" questions in two seconds flat. "What? When? To who? When will he finish? Why? What? Huh?" I sat there shaking my head as she told me the new boss would start "probably next month."
"What? November?!? That's next week!"

The bell rang signalling the start of the class.

I grabbed up my stuff and headed toward the classroom, but stopped short. I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. I slipped into the open door of an empty classroom just before I burst into tears. My co-worker found me there a few minutes later and seeing the state I was in, asked if she should go mind the class. I thanked her and asked her to just give me a few minutes. I spashed some cold water on my face and poured some Visine in my eyes, but in the end I cried all goddamned day long. In my classes, I passed it off as my part of my bad cold and I think some of the students actually bought it.

And right now I've got fifteen minutes to get into the shower and get dressed for this sham of a "hweshick" (work party) that was planned weeks ago. The first sign of a tear, though - and I'm heading back home.

Banchan

2009-10-31T07:44:00.002+09:00

Nevermind "two shoes," I've got a massive backlog of posts. I was having a look around my site and started feeling guilty that I only have four measly posts for October, and here we are on the last day of the month. Remember the good old days when I'd churn out double digits in a month? Sheesh. So I'm going to try to squeeze out a few entries today, and figured I'd start off with some nice lighthearted ones. Things are about to get especially sucky up in here at I Got Two Shoes, but for now let's all take a deep breath and relax.

Many moons ago, sometime in the spring (see how bunged up I am?) I walked in on my boss having some dinner in an empty classroom. He had a big container of kimchi, an open package of "gim" (roasted and salted delicious sheets of seaweed) and a square Tupperware dish of rice. "Oh! Dinner time!" I said. "How is it?"
"Bad," he replied. "I don't have soup."

For pretty much every meal Koreans consume, the holy triumvirate of rice, kimchi, and soup must be present for the meal to be considered, well, a meal. Because I am a Fixer of Problems, I started to think about how this lack of soup issue could be resolved.

My boss didn't normally eat dinner at work, unless you count a cup of instant ramen to be dinner. I knew that three nights a week my boss would leave after my last class which ended at ten o'clock and head down toward the university where he would wait to pick up his daughter, a second year high school student, who finished her after-school-extra-school classes at midnight. They'd get home around twelve thirty and she'd probably study some more because being a high school student in Korea sucks ass, and eventually they'd go to bed knowing that their six-thirty alarms would be ringing all too soon. Anyways, this tough schedule combined with the stress my boss was experiencing at work and home (his wife had left him) meant that he wasn't eating regularly, and had lost about forty pounds in just a few months. I was feeling bad for him.

A couple days later while shopping, I bought him a present - a thermos! I figured he could make soup at home and bring it to work so he could enjoy a somewhat satisfying meal. I brought the thermos home and made some soup to fill it with and brought it to school all proud at having Fixed the Problem. He was pleased, and told me my soup was delicious. So I got to thinking again, about how I really enjoy cooking - but because I'm cooking for one (me) most of the time I can't be bothered and opt instead for a dinner of toast, or popcorn, or bits of dust and lint I find under my bed. So I took the thermos back from him and told him I'd make more soup for the next day. The next day turned into another day and so on, and soon I had become the permanent Maker of the Soup. But still, my boss's dinner looked unsatisfying because it lacked banchan.

Banchan is the term for all the side dishes that accompany a Korean meal. I love banchan, and my favourite restaurants are the ones that serve up a nice variety. If you're someone who's in Korea, or have ever eaten at a Korean restaurant, don't you just love it when your sitting on the floor in front of a large table and the whole thing is covered with dishes? I'm reminded of a post I did a loooong time ago about a Korean breakfast I'd enjoyed.

The making of the soup was going well, and I would fill up the thermos with whatever I'd prepared that morning or the night before, and then I'd have a nice bowl of it myself for breakfast. I decided that I wanted banchan with my breakfast as well, so I went out and bought a nice plastic compartmentalized container meant for banchan, and then I started making that as well. It was good!

I took a couple of pictures a long time ago, thinking that I'd post about banchan eventually.

Here, we have stir-fried garlic stems (maneuljjong-bokkeum) pickled cucumber (oijangajji muchim) and some fish cake/mushroom stir fry thing.

And here's another example:

That's seasoned green bean sprouts (sukju namul muchim) fried slices of tofu, and acorn jelly (dotori mook) pictured.

Some days I did really well with the banchan, and other times I'd really miss the mark, but my boss was pretty gracious and would eat most everything anyhow. He was pretty honest, though - in telling me when something I'd made kind of sucked. I didn't mind the constructive criticism, though, and was really enjoying browsing the Internet to put together a mini-menu and learning more about Korean food and how to cook various recipes. Almost every soup I made was delicious and I'm now a bona-fide ddenjjang jjigae expert. Sadly, my mi-ok gook (seaweed soup) which is one of the easiest soups to put together, never tastes right. Perhaps me not liking it has something to do with not being able to cook it properly. One other thing that bugged me was my boss's reluctance to enjoy non-Korean soups with his meal. I once made a roasted red pepper cream soup that was outstanding, but my boss wouldn't admit it. Likewise, my creamed zucchini soup, and roasted pumpkin and carrot soups were snubbed, but my manager (The Princess) would always happily eat 3/4 of the thermos. Despite what my boss, an old-school Korean dude would tell you, cream soups - especially those made from fresh vegetables with a little white wine, some herbs, and homemade chicken or vegetable broth then blended into a lovely rich thick bowl of goodness, pair wonderfully with rice and kimchi.

Anyhow, why not have a look around the web and try out recipes for yourself. You could start with two sites I visited frequently: Maangchi or My Korean Kitchen. Or pop on over to Zen Kimchi, a site that always makes me hungry - and he's got some great Korean food links as well. There's another site that I can't find right now. It's bookmarked on the PC at school, and I'll update on Monday. I made just about every recipe there and it's a good 'un. Happy cooking!

Will Old Habits Die Hard?

2009-10-27T20:06:00.008+09:00

For all your up-to-this-minute information, don't forget to check back right now at this blog. Oh! You're here! Excellent. Now I shall give you a mini up-to-this-minute update.*

The number of students infected with H1N1 (aka Shin-John(g?)In-ploo-enjah) at my school is now FIVE. Up two from yesterday. Keeping in mind I work at a small private English academy (hagwon) that's a pretty high number.

There might be something going on to commemorate Halloween Day this Friday at my school. It's too early to discuss what that will or won't be and what might or might not be happening. Face painting was mentioned, and then promptly cancelled when they realised that would require me to have the student's faces right in front of mine. So something else might happen instead, or nothing will happen. It's all a secret mystery.

I'm not overly paranoid about H1N1; I figure I'm probably going to get it, but I really have to try to NOT to. With shingles, I know my immune system is currently fooked - even catching a cold could be very bad for me.

The Princess (my manager) wasn't honest about how ill she really was feeling Monday when she came to school. She said she wasn't worried that it might be the flu because she didn't have a cough. I told her, "you don't need to have a cough to have the flu. You don't even need to have a fever!" I pulled up a site showing the symptoms related to H1N1 and she checked off nearly all of them in relation to how she was feeling. I told her I thought we really need to encourage our students to stay at home if they're not feeling well and really, she should be setting an example.

I think it's going to prove SUCH a challenge here to try to avoid catching and spreading the flu. Koreans are going to have to change their attitude about work and school. Most people believe that showing up is very important. It doesn't matter if you're not being productive because you're ill. You're THERE, and that's what counts. However, it seems to be common sense to stay home and rest when you're ill and avoid people when you're contagious. But these ideas go against Korean thinking. I wonder if H1N1 is going to be the catalyst that promotes conversion to a healthier and more logical attitude. Also covering one's face when coughing or sneezing, and washing one's hands frequently are good habits that don't come naturally here. I wonder if these practices are going to take hold quickly. I certainly hope so. **Hand to heart, as I typed that last sentence, the 1st grader getting his online homework done behind me in the staffroom just sneezed all over the keyboard. Fabulous!

Right now, the news is reporting that H1N1 is spreading very rapidly in Korea. My boss told me the government had advised schools to close if H1N1 was present, but is now re-thinking and debating that advisory. Just like our planning for Halloween festivities - and as is the tendency for things in general in Korea, confusion and last minute decision-making seem to be the way it's going.

*I started this post at work on Tuesday evening, but had to put it aside when the bell rang for my next class. So really, this was an up-to-that minute update. For up-to-this minute news, you'll have to look somewhere else.

Update: Oh! It seems there has been a decision made! It's a relief to know what's going on!

Bummer

2009-10-27T10:23:00.003+09:00

I still gotz da shingles. Same same. I went to the hospital on Saturday and the waiting room was JAM PACKED with sick people. I remarked to the doctor that they were super busy, and he said it was H1N1. I haven't gotten a proper handle on what they call it here, even though I'm hearing it numerous times a day. Sounds something like "Shinjeong Inploo-enja."

And, guess what? THREE of my students have it! They're all middle school girls, and the three of them hang out together a LOT. Actually, two of them are identical twin sisters. I was the last one to teach them last Thursday night, and when I heard on Friday that one of them had tested positive I was regretting sitting beside her and patting her back as she took the test I was giving them. She looked pretty miserable, but told me it was just a bad cold. D'oh! So far, though, I'm pine tenk you, and you?

My manager's sick, but she says it's just a bad cold. I played it safe and did not pat her back encouragingly yesterday at all. Turmoil abounds at my school. From what I've heard so far, the Princess (manager) told my boss a couple weeks ago that she wanted to take over the school. He told her it wasn't for sale. So she came back a few days later and told him she's going to quit. My boss is really upset. My other co-worker is supposed to finish at the end of November, though if it were up to the Princess she'd be fired two weeks ago. The Princess does not like the co-worker, and the feeling is mutual. Now there's also a rift between the Princess and the boss - so the Staff Room is all round completely miserable. Except for me. I remain a brilliant ray of sunhine.

Okay, I lie.

But my doctor did up my prescription for painkillers. So whereas I started out taking 20mg a day under Dr. Rainman's care, I'm now up to 120mg a day. It's really getting the job done and for the most part I feel fiiiiine all day long. Finally. I can tell the pain is still in there somewhere, but it's properly muffled now.

I am bothered by the presence of H1N1 at the school and the absence of any sort of plan of action. I don't know if I should be talking about it with the other students or not. The upper grades seem to already know because the younger sister of one of the middle school girls who has it has told everyone. I wonder what's going to happen when the kids go home and tell their parents. Are the parents going to be upset? Are we supposed to be thinking about closing temporarily? I have no idea.

I'm upset that we aren't having any sort of Halloween celebration this year. I was told yesterday that it's cancelled, but no one is telling me why. The Princess told me to "ask the Wongjangnim" and I said "really? Can't you tell me?" She said "no." My boss's English ability isn't good enough to communicate complicated things in a short period of time. I usually only interact with him in brief five minute intervals because we're both busy and our break schedules don't mesh. So all I know now is we're not doing anything fun, and I expect our students are going to be more disappointed than I am. They really look forward to the Halloween party. I do, too. And the thing is, I have taken over all the planning and preparation for it over the years - so it's not like it's a huge amount of work for any of the Korean teachers. Total bummer. I'm still bummed out that my favourite music festival was cancelled. I wouldn't have come into close contact with anyone there - for sure not closer than I do with the kids every day at work. Yet, the festival was cancelled on the possibility that some attendee might have H1N1, however at my school there's the actuality that students have it,..and I'm still going to work. Like a jerk.

It feels like just everything is coming apart here, being undone one stitch at a time. When I'm not feeling apathetic, I'm feeling pathetic. Overall I'm feeling burnt out.

Update Schmupdate

2009-10-22T01:19:00.005+09:00

Sometimes I hate coming up with a title.

I shouldn't have promised that I wasn't going to write about shingles in my next entry. It made me not want to write at all. I've been taken over by shingles. I'm all about the shingles. Shingles, shingles, shingles. The funny thing is I think the name sounds sort of fun, don't you? Shingles, jingles, pringles! Wheeee! The reality is it sucks dong-dingles.

I suppose I'm now into the realm of postherpetic neuralgia, though no doctor has actually said I have it. And, I haven't asked any doctor because I don't want to hear it. But my rash is almost all cleared up and yet the pain,...ohhhhhh the pain, it goes on.

But it doesn't constantly go on. The drugs, they are strong and good and fine and good. Yes. They're double good. They really do fool me in to thinking that I'm all better and ready to rock n'roll. I feel sort of guilty taking them because I actually feel a lot better - but I've learned, and keep re-learning that I'm very much NOT BETTER.

Last Saturday I visited the fancy downtown hospital like I do every few days. Unfortunately, my kind young doctor was away on a conference so I was ushered into see an old stodgy looking guy who ordered me to sit and then seemed to be very put-off that I couldn't speak Korean very well. He spent a few minutes scolding me about it and I inwardly groaned, knowing that we were not off to a good start. As he spoke to me in halting English he wrote out everything he was saying - in that scrawly cursive docwriting that they must teach in medical school. I couldn't read what he was writing even if I'd wanted to. His idea was that the medicine wasn't getting the job done and so we would increase the remedy. I was fine with that, even though the oxycodone almost smothers the pain and I was quite satisfied with how it was working. He was going to change the meds, and described the patch I was going to apply and leave on for three days in lieu of popping pills a few times a day. I was interested because I'd been secretly wishing that they would just give me an IV drip that I could drag around. A three day bandaid that would seep narcotics into my bloodstream through my skin sounded intriguing. So I walked out of there with my usual 12 pills a day and two Duragesic® patches. back at home, google told me that the patches would deliver fentanyl into me. Fentanyl: approximately 100 times more potent than morphine. Hello!

So long story longer, I spent another day finishing up my oxycodone and then opened up one of the Durogesic® patches and stuck it on my upper arm. It was just like a bit of tape, clear except for the name written in orange, about 10cm long and 3cm wide. Around 11 o'clock I went to bed and slept for about 12 hours. I noticed when I got up around 8 for a mid-slumber pee that I was wobbly and had to halt a couple of times on the way to the loo to stop myself from careening into the wall as if my apartment was on a great big slant. Around 11, it wasn't an alarm clock that woke me,...it was more like a fire alarm. The usual fire that was my shingles was back, but in addition all of me was on fire! And freezing! And just crawling! It felt like my skin was trying to abandon ship. I was having side effects, but even worse - the patch wasn't working! I had full on stabby shingle fire, which was something I'd managed to avoid on the oxycodone. I sent a message to my awesome nurse and told her what was happening and she told me to come back in to the hospital and they'd increase the fentanyl or change meds again.

So I went down and saw my favourite doctor who questioned why I'd even been put on the patch anyhow - as it was very useful for people taking scads of pills who couldn't handle all the swallowing, but I can handle the 3 tiny oxy (plus 12 other pills) I was taking a day. He put me back on oxycodone and sent me off to the nurse who puts a needle in my ass and spanks me bye-bye. I went into work to try to beg to NOT be there, as I was feeling creepy and crawly and frankly flu-like. My co-workers eventually conferred and told me I could go home if I needed to, but about 20 minutes before that whatever they'd given me at the hospital had kicked in and I was feeling a lot better. By the time I started my last class at 9, I was feeling pretty fine. Just after I thanked my co-workers for their willingness to cover my classes, I was told that we'd all have the following day off!

The government is proposing to pass laws to regulate private study academies in Korea. Surely there is more information on other sites and when I come across it I'll update with some links. To be honest, I don't care one way or the other - but I thank the hagwon associations that advised everyone to close up shop for a one-day strike and head up to Seoul to protest. None of us went to Seoul, and I sure wasn't going to protest about my unexpected one-day holiday! I decided to lie down around 4:30 Tuesday afternoon for a little nap - and I woke up around 9:30. IN THE MORNING!! That's 17 hours. It seems I'm training for the Sleep Olympics.

So that's what I'm like these days. Slow and dopey. Prone to naps. I've been hoarding sleep like it might not be available anymore at some point in the near future. I can't really not think about shingles, because it has pretty well consumed me. And for the time being I'm okay with that. It's still just one day at a time over here at Shingles Central. I'm just meandering through whatever it is I have to do - shower, eat, work - until I can lay my head down for another nap.

Thanks again to those of you who have wished me well and hoped for my speedy recovery. Your comments and e-mails have meant a great deal to me, really. Being sick anywhere sucks fo sure, but I think it especially sucks in a foreign country. I think I might elaborate on that when it's not time for another nap. I need to especially thank Kevin for his really wonderful and most appreciated e-mail. He's a generous guy, that Kevin is - for even considering me and taking the time to write such a concerned and encouraging note while facing far more serious health issues with his mom. Thank you, my friend.

Let me finish this off by saying that I wish zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Shingles Central

2009-10-06T02:00:00.003+09:00

Hey there! For those of you in Korea, let me welcome you a belated "Happy Chuseok!" For me, Chuseok meant having a four day vacation and there isn't anything wrong with that!

So, I'm still in the "Shingles Saga" here at I Got Two Shoes. After I wrote my last post I found myself getting angrier and angrier. What sort of of doctor was this Rainman asshole anyway? I just couldn't believe I was getting the brush-off, and I couldn't understand why. To boot,I noticed I had another rash on my left foot. I was hoping it wasn't a new outbreak of shingles, but it looked very similar. I went into work all fired up and, frankly, on the verge of tears because I was so exhausted and frustrated. My manager hadn't called the doctor yet, and so once again I told her how upset I was and showed her the new rash on my foot.

A little while later I walked back into the Teacher's Room and noticed that Cindy looked upset. She said, "That doctor is SO RUDE!" I practically shouted, "I KNOW! RIGHT?" He'd told her that he has been a doctor for thirty five years and has never seen a case of shingles breaking out in multiple locations. He basically called me an idiot, and told her (with a sigh) to tell me to come back in and see him.

And then he hung up on her!

Cindy said what I'd already been thinking, that I should go find a new doctor at one of the big fancy downtown hospitals instead of this pathetic countryside hospital with their bloodletting leech cure-alls. I asked if she could call and get some sort of records of the treatments I'd had thus far so I didn't have to try to explain everything to the new doctor. So she called Dr. Rainman back and requested a file and he barked, "FINE!" and then hung up on her again!

I picked up my records a couple hours later and made plans to seek help elsewhere the next morning. Cindy recommended a hospital downtown that her family had been to, telling me they had all sort of shiny new medical machines. I didn't really care about that. I just wanted a decent doctor who was willing to treat me until I was better. Cindy kindly wrote out a page long letter, including some questions I had wanted to ask Dr. Rainman, and also explaining about the new rash on my foot. She warned me that the last time they'd visited there they'd waited for more than two hours, so I should make sure I went early.

And so I did. I checked in at the front desk early the next day an was immediately led by the hand to some benches outside an office door and they made me wait a whole FIVE minutes to be seen! The doctor was very kind and read through the notes I'd given him. He looked at my foot and confirmed it was a second outbreak and told me he was putting me back on a course of antiviral medication. This second rash isn't very good news. It is uncommon to have shingles in multiple locations, and especially so considering I'd already taken a seven day course of acyclovir. The second episode means that my immune system is definitely weakened for some reason or other.

Dr. GoodGuy also tripled the amount of pain medication that Dr. Rainman had initially and reluctantly prescribed. So I'm taking lots of oxycodone and it feels like we may have finally gotten it right. I still feel the pain, but now it's time to take another pill when it starts to feel really horrible. Another bonus is I'm able to sleep. In fact, I lost Sunday because I slept through it. All of it. I woke up from a Sunday afternoon nap to a dusky grey sky and figured the sun had just set, only to realize it was actually about to rise, shining on a new Monday morning. I'm still flat-out exhausted. My whole four day weekend was spent nodding off in various furniture around my apartment. Good times.

I've been using a wooden spoon to scratch my back. I'd like to attach spikes to it. I think that'd feel reaaaallll goooood. It's weird. Parts of my body where the rash was are numb. My left boob is numb. Still, it begs to be scratched. Sometimes it feels like I've got worms crawling around inside me. I just paused for three minutes to spoon myself. Just typing this is making me itchy.

The only really scary thing about visiting the city hospital was the bill when I went to pay it. Whereas I was shelling out about 45,000 won a visit at the country hospital, the new place rang up 269,000 on the cash register. I just about screamed. When they figured out I didn't have insurance they called over to Dr. GoodGuy and played around with the medications he'd prescribed and got my bill reduced down to a slightly more reasonable 115,000. Still. Blech!

The nurse was awesome and asked me to come back on Tuesday afternoon to see her and Dr. GoodGuy again. She even asked me for my phone and punched in her own cell number, telling me to call her if I had any questions. I texted her today and asked her if it was alright I visit a day early because I'm working tomorrow afternoon. (I could have gone in Tuesday morning, but then I'd be seeing a new doc, as Dr. GoodGuy was on the afternoon shift.) She texted back that it was fine, so I went in and was hooked up through to Saturday for medications. I'm taking twenty pills a day. Nurse Lee texted me this evening, apologizing for not spending a lot of time with me during today's visit, explaining that they were so busy after the Chuseok vacation. What a doll! We ended each visit with an ass injection and a good slap on my rear. I don't know what it was they put in that syringe (I was told it was for pain) but for a few hours I felt finey-fine-fine. I wouldn't mind at all if they set me up on an intravenous drip of whatever that was.

Anyhow. So that's how things are going over here at Shingles Central. I hope you're having a better time than me. My next post will be non-shingley related, I promise.

Should I Just Re-title My Blog "Craptastic?"

2009-09-30T04:28:00.006+09:00

Joy, in her comment on my last post was sweet enough to ask me how my pox was doing. I figured ya'll haven't read me complain about anything in almost a day now, so it's high time I get posting!

I guess things are progressing as they should with my shingles. The rash turned into little blisters that popped at some point, and now the rash is crusting over and in some parts fading away. So that's good. The thing is, I'm not FEELING very good.

This past weekend was not too bad. I took things easy and tried to get lots of rest. I went out Saturday afternoon for a very nice lunch with a couple of friends and then had a short leisurely shop at Lotte department store. I was feeling alright and surely the reason for this was because I was liberal with the pain medication. I wasn't totally drugged out by any means, but I was taking a pill when I started to feel moderately uncomfortable instead of trying to stick to two pills a day at 12 hour intervals. I sort of fooled myself into thinking I was getting much better because I hadn't had to really feel the sharp stabby fire knife pain (I know I've said that before but really, it's the most apt way I can convey the feeling. I'll try to come up with another description tomorrow.) in the front of me, or the deep constant ache that's going on in the back of me.

Then I woke up late on Monday morning and neglected to take a pill OR bring any of them with me to work. By five o'clock I realized that I'd been tricked and I was still in a very significant amount of pain. I took a couple of Tylenol that did pretty much nothing for me and otherwise just grimaced and moaned my way through the rest of the day until I could get back home and take my medicine.

So I went to the hospital again today and the doctor greeted me not with "How are you feeling?" but, "Why are you here?"

What?

I've been getting the sense that the doctor doesn't even want to give me a prescription for anything. I mentioned it already, but I left the hospital on my first visit to him in tears, with him "permitting" me to take some Tylenol and advising me to "not focus on the pain and endure." Last Friday when I visited him he wanted to reduce the oxycodone down to 10mg twice a day, which is what he had prescribed on my second visit the day after he doled out his sage advice on endurance. I was angry at that second visit, and told him I'd already spent a week in pain that was growing significantly and had tried to quell that with muscle relaxants and ibuprofen my regular doctor had prescribed. Now that I knew I wasn't having a heart attack and was dealing with shingles instead, let's unlock the narcotics cabinet already. After the third visit he finally doubled the dosage and that's been almost masking the pain. "So, no." I said last Friday. "Let's not decrease anything please."

Today, "Why are you here?" he repeated.

What the fuck?

"Don't you remember me? I gots the shingles?"

He examined me and noted the rash was getting a lot better. I told him my left boob is numb. "Yeah." He said.
"Here. All here is numb."
"Yeah."
"I can't feel this," poking the side of my breast. "It's numb."
"Yeah."
"Do you know 'numb'?"
"Yeah."
(Fucking Rainman!)
"Doctor, arrayo 'numb'? N-U-M-B?"
"Mwoh?" (What?)
So I looked it up on my phone's dictionary. (Oh, yah! My cellphone has been saved! The jury is still out on the fate of my camera and MP3.) "Look here: numb. Is that normal?"
"I think you recovery slow. It's ok. Five days medicine."

I counted out the days looking at the calendar on the wall. "What about Chuseok? (The three day "holiday" starting on Friday.) "Are you open Monday?"
"Yes. Open." he replied, "But after this medicine you must endure."

Oh, great! We're back to that? I said "Don't be like that, doctor. If I'm in pain on Monday I'm coming back here."
"Yeah."

I went back to work feeling frustrated, like I've been given a cut-off point for treatment. I'm worried about developing postherpetic neuralgia, a complication from shingles that could leave me in pain for months or even (I'll surely go insane) years. The doctor struggled greatly on my first and second visits to explain neuralgia to me, but now seems to be dismissing it. Dismissing ME, to be more precise.

I just don't understand where he's coming from. Why would pain that's deemed treatable now have to be endured without medication in a few days? I'm trying my best to convey how I'm feeling (like shit) and he's decided that he knows better. I'm really hoping that by Monday I'm feeling completely better, but I fear that's not going to be the case. Nevermind that I'm unable to count properly and realized back at work that I only have enough pills to last until Saturday.

So I spoke to my manager and she served me up a laughable dish of bull, saying that "Western people have a different attitude toward illness. We think we should endure. Western people go to the doctor often. We don't."
LIES!!

People here visit the "hospital" (clinic at best, but more likely a simple doctor's office) for everything! Then they go to the pharmacist to collect a hundred pills to be eaten four times a day with kimchi. In Canada I'd suffer through a cold or flu and just pop into the drugstore and get some medicine off the shelf. Here, the pharmacies are tiny and lack shelves by and large. You've got to describe your symptoms to the pharmacist and then HE or SHE will choose for you. With doctor's visits and prescriptions being so cheap here it's just easier to go see the doctor and get an injection on your ass before visiting the pharmacy with a prescription. By the way, I don't have health insurance. Having shingles has already cost me about four hundred dollars, so yah. I'd like to get better pronto.

I was so upset back at work, and feeling stressed about having to stress out for the next few days thinking Dr. Rainman was going to refuse to treat me. What I want to hear from him is, "Don't worry. I know shingles is oftentimes extremely painful. You should avoid stress. Get rest. Please don't worry, we will make sure you get through this as comfortably as possible until you're better." I don't understand the logic in withholding relief. I don't see how that's being very "doctorly." I'm sure I could endure the pain without dying from it, but it severely impedes me from doing my job well. It wrecks my sleep. It makes living unpleasant. It prevents me from enjoying ANYTHING. I'm not interested in martyrdom, give me the drugs already.

My manager agreed to call the doctor tomorrow but I know she won't be as direct as I'd like her to be. Afterall, the doctor is a man and he's older than her and apparently knows best. (Yeah.) I've written down some questions for her to ask, about the surface numbness and if it's normal to feel like I'm "flaring up" when I get stressed out and why I'm still not sleeping well at all, and about neuralgia. We'll see what happens, but if Dr. Rainman's going to be unhelpful I'm going to have to go into the city to a "BIG" hospital and seek out an empathetic and effective doctor before the weekend.

I Just Used Craptastic as a Title, Didn't I?

2009-09-28T23:54:00.000+09:00

So let's call this one "Suckerrific."

I noticed on Brian in Jeollanam-do's site that he was listing more festivals here in Korea Schmorea that have been cancelled due to H1N1. I was reminded that I've been meaning to go check out the Ulsan World Music Festival's website to check out their expanding lineup and make sure i hadn't been cancelled. I was so pleased when I pulled the site up. No mention of cancellation and Bajofondo, who ROCKED last year was headlining again.

Then I noticed my computer was blocking a pop-up, and sure enough - there was the cancellation notice. It's in English, too. Korea has been advised by The Ministry of ~~No Fun~~ Public Administration and Security to cancel events that attract more than 1,000 people at a time and run more than 2 days. So we can now add the "Cheoyong Culture Festival- 2009 World Music Festival" scheduled from Oct. 9th - 11th to the long list of cancelled events. That SUCKS. Attending that festival was one of the best things I did in Korea in 2008, and I've been looking forward to going again for such a long time.

The Seoul subway system runs every day and surely attracts thousands of visitors hourly. When are they going to cancel that? Two different kids sneezed today, not ON me (for a change) but right beside me and they didn't make any attempt to cover up their snot blast. I could just imagine their swine flu particles wafting through the air and straight up my nose. When are they going to cancel my job?

I know you've all had "one of those days." You know,...the type of day that just flat out sucks ass? Well learning that my favourite festival has been cancelled was just the sucky cherry topping the sucky suck-ass sundae that was my Monday.

Raaaargh!

Craptastic

2009-09-23T04:25:00.007+09:00

Optimism schmoptimism, I say. So far, forty has not been so hott. Thank you, to those who left them, for the birthday and recovery wishes. However, my birthday did not rock. It actually sucked quite spectacularly.

I ended up doing nothing on my actually birthday besides working. Oh, and I went to the hospital again. You know, when I discovered I had shingles I read up on it and concurred with the consensus that the pain is often severe. But holy hell in a handbasket,...I can't believe how whacked out I am on painkillers and yet, STILL the stabby burney fire-jab manages to punch through my nauseous druggy haze. Some of my rash is starting to fade up, but I've got blisters in the worst parts. I was hoping that as the rash recedes so would the pain, but so far that's not the case. I just feel like shit.

So Saturday I got a text from one of my friends that she was coming into town and wanted to meet to celebrate my birthday. I only get to see her a few times a year, and we usually try to have dinner around each other's birthdays. So I agreed.

I know the saying, "It's the thought that counts" but seriously, if YOU'RE not going to put any amount of thought into giving your friend a gift, I think there should be an amendment of: "but, if you're being thoughtless then don't even bother." I got a couple presents this year that when I opened I realized there was no possible way whatsoever that the gift-giver had walked into a store, picked up the thing they would then wrap up and give to me and think, "ZOMG!! Jelly is going to LOVE this! This is just what Jelly needs!" unless it turns out that what they think I need is crap. And I wish I could be honest (yet rude) and say, after I open their crap "What exactly the hell is this?" and furthermore, "Who first gave YOU this crap that you are totally re-gifting to me?"

So we ended up having dinner at my friend's restaurant and toward the end of the night I headed over to talk to her. I had to give her a business card I'd tucked in my wallet, and as I grabbed the wallet out of my bag and left the table my crap-gifting friend said "Ohhh, thanks for dinner Jelly!" I stopped short and said "Seriously?" hoping she was joking. She was not! Ha! So I got to take my shingley self out, get gifted crap AND buy dinner. AWESOME!

As we were leaving I grabbed the 500ml bottle of diet coke I hadn't opened and stuck it in my new oversized bag that I hate. It's the first time I've ever owned one of these big over-the-shoulder messenger style bags, and it's going to be my last. It's like a black hole and I spend most of my day with my head stuck in it rooting around for my stuff. So I'm walking along after dinner and notice suddenly that my thigh feels wet. What the fuck?

The unopened bottle had somehow opened itself (or more likely, my crap gifting non-dinner-buying friend had helped herself to a sip and hadn't fastened the lid on properly) and more than half the contents were now splashing around in my stupid giant bag.

This is the stupid giant bag that's continuously hiding my wallet, cellphone, digital camera, and MP3 player; all things that do not enjoy a bubbly carbonated drink like I do. So all those things excepting the wallet (which actually wasn't too bad off) are in their respective repair shops and it's unclear if they'll survive. If not, that'll mean I'm out about 850 bucks for the night, including the dinner I bought.

Yet the re-gifted crap came out unscathed - as it was wrapped up safe in a plastic bag.

AWESOME!

Jelly 4.0

2009-09-18T07:28:00.003+09:00

Lawdy, lawdy - look who's fowty!

That's right: ME!

I can't even believe it's my fortieth birthday. I still feel like I'm a stupid eighteen year old most days. So far, my mother and brother (who is still five and a half hours away from his fortieth birthday, and e-mailed me to ask how it was to be so goddamned OLD?) have contacted me with birthday wishes. This year was really set up for a fabulous celebration, as well. My birthday falls on a Friday, which means I could spend the whole weekend kissing my thirties goodbye. My co-worker's planned a party for tonight, and other friends are staging a late night fête at their restaurant on Saturday. It should be a veritable whirlwind of presents and cake and well wishes and soooooju.

But then shingles came to town. Are you sick of hearing about the shingles? Too bad! This is Shingles Central up in here. Did you know Dooce has shingles? All the cool kids are getting it. You should get some!

No, don't. They suck.

So my birthday festivities have pretty much been called off due to ~~rain~~ pain. My boss cancelled tonight's party, and the Saturday shindig is up in the air right now. If I feel like I can handle it we'll have it. I'll do my best, but there's a good chance I'm not going to be a helluvalotta fun. Mixing painkillers and alcohol would be bad, right? But would it be "bad" in a good way? Hehehe.

I thought that I would buy myself something special tonight when I went downtown to HomePlus to fetch cat food. Since Tesco bought this Korean supermarket, they've been stalking a lot more British products, which makes me happy. In the freezer section, they have Tesco ice cream and some frozen Tesco cakes. I've bought a couple of those small-ish cakes and brought them into work. The black forest cake didn't go over so well with the co-workers because they said the cherries were too sour, but I thought it was pretty decent. I decided I would buy myself a cake and have myself a big ole' hunk of it at midnight to kick off my non-festive birthday. Then I'd come back after work on Friday night and eat the whole damned rest of it as I sat weeping and feeling sorry for myself. But, I was FOILED! The freezer section was filled with big packs of Chuseok meat gift-sets and there was nary a frozen British cake to be found. DRATS! Nothing seems to be working out these days.

So I'm going to get a T-shirt printed up that reads "I turned forty and all I got was this lousy T-shirt. And shingles. And a stye in my eye. And a cracked tooth from eating nacho chips." This has been a banner week!

I probably sound bitter, but actually I'm not. Version four point oh should be pretty awesome: new and improved. I'm optimistic. I think we just need a little more time to work out the bugs.

Lazy Lugs

2009-09-16T11:59:00.002+09:00

I'm wholly absorbed in feeling sorry for myself. Shingles completely sucks, and has sapped just about every molecule of energy from my body. The fatigue is surreal; if I'm sitting down, then I'm struggling to stay conscious. Yesterday the doctor doubled my pain medication so I'm going to head into work for the first time this week and see how it goes.

I hear my co-worker is throwing an absolute tantrum at having to cover my classes. She spent Monday sulking and asked as she was leaving that day if I was going to come to work on Tuesday. When the manager said she didn't know, my co-worker started whine-yelling, saying she couldn't handle another day of working back to back classes. Poor thing.

I didn't go yesterday and at the request of the manager, sent her a long text message thanking her for ~~doing her job~~ helping me out and taking care of the students. My absence meant she had to teach a whole HOUR and FORTY minutes more than usual. Poor little lamb. If I could gather the strength, I'd smack some perspective into her pouty self. I've been suffering for about a week and a half with hands-down the most strange and all-encompassing pain I've ever felt and she's taking it personally, crying that she's having to endure working a six hour day.

Honestly, though. I'm going to give these little 20mg oxycodone pills two thumbs up. Waaaaayyyy up. Without them, there wouldn't even be a chance of me going in today.

Meanwhile, have you ever seen these?

Please contemplate them while saying, "Busy butterflies flutter by, but baby ladybugs are lazy lugs" over and over and over and over as fast as you can. Thank you.

Pills, Pills, Pills

2009-09-13T02:59:00.005+09:00

Day- I don't know - with the shingles. It's the start of day 5 with the rash, but maybe day 11 since the first symptoms started? Something like that. I went to the doctor again for the third day in a row.

I went to the hospital on Friday kind of annoyed. I had gone back in to work that day. I probably shouldn't have, but I did. I was still in pain and I spent the day just trying to get through. I was guarding my body from the students who are always happy to see me and often gregarious in their greetings. The girls especially like to get a hug and were doling them out freely because they'd missed me the day before. I assumed a defensive posture like I was surrounded by ninjas ready to take their turns attacking me. "Don't touch me, please!" I wasn't so concerned that they would catch something from me, but knew that if they touched me I was going to curl into a fetal ball with the pain.

My manager asked me how I was and I told her "crappy" and showed her my back. She said "well at least your not contagious!" I told her I certainly was contagious and she said "no." The doctor had told her the day before I wasn't. "Well he's mistaken," I said ("I don't think so, he is doctor," she countered) as I googled to prove my point.

So I ended up going to the hospital just to argue with the doctor, and to get him to hook me up with some proper pain medication. He had told me the day before not to focus on the pain and I should "endure." I wanted to say "Okay. I'm going to follow you around for the day and keep kicking you in the nads. But, like, just ignore me. Focus on the patients." The thing is I'm not a wimp, and I'd been in significant pain for almost a week by that point. When I learned it was shingles and that intense pain was often the norm I was relieved and looking forward to some medicinal relief. We ended up arguing for a while about the contagiousness of shingles (and I mean really, either something is contagious or it isn't. Granted, it's not AS easy to catch as chicken pox - but still.) and then I petitioned him for some druuuuuuugs. He finally obliged and gave me oxycondone which makes me truly spacey, but makes life alright. It doesn't completely block the pain, but it dulls it. Me likey.

During the consultation, the doctor reached into this little mini fridge in his office and offered me one of those little bottles of "health" drink. (Black garlic and ginseng in this case - ugh!) I thanked him and set it down in front of me on his desk. We talked, he wrote down his notes. He told me he was prescribing me calamine lotion with would have a cooling effect. I thanked him, and stood up and he picked up the little drink, said "coooool" and rolled the bottle over my boob! I had shown him my breast when I went in there, because the rash had spread since the previous day, but still! Weird.

But this development - the speading rash - which now is about 3 inches wide and travels from my spine all the way around on my left side to the centre of my chest is going to be a problem. The rash hasn't yet turned into blisters which will eventually burst and crust over. That's going to be SO FUN! I barely got away with wearing a bra all day Friday. It's just not going to be possible on Monday and I just can't bloody fathom going into work without one. Seriously. The other problem is that the oxycondone makes me deliciously and helplessly sleeeeeeeepy. Like, nod-off junkie sort of sleepy. I don't know how well that's going to work out in class. Can I call in "bra-less and druggy?"

The doctor also warned me to be very careful about getting sick. I gather my immune system is currenty out of order. Wash my hands and brush my teeth (?!) a lot, he advised. He didn't mention specifically H1N1, but out of curiosity I asked if they'd had any cases at the hospital. I was told they had, which surprised me. This is a countryside hospital.

Another visit today, and thankfully nothing was rubbed over my boob. File this under "oversharing" but I've got a lesion right on the "pencil eraser" part of my nipple which is most unpleasant.

And pills. I gots oodles and oodles of pills.

That's five days worth. I should have a contest so you can guess how many I'll be taking, like the jellybeans in a jar,...but I'll just tell you: 115. One hundred and fifteen and a half pills, as a matter of fact!

Pills. They're what's for dinner.

Shingled Out

2009-09-11T00:27:00.002+09:00

I've got the fever for the flavour of a shingle.

I had my friend text me the Korean word for "shingles" and I just opened my phone and showed it to the doctor at the big hospital. He said "odi?" (where?) and I pulled up the back of my shirt. He said "yeeeaaaah."

He prescribed acyclovir - an anti-viral medication, but he wasn't sure it would be effective. Even though the rash just started to appear sometime on Wednesday, I've been feeling the shingleness for a week. If one takes an anti-viral early enough it can slow the progression of shingles, but it's not effective after a certain point. So who knows? I've developed a new rash on my chest that started this morning. I also got some other pills but can't remember what they are. One does something good but will also make me dizzy and vomitty, so there's another one to counteract.

I also took the day off work. I've only managed to get about six hours sleep in the past couple days, so I'm just not sure I can handle hearing my name shouted at me all day long by my loud hyperactive students.

I wasn't very successful in canvassing the doctor for some hardcore narcotics. I don't know what his reluctance was in just giving me the druuuuggggssss. I'm supposed to go back on Saturday morning so he can see how I'm doing, but I'm going to head back there tomorrow with the texted word for "morphine" typed into my phone. I'm kidding. Sort of.

I really wish we humans would evolve to the point where we could telepathically share the actual feeling of what's happening inside us with each other. Buddy would say, "Hey, Jelly! How's it going?" and I'd say, "Ah, not too great. It feels like someone has peeled off my skin and is sticking red hot iron skewers into me." So, Buddy would say, "Aww, that's a real shame." and he'd wander off in search of more pleasant conversation but I'd say, "Hey! Wait a minute! Here, check it out!" and I'd manifest the feeling inside his brain and he's be all, "Aaarrrghhhh owwwwww aaaaccckkk!"

It would be great if you could send it over the phone when you're calling in sick. "Sorry, I'm not going to make it into work today, I'm feeling,..." *WHOOSH* And then your boss would start to cry and order you to stay in bed. My manager seems sympathetic, but really she would like me to come in regardless of how I'm feeling.

One thing that doesn't sit so well with me is that she actually called the doctor I saw this morning after I called in sick. Like she needed some confirmation from him. And the doc went ahead and told her all about what's wrong with me. So much for doctor-patient confidentiality, eh? I had a moment of being pissed off with her, but then realized I couldn't muster enough energy to really care. I get the feeling if I try to take another day off I'm going to meet a lot of resistance. As it was, my boss and manager wanted to come by for a visit after work. I told them that wasn't a good idea.

To be honest, I'm relieved that I know what the hell is wrong with me. I'd been getting steadily worse - and shingles symptoms are unlike anything I've ever felt before: sharp stabbing pains and then a rush of burning goosebumps. Without the goosebumps. I actually thought on Wednesday night that I might be having a heart attack.

Good to know I'm not.

A Pox on Me

2009-09-10T03:16:00.004+09:00

I mentioned in the previous post that I obtained my PhD in Psychology from an order-by-mail website. What? It's legitimate! I took a test! Ink blots and stuff! Don't judge me.

While I was at it, I decided to get a few more designations out of the way, so I'm also a minister, a marine biologist, a pilot, a tree surgeon, and a family physician. So, like, if you need my services in any of these areas just let me know, mmm'kay?

Last week I wasn't feeling totally awesome. Thursday morning I woke up all achey, but I just figured I had slept funny on my left arm. I still felt weird Friday, and I spent all Saturday traveling clear across Korea and back on trains and buses. By the time I dragged my ass home the upper left side of my back was very angry indeed. Sunday was worse, and so on Monday I paid a visit to Dr. Dolphin (named thusly because he uses the sonar in his forehead to diagnose me.) His full name is Dr. Anti Dolphin Biotic. He gives me a red and yellow antibiotic for EVERYTHING!

I explained that the worsening pain was now wrapping around from the back of me to the front. He asked me three times what trauma had caused the pain, and I told him nothing had happened. He prescribed some pain medication, muscle relaxants, and of course the red and yellow capsule. I don't know what the pain pills are but By George they worked alright on Monday! Except they start to wear off after about four or five hours and then I'm reminded I'm messed up. It feels like someone is jamming corkscrews in me. And the pills aren't being as effective as they were on Monday.

I took the last packet of pills early Wednesday morning after a fitful sleep. Those had well worn off by the time I went to work in the afternoon and HOLY CRAP I felt bad. So I went back to Dr. ADB and he gave me more pills. Yay.

It's good that I'm by and large not feeling the achey fire burn of what the doctor said was a muscle problem, but my body is still acting all weird. I'm wobbly, and my arm is shakey. My skin is crawling. I've pulled muscles before but this feels different. Bad, bad, different. Tingle fire deep-rooted bad bad very bad different. Tonight when I got home I pulled up the back of my shirt to have a look and see if maybe I've finally started growing the big glorious angel wings I've been hoping for, but no.

I'm growing an angry looking rash. Too bad Dr. ADB didn't use his eyes instead of the sonar.

So I diagnosed myself and used the google on this Internet machine for a second opinion and I'm fairly sure I've got shingles. I called my mom who knows of these things. My grandmother got shingles about five years ago and she's still suffering from it. She has postherpetic neuralgia which occurs in about 20% of people who get shingles. It's ongoing pain caused by nerve damage. I'm off to the big hospital this morning, despite my mother's commands of "NOW! GO RIGHT NOW!"

If I've got shingles, I'm contagious. I can spread chicken pox. Shall we wager on whether or not I'm going to get some time off? (Not bloody likely!) Truly I'd settle for some opioids. If I don't get time off work, let's start a pool on how many kids I share my pox with.

Unifreakincorn

2009-09-08T15:26:00.004+09:00

If I was walking around in Itaewon, I certainly wouldn't greet every foreigner I saw. That would be crazy. When I'm downtown in my city, where foreigners aren't as common, I'll often say "hi," or give them a nod as we pass on the street. There isn't any use, in my mind, in pretending that we didn't notice another one of ourselves walking toward us. There have been debates about this on Dave's Cafe: "To Greet or Not to Greet." I say why not err on the side of friendliness? At the very least, what's it going to hurt to throw someone a smile?

I live in a little town. It a suburb, really of a larger city and foreigners are like unicorns here. Rarely spotted, I sometimes have a hard time believing that I'm not just the only one of my kind. So when one unicorn spots another 'round these here parts it's a special day. A rainbow day. With butterflies!

Or not.

Yesterday I was walking around in the daylight, which is sort of unusual for this here vampire, and I spotted another unicorn. A white one! A NEW ONE! So I trotted on up to the crosswalk where he was waiting for the lights to change. He turned to look at me and nothing registered. El Cara Blanco. And then he turned away. And then my brain went "OH NO HE DI'INT!!" So I stuck my cara in his cara. "Hi! I'm Jelly!"
He stuck out his hand and said, "Jason. Where are you from?" (I then half expected his next three questions to be "Teacha? How old are you" and "Are you married?")

He told me where he was from, but I don't remember what he said. I asked him if he was new around here,...because I KNOW he is new around here. He said, "No. I've been here a couple weeks."

Huh? So then I asked him if he was an English teacher, because, like, he doesn't understand the meaning of the word "new?" Turns out he teaches at a very small school in the countryside. My co-worker was telling me yesterday that there are "only seven grade fives." and I asked "You mean seven classes of grade five students?"

"No. Seven grade five students!"

I can't believe that school even has a foreign teacher! Maybe Jason is freaked out about how easy his days are. He told me he was a teacher and "I taught grade 2, 3 and 5 today." I couldn't decide what to do with that information, so I told him I had toast and eggs for breakfast.

I know I only got my PhD in Psychology through an order-by-mail website, and that I only met Jasonicorn for about 5 minutes, but I feel confident enough to diagnose him with severe Autism with a side order of weird. Either that, or the guy is seriously depressed. As I smiled and spoke calmly, he'd screw up his face - knitting his eyebrows and wrinkling hs nose, shaking his head back and forth as if he was going to answer "no" regardless of what I was asking. As the light changed and we crossed the street I noticed a big glowing ball in the sky setting through the haze and maybe Jason thinks I'm weird now because I said aloud "Is that the sun?" and he answered "Probably." (It was glowing so bright and whitish it could have been the moon. I didn't think it was a UFO or something.)

Jason asked in monotone (Aspergers?) if I was going that way, because he was going the other way and good-bye, and he shuffled off.

I guess I'm not going to be friends with the new kid in town.

Run Away

2009-09-02T04:42:00.004+09:00

I've got things to complain about. Who doesn't? So before I start complaining, let me share one thing I am NOT going to complain about: the weather! Haven't you guys who have been reading me for awhile noticed the lack of "Ohhhh my Gawd it's So Freaking HOT I want to Go Out and Commit Crimes" posts this past summer? No need, my friends. Not this summer.

As I understand it, people in other parts of the country haven't been as lucky. I know Seoul was pretty muggified for much of the summer - and Daegu? Well, that's just a bowl of soup. But down 'round these here parts we've had an easy breezy time. The rainy season started late and lasted a long time. Many a day has been cloudy and mild, and there has been an ever-present wind that has kept things very tolerable. This has been my most favourite summer thus far in Korea. For the last couple weeks the temperature at night has even dropped enough to be deemed "yummy sleeping weather." There's a hint of fall in the days here, and it's even occurring in the big city, as my buddy John takes note of.

Alright. So that's the not complaining. Moving on.

I've got a real challenge in my adult class in the form of a new student who is driving me crazy. I haven't had a problem student like this for quite some time. If it were a child, like most of my students are, I wouldn't be having such a difficult time. He just joined my class a couple weeks ago, and I sort of knew something was up when he insisted on having a 30 minute meet and greet with me before the class started. Fair enough, I suppose, but usually the sorting of levels and initial interviewy type things are left to my manager, The Princess. So he spent 30 minutes with her and another 30 with me, and then entered the classroom and monopolized the room for the next 50 minutes.

This has become his M.O. now. He usually shows up about a half hour before the class starts and wanders into the Teacher's Room, helps himself to a seat, and starts chatting. I'm usually busy preparing for the lesson and I'm not really keen on giving him a mini-conversation class before the actual class begins. I'm always apologizing, and saying I have some work to get done so can't really talk. Sometimes he takes the hint and leaves. Other times he says, "That's okay," and then just hangs out watching me do stuff.

My adult class in an Introductory one. We tend to spend about 5 or 10 minutes conversing and then we hit the book. My new student, however, would prefer to have a conversation for the whole 50 minutes, and doesn't' care that he's railroading the class and shutting out other less-confident students. As a matter of fact, I've had three students drop out since New Guy started, and I know it's because they dislike him. I resent having to try to disengage myself from his one-on-one yammering and refocus the class on what we're studying. Last week we were working on the future tense with "going to" and we were talking about special occasions. The format was "What are you going to do for New Years? Where are you going to go? Who's going to be there?" and so on. We're going around the room asking each other questions, and it's going well - but when we get to New Guy he turns to me (of course) and says, "Do you believe in Jesus?"

I said, "Awwwww come on. The question should be 'Are you going to believe in Jesus at Christmas?' but I'd like to focus on the textbook, New Guy." Sheesh. When I try to gently correct him or guide our conversation toward the group, he gets pouty. Yesterday I said, "Hangul mal hajima-seyo," (with a smile on my face) -- "please stop speaking Korean" and he said "yeaaaahhh," and then zoned out, jamming his finger into his ear, inspecting the treasure he had dug out, and then rolling it into a ball before flicking it on the floor. Awesome.

He wears his shoes in the classroom. It bugs the shit out of me. The taking off of the outside shoes and putting on of the inside shoes is a ~~Mister Rogers~~ Korean thing. My brother doesn't mind if you walk your outside shoes right on into his inside home in Canada, (I can't bring myself to do it anymore) but here in Korea we do no such thing. We've got big shoe shelves at the entrance of the school and all my students are wearing the provided-for slippers. So, why do I have to remind New Guy that he's Korean and needs to take off his (big ugly) outside shoes?

Whereas I used to end off my work day three times a week feeling really good from having completed a productive and enjoyable class with people taller than my elbow, I'm now heading home pissed off and feeling like a crap teacher because I can't wrangle the New Guy. I don't want the students I actually do enjoy very much to keep dropping out.

A big part of the problem is the way my manager (The Princess) will stick students in a class that's not appropriate for them. I've got Elementary school students who are the same age, yet aren't at the same ability for our classes. At five o'clock I've got eight students who can read well and understand the direction I'm giving, but there are a couple who have serious trouble with even alphabet recognition. I'm spelling something for them (trying to move things along) and I say "E." They write an "i." "No, E. Not I." They erase and write "g." Arrrgh. When I bring this up to The Princess I'm told the student can't join the earlier lower levelled class because he/she can't "make the time."

So this is what's happened with my adult class. New Guy wants an intermediate conversation class (and really, he could well benefit from the introductory one if his ego wasn't an issue) but we don't have something suitable - so we stick him where he doesn't want to be, and we're all suffering.

Anyways. We broke a new record today at my school. I mentioned it before, but almost a year ago we took over the music school down the hall from us, and my boss converted it into a math school. Recently, The Princess fired our spirited math teacher because she's got a problem showing up to work on time and there were some complaints about the way she dresses. She does kind of look like she's going to a nightclub, but whatever. She agreed to finish working at the end of August and we found a replacement teacher just in the nick of time. New Teacher signed on just last Thursday. She came in Monday for a bit of training and the 1st was her start date. I was hanging out with the middle school girls before their math class started at 8pm. The bell rang and there was no teacher. Five minutes passed and still no teacher. Another five later, and I asked them, "Where's your teacher?" Shrugging of shoulders. You know where she was? She was gone, baby, gone! She had taught four classes and decided that was quite enough thank-you-very-much. She left a note saying buh-bye and turned off her phone as she ran out the door.

I don't know WHAT is going to happen tomorrow!

Puppy Dog Tales

2009-08-30T15:57:00.004+09:00

In the previous post when I said there was "more tomorrow," obviously I meant "tomorrow" on Jupiter. Right? (Man, I'm such a geek - I just googled "How long is a day on Jupiter?" and learned that in fact Jupiter's day is under 10 hours long. Go figure.) Okay,...so what I meant by "tomorrow" was "a week on Jupiter," or something like that.

I went up and visited Bella and the puppies a couple weekends ago. It was a nice short visit; we only spent a few hours there, but it didn't start off so well. This time, I went with my boss and "manager." I like my manager, I do - but she is a Korean "Princess" of the highest order. I find it frustrating to accommodate her prissiness and have, on numerous occasions this past summer, decided that if she adjusts the temperature on the school's air conditioner just one more time she will surely die. She'll die and I'll go to prison for it.

So we're driving along and she's busy in the front seat adjusting a sweater over her body whenever an errant beam of sun dares to come through the window and shine upon her person. In addition to having crazy poor circulation and therefore a serious aversion to a cool breeze, she's also decided she's allergic to the sun. I sat glowering in the back thinking about how I could accidentally "trip" her so she could fall into some manure once we got to the farm.

So we arrive, and Bella - the sweet gentle shih-tzu comes bounding out to greet us and The Princess FREAKS OUT!!!! She's also terrified of dogs. So Bella got banished to a bedroom while we sat down for lunch and I sulked. I was there to play with Bella and the puppies! To her credit, The Princess did calm down enough to be in the same vicinity of Bella after awhile, as long as Bella didn't approach her. For some reason (Go, Bella!) the dog wanted to follow the Princess around and mess with her. I'd like to think Bella thought it was fun to bug her, but I think the dog just interpreted The Princess's screaming for excitement. Anyhoo.

Puppies.

Cute.

Cute.

Cutey cute cute cute cute.

The Princess-Eating Monster:

"Hey, Princess! I'z running at you to eat your face off! Raaaargh!"

"I don't have teeth yet, but I'm pretending this toy is The Princess's face. I shall eat her face off when I'm a little older."

After all the playing and the planning of eating faces, all the wee doggies were tuckered out.

Bella was too tired to make it through the doorway.

And so, Inshallah, this chapter of "Rescuing Dogs in Korea" will soon be over. We have found homes for the three puppies. They'll all go to Korean families and my boss has tried to placate me, assuring that they'll all be well cared for, vaccinated, and spayed or neutered. I don't really believe that, but what can I do? Bella is bound next weekend for a new life. She'll join an American family who already have a shih-tzu (a one-eyed male dog named Jack, how cool is that?) and she'll have four kids doting on her. I've learned Bella has a bad habit of wandering off, but I hope her new family will be patient with her. She'll be spayed and micro-chipped, as per U.S. army regulations, and will live in a gated community, where I hope the neighbours will recognize her if she escapes for a little solo adventure. I'm glad that this extended rescue story is coming to a close and I'm looking forward to not worrying about the outcome anymore. Yay.

Jupiter Fun Facts:
Jupiter isn't a rocky planet like Earth, it's a big ball of gas. Stormy gas. The winds on Jupiter gust at over 322 km/h. While a day on Jupiter is about 10 Earth hours, a year on the giant planet is equivalent to about 12 Earth years! Jupiter's equator spins at a rate of about 43,000 kilometres an hour.

I Got Your Cute

2009-08-26T05:07:00.000+09:00

Right here, pal.

More tomorrow!

Poachers

2009-08-25T23:02:00.004+09:00

I've been in contact lately with one of my former co-workers. I ran into her a few months ago at a department store downtown and we had a little chat. She seemed really excited to see me, which was a bit surprising. I hadn't spoken to her at all since she screwed us over a year and a half ago. She grabbed my hands and apologized for how she had behaved back then, and she had learned a lesson and she missed me so much and yadda yadda. Water under the bridge, I say - and we made tentative plans to meet up sometime soon - as people always seem to do: "Let's get together soon!" She followed up on that promise and I sort of blew her off. Not with malice, but more that I couldn't get my shit together to arrange some time.

Anyhow, she noticed recently that we're advertising for a new teacher and contacted my boss. There was some discussion. Karen advised to absolutely not consider hiring her, and I told them what I thought: that she was unreliable back in the day, but popular with the students. Maybe she's changed. I don't know. When my manager called to follow up, Sunny said she'd just started working at another school. So that was that.

Until yesterday.

I got a message from Sunny that her new boss was looking to hire a foreign teacher and wanted to talk to me. I wondered why. Did he think I might know someone looking for a job? Was he looking for advice? He wanted to come up and meet me yesterday after I finished work - at 11 o'clock! I declined, but said we could perhaps meet another night when I wasn't so tired. I mentioned this to my manager who got instantly suspicious and said I needed to tell the guy to call HER the next time he contacted me.

So, Sunny called me again today and it turns out her boss wasn't really interested in any friend I might have, he was looking to poach me! He was offering 50% more vacation than what I currently get, plus a raise in salary, less working hours, and an apartment downtown in the trendy university area. I laughed, and asked if the guy realized I already had a job,...and half joked "Hmmmmm, but more vacation and less hours,...hmmmmmm!"

After I got off the phone, I told my boss about it. I thought it was funny and frankly, felt a little bit flattered. Sunny must have given me a really glowing review to her boss if he was pursuing me. My boss, however, definitely did NOT find it funny. Within a few minutes he had worked himself into a real lather, and once my manager finished her class he had her get on the phone to Sunny to chew her out. Later, while I was teaching my adult class, the would-be-poacher called my boss and apologized profusely. After my class, I entered the Teacher's Room my boss was still reaming him out. I think he threatened to use his clout within the English School Directors Association to have him permanently shunned. Yowza.

Perhaps I should have thought more about how my boss and manager were going to react, but I never thought they would get so pissed off. I guess trying to steal teachers mid-contract is a serious offence. I can see that point, but now I'm also a little embarrassed that they didn't just leave it up to me to ~~accept the guy's offer and ruuuuuuunnnnn awwwwaaaaayyyyy~~ graciously decline. This might be the final fork stuck in the relationship between Sunny and I, but I'm alright with that.

Bees & Enns

2009-08-23T23:15:00.006+09:00

I've got lots to post, but my keyboard is broken. I can't type question marks, or the letters after A or M. It's amazing how annoying this is, especially since I had a giat aaa oaza post plaed. (Using cut and paste - that last bit was giant banana bonanza planned.) Sucks.

Sudden Vacation

2009-08-13T19:32:00.002+09:00

My good friend Herb, who I used to work with in Japan, let me know on Monday that he and his lovely wife Mika were arriving in Busan the next day. I'm lucky I had some vacation days left over from last year and was able to wrangle a couple days off on short notice. (One co-worker is super pissed about having to cover my classes, though.) (Tough!) So I'm in Busan and just about to head out for dins. I highly recommend Busan. It's so the wonderful opposite of my sleepy little country neighbourhood. I'd like to also recommend the Elysee Motel in Nampo-dong. For 50,000 won I'm staying in a sizeable room with a giant TV, free computer, fantastic steam shower, and spending an hour this afternoon in the jacuzzi with a half of a bubble bar from LUSH completely mellowed me out. I feel max relaxed and everything is fiiiiine. How are you doing?

Zappified

2009-08-02T20:09:00.003+09:00

He's got fangs, sure - but even more dangerous are the laser eyes. He's super pissed because he accidentally directed his lasers into a mirror and they reflected back, zapping off his ear.

Now he can only hear half of what I'm saying as I beg, "Please Kami, look away from me. I'll get you some fish, just please don't disintegrate me."

If I were you, I'd back away from your screen slowwwwwwlllyyyy.

Side By Side English Fail

2009-08-02T13:45:00.004+09:00

Maybe these business owners used the same company to create their signage.

"Yea Won," but "Nay Engrishee!"

Salong Juan, and thanks for all the fish.

Yep

2009-07-31T21:57:00.003+09:00

I'm so backlogged with posts I've intended to write. Oftentimes I'll take pictures of whatever it is that has inspired a thought about what to write about. After the uploading and copying and pasting and resizing I become distracted by shiny things. Or the TV with its sounds and words, and I just never get around to writing. Or I write and I can't bring myself to publish for some reason. For many reasons.

Here's my cake for my fifth birthday. I'm five.

I'm not five actually. (Just emotionally.) This was the cake marking my fifth year anniversary at my school. Cuh-ray-zee. I never never thought I would last five years here. It's as much a triumph as it is tragically pathetic. I remember my first day at the school, visiting the ladies washroom and encountering the first two stalls with disgustingly splattered squatty toilets and I swore if there was a third version in the next stall I was absolutely outta here. There was a Western throne waiting for me as I opened the final door, so I decided to wait and see.

That cake was good, though. My cake. My co-worker (manager?) celebrated her birthday this past week and my boss got her a cake and a big bunch of pretty but nearing death flowers. If there is a bigger fan of chocolate than my co-worker Cindy, I haven't met them. She spent some time in Australia and hath tasted the riches of a deep moist sweet dense chocolate cake. She's spent time here searching for such a brown unicorn, but I think it's a lost cause. Still, there's no question as to what kind of cake to get for Cindy, but leave it to a man - and you get sweet potato cake. An abomination regardless.

As it was, I woke up early and put together a giant pasta salad. I grilled up vegetables on my silly grilly sandwich press thing, and included smoked chicken and sun-dried tomatoes with a tasty dressing of garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, rosemary, thyme, and fresh parsley. After our little celebration less than one third of the heinous "goguma" cake was eaten, while two very big containers of pasta salad were gobbled up. Score!

So there. I've written something. Maybe it'll shake me out of my funk. I'm into my third day of a "staycation" - a term I just came across this week, and I've found that I've had too much time to hang out by myself considering how much I actually hate my current circumstances. Hate-hate.

Hatey-hate-hate-hate.

Here. Look at this bug.

I don't even know what it is, but it looks like an evil flying newt. It's representative of my unhappiness. I coaxed it onto a piece of paper and set it free outside an open window at school. Not a bad lesson: capture the unpleasant and set it free.

**UPDATE: I received an e-mail from someone (perhaps an entomologist?) who points out that bug up above is actually a mole cricket! Here's a couple fun facts: these bugs are quite common, but rarely seen because they spend almost all their lives underground. They're commonly considered to be pests, except in Eadt Asia where they're sometimes considered FOOD! (Fried mole crickets, yum yum yum!) Thank you, E-mailer!**

On the Farm

2009-07-26T14:07:00.004+09:00

Last weekend I ventured out to the countryside to visit new mom Bella and her three little puppies.

She's looking quite a bit more svelte than the last time I saw her, but this angle is deceiving, as she's got some juggy pendulous milk filled boobs on her undercarriage. She's being a good mother. I watched her step into the box where her little puppies stayed and lick them awake before settling down to let them nurse. The pups can't see - they're eyes weren't open yet, and they can't walk either, yet they were able to wriggle their way toward Bella's teats to get their milk on. They look like fat little cows.

I had no idea what the puppies would look like. Bella's beau is a mystery. But they're very cute. Once I'd otten back home, I googled "newborn shih-tzu puppies" and I'll be damned, but I'm pretty sure Bella's puppies are the real deal. Here's one of Bella's:

And you can compare that puppy with the ones here.

So they're going to be super cute! I'm planning to go back there next weekend and play with the puppies. By then, their eyes will be open and they'll be mobile. Even though they were cute, on this last visit they just weren't very much fun. Sleep and eat and repeat. Still, I was so pleased that Bella's being such a good caring mother.

My boss's parents have a farm out in the country near Yeoungchun (which is about halfway between Gyueongju and Daegu.) They have jindos out back.

The jindos did not like me and barked their heads off whenever I went near. I just hate the idea that these beautiful big dogs spend their lives chained out back, and I wished they were friendly enough that I could take them all (or one at a time would probably be smarter) for a nice walk. Still, they seem fit and they have shelter and food and water. Actually, my boss's parents had ONE jindo - the one on the far right of the picture. Then one day they were surprised at how fat she'd gotten and wouldn't you know, she'd had a suitor swing by at some point and gotten herself pregnant. So now her two grown children live beside her.

I don't understand it, but I've come across a lot of resistance from folks around here about having animals spayed or neutered. To some, it's unnatural. There are lots of things I've come to learn and understand about K-culture in the near six years I've been here, but generally, their attitude toward animals is just something I can't get my head around. I try not to think about it very often becuase it riles me up something wicked. So let's change the subject for now, yes?

Pile of puppies, pile of puppies, pile of puppies.

(Oh, let me add that even though the Jindos live chained out back, Bella is being spoiled. She has free run of the farm and seems so happy! I was laughing at how she would come BOUNDING toward me when I'd call her. She's well fed and cared for. I just hope she stays the hell away from the big yellow dogs who seem like they would very much like to have her for breakfast. (Same goes for her puppies. I'm already worried that they won't have the sense to keep back once they're mobile.)

Out back, my boss's mom keeps pots filled up with kimchi, denjang, and gochujang. His mom is a fantastic cook, and we enjoyed rustic home-style delicious meals. With pork. Lots and lots of pork! No pictures, but we had fried fish and denjang jjigae for dinner Saturday. Kimchi jjigae for lunch Sunday, and (I forget the very long name for it) delicious pork bone soup and sliced steamed pork (bo-ssam?) for dinner. My boss's mom makes the best kimchi I've ever tasted and she's always so generous making sure I'm well stocked.

They grow grapes. Yeoungchun, I was told, "is famous for it's grapes, plums, and peaches."

They're not ready for harvest. Around Chuseok it's grape season. In the early fall these greenies will be purpley-blue and ready for eating. I still prefer sweet seedless grapes from North America, which I'm so glad are available at the larger supermarkets these days.

I don't think I'd ever seen a chestnet tree before.

And o'er yonder is a plum orchard.

I left the farm Sunday evening loaded down with plums, cukes, eggplant, and a massive amount of their spring harvested crops: onions, potatoes, and garlic. I've actually given about two thirds of my loot away and I still have enough to last ages. Oh, and I scored a nice sized tub of my boss's mother's outstandingly stinky denjang paste.

At one point Sunday afternoon I picked myself up off the livingroom floor where I'd been alternately dozing and watching a movie and walked outside with Bella into a field where I just stood for awhile and listened to the river gurgle by, and cows lowing in the distance. Hundreds of dragonflies flew around me. I felt so calm and content.

And hot.

My god, it was hot. I could have slipped into a joyous happy trance if it weren't for the fact I felt like I was bloody well melting. I had to go get some cream on Monday for the heat rash that had enveloped my mid-section over the weekend. Damn!

Still, good times.

Soft Core

2009-07-22T07:57:00.005+09:00

My neighbourhood has recently become dotted with these punchey vending machine games things that have replaced the crane candy grab and slidey platform game things that replaced the old timey yellow crane dollar store sing a song grabby game machine thingies.

You know what I mean, right?

The new punchey vending machine game things are high tech looking neon lit boop-dee-boo happy la-la tune things.

*Excuse me a moment* "GAM-BEH! ONE SHOT!" *CLINK*

Where was I? *Hic!*

The prizes offered were these little animated cartooney things. You put the in the sunlight and they waggle their heads and maybe their feet and they also ~~sing a happy song~~ ~~tell the time~~ ~~hold your spare change~~ do nothing else. Their cute factor is engaging for about five minutes, but then they're fairly boring. I know this because I stupidly threw out my television when I won at the punchey vending machine, figuring I'd have all the viewing entertainment I'd need with Doraemon here:

Turns out, not so much. I keep violently shaking him, "DO SOMETHING ELSE!" But, he just smiles at me and wags his head and feet back and forth.

I guess the neighbourhood kids complained to the vending machine makers. In this age of computers and game-boys and cellphones, I imagine the solar powered bobble head animated character things aren't cutting the mustard. So there have been some new additions in the machines to please the kiddies:

Soft core pr0n anime dolls! Yeeeee haw!
(Money Box! Cherries! Bwa ha ha ha ha!)

They come in a variety of poses, and don't even move in the sunlight, but still - they're TAKING OFF THEIR CLOTHES!

Can't....look....away!

I wonder what they'll put in the machines next?

Some Students

2009-07-16T05:01:00.006+09:00

I shouldn't hate kids. I know this. I'm a teacher and I should embrace the challenge of bestowing some Engulishee on children in my classes; especially the ones who don't give a crap and are better suited to some sort of class where the goal is to wander around trying to stab other students with pencils. Pencil stabbing class. Fun!

Most of my students are great. Some are outstanding. I often feel like scooping up one or another into my arms and telling then how spectacular they are, but generally the scooping and the smushing is embarrassing for the kids - so I find another way to point out their awesomeness.

But there are some students,....hoooooo boy - I wonder what their mothers are thinking. By and large they are "first sons" which is a prized position here in Korea. Even more often, the ones that give me the most hassle are "only sons," and I think to myself,...well something about maybe the kid should visit a temple and praise Buddha they're not MY first son because I would smite them for their shitty behaviour. Smite, I say. ("Beat" I don't say, because that's not PC. I would never beat a child, but yet sometimes my imagination runs wild.) Still, I realize that my worse students have been somehow created to be wee monters, so I sometimes imagine smiting their moms who probably find their children's tantrums adorable.

It's the students who make me micro-manage my classes that bug me. The ones who can't stay in their seats. The ones who are compelled to hit their classmates. The ones who can't help themselves from constantly interrupting my lessons with their bad behaviour. I have one middle school student who just recently started, and I knew almost instantly he was going to be trouble when I tried to give him an English nickname. (This is fairly common in English classes, and I don't dislike it - it's so much easier than trying to remember 200 names that are foreign to my vocabulary. Regardless, that's the way it's always been done at my school, so I don't have a choice. "Be Yoon Ji" becomes "Joe." Fine by me. I like to provide the students with a few choices and let them pick their nickname. It takes a little more time than me just knighting them, "Ye shall be 'Donna,'" but I think it's good that make they own their choice. Usually I start off suggesting their name should be Spider Man.

So I knew my new middle school student was going to bug me when before I could get out the first syllable of my first suggestion of "Ja-son," he interrupted with his choice: "Hit-ler."
"Sorry?"
"Hitler! My name-uh is-uh Hitler."
"Are you kidding? Nong-dam?"
"HITLER!"

I assured him his name would NOT be Hitler, and asked him if he knew who Hitler was. Perhaps he did know, but he lacked the English to tell me. Hand to heart, he actually looked a bit like Hitler, with a severe side-part and hook-nose. Had puberty grown him a wee mustache, he could have entered a contest. I named him "Tony," after a thorn in my side boy I taught five years ago who has grown into a fabulous high school student complete with charisma and manners.

Long story short, Tony's new name didn't make a lick of difference. He railroaded my classes, and made teaching a most unpleasant experience. With four boys in that class, two of which lacked ability and the other two lacking interest (or enthusiasm or manners) they became my most hated class. They are my last class of the day on Wednesdays and Fridays. My second most hated class is chalk full of "first sons." I've got them first thing on Monday morning. They fight and whine and tattle-tale and take every liberty they think they can get away with. It's like my week is bookended by crap.

Yay, me.
And, "to be continued,....."

Bella's Babies

2009-07-14T05:50:00.002+09:00

Bella had three puppies last Friday morning! There are two little boys and a girl! I haven't seen pictures yet, but I'm sure they're adorable. I'll share them as soon as I get them. Puppies!!

In other news, I stood outside for five minutes tonight hanging up laundry, and two hundred and forty three mosquitoes bit me.

That is all.

Bella's Belly

2009-07-07T09:28:00.003+09:00

Remember the shih-tzu I rescued? She's so pretty! Things were moving along very well. An American military family who lives up in Seoul contacted me, very interested in Bella. They already have a shih-tzu they adopted from Animal Rescue Korea and with four kids and a mom who stays home, I knew it would be a great match for Bella. She's a very loving dog and really loves attention.

The Friday before last, we brought her into the animal hospital to get her a summer hair cut. I had wanted to wait, thinking that she might not get adopted as easily if she looked like a rat, but it turns out she's a pretty little girl under all that fur!

When I went to pick her up, I saw that her fur had also been hiding some massive nipples on her belly. I pointed at them and asked, "Is she pregnant?"
"No. Ande."
"Really? And she's never had babies before?"
The nurse confirmed she hadn't. I asked what was up, then, with the big knockers - and was told that she wanted babies.

Oh!

So I later googled something about dogs wanting babies and discovered that indeed, unspayed females can conjure up phantom puppies in their bellies.

"And the bitch was all 'I gotz me some ghost babies! Boo!' (Yaka!)"

So, okay. I agreed to have Bella spayed down here before I brought her up to Seoul on Saturday to meet her new family. My boss took her in Thursday morning and the vet expressed surprise at how seriously Bella was growing up her phantom puppies in her belly. One ultra-sound later and guess what? The ghosts are not so much ghostly as they are actually. Puppies. Fur realz.

One week later,....

"But he was so sweet, and promised he would still love me in the morning!"

So we didn't know quite what to do. My boss and co-workers (and the vet) thought I was sort of a monster for suggesting a spay/abortion sort of thing, but turns out Bella's quite far along and it could be dangerous for her, as you'd imagine. On the other hand, if they'd confirmed her pregnancy over three weeks ago when I'd brought her in for health tests and asked if she was pregnant - and told no,...the spay wouldn't have been an issue because the puppies would have been tiny. They wouldn't have even known she was pregnant before they operated.

I LOVE animals - and puppies!! Well, who doesn't love puppies?! But with so many dogs being put down at shelters everyday, and so many dogs roaming around Korea without homes, what we don't need is more puppies. Still, I would never want to risk the safety of any animal, so if the vet says no-go, then okay.

"It's okay. You can haz puppies."

So Bella's been moved to my bosses' mother's house out in the country. It's not the first time that she's overseen dog labour and birth. I'm glad that Bella's being watched so closely, and know that she'll be taken to the vet's if there are any complications, which there could be. Since only Bella knows who the papa is, she might be growing some big puppies in her belly. It could be troublesome. Fingers crossed everything goes well, and soon!

Hopefully the family who decided to adopt her won't change their mind while they wait for her to nurse her babies until they're ready to be adopted. So one down and, according to the vet, maybe four or five more to go.

Anyone want a cute little puppy in a couple months?

Sauced

2009-06-28T22:22:00.003+09:00

This is what Kamikaze looks like when ~~I'm drunk~~ *hic* ~~he's drunk~~ *hic* ~~we're drunk~~. We're so drunk.

*Hic*
He can haz soju?

Hey, What's Up?

2009-06-28T19:23:00.002+09:00

I'm not sure what was going on under this little tent.

But, I was very tempted to smush my way into the crowd saying in rapid-fire English, "Hey what's going on in here? What are you guys looking at? Is something for sale? Is it something good? Can I have some? What's the deal?"

I wonder how long it would have taken for them to scatter.

Scene Below My Balcony

2009-06-27T01:12:00.000+09:00

I came home tonight and Kamikaze the Cat was waiting on the inside mat ~~to lovingly greet me with meows and kitty-licks~~ to lumber outside and roll in the corridor. Downstairs, I could hear some Korean men ~~brawling?~~ ~~fighting?~~ ~~speaking at normal Korean late-night volume~~ arguing. Yes. They were definitely arguing.

I peeked my head over the side to ~~spy~~ check it out. Below me there was a taxi driver and some guy. Taxi Guy held Some Guy by the sleeve of his shirt. I was thinking they were probably arguing about the fare. Maybe the guy hadn't paid. I watched awhile longer and realized that the passenger was drunkity-drunk-drunk. He didn't protest at the taxi driver's grip on his shirt, probably because that was the only thing preventing him from reeling to the pavement. I also realized that the argument wasn't about the fare, but rather that Drunk Guy had left Taxi Man a little present in the back seat - a nice pile of puke. Taxi Man was insisting that Drunk Guy should stumble to his apartment and fetch some cleaning supplies and get to work.

I smiled, knowing that the likelihood of that happening was zilch. I was betting that as soon as Taxi Man let go of Drunk Guys collar there would be some falling and shortly thereafter, some snoring. But Taxi Man was persistent, and Drunk Guy was denying he'd barfed in the cab. Their shouting match went like this:
"I din't puke smmsnallshiisekkshi"
"YOU DID TOO! IT'S RIGHT THERE!"
"Wheeere shmmmshillla *hic!*"
"RIGHT THERE! IN THE BACKSEAT!"
"No. Opseyo. Thereesh nuthing."
"ISSOYO! LOOK!"
"Where?"
"RIGHT THERE! LOOK! HERE!" and he tried to shove Drunk Guy's head into the cab.

Things continued like that until finally Drunk Guy got frustrated and pretty much fell into the back of the cab to investigate. He then lurched out of the cab upright with his hands cupping a pile of puke, which he placed on the top of the cab.

Taxi Man lost his mind, pretty much - but didn't want to come near Drunk Guy now that his hands here covered in vomit. He screamed bloody murder while he slammed all the doors, inserted himself into the driver's seat, and screeched backwards out of the parking lot.

Drunk Guy wobbled curiously for just a few moments before he fell into the bushes.

Shicken

2009-06-26T01:56:00.003+09:00

I went to this restaurant the other night that offered burn-your-face-off chicken. It's called Hong-Cho Bool Dak, and it's a franchise. If you're in Korea you might want to check it out. The chicken comes out all hot and fiery on a skillet. We had two versions, and I thought the mozzarella on the one dish would cut down on the spiciness, but it actually seemed hotter. I'm not sure why, but I thought our frosty bottle of soju really paired wonderfully with the meal. I was either too busy wiping tears from my fire face or downing shots that I seem to have not taken any pictures of our meal.

The menu does have some other exciting things on offer, though.

Not a little bit of wellbeing. Nor a decent sized amount. These pumpkin wedges are a MASS of wellbeing!

These fishes' balls escaped from the red and blue oceans and they've got a story to tell. It's castrantastic.

Chewy! Like Gummy! Yummy Chewy Gummy Chicken Feet! Num Num Num!

Ol' Fuzzy Face

2009-06-23T22:51:00.000+09:00

We Will Rock You

2009-06-14T21:57:00.006+09:00

My brother called me this morning. He sounded serious.

He started, "Lori" (his wife) "and I had very long debate this morning."

"Really?" I asked. I was sort of worried. My family has been going through some tough times lately. Hatfield and McCoy type shit, only we're the hyphenated version. Same-same.

"What were you talking about?" I asked, uneasy at his answer.

"We were arguing whether a city could actually be built on rock n' roll. Lori says no."

"Ummmmm. I think she's wrong!" I said.

" I KNOW!" He explained, "We could live in speakers. Cars can roll around on drums. There can be keyboard-boats. Xylophones and glockenspiels will be the roads and sidewalks."

"Xylophones and glockenspiels aren't very rock n' roll."

"Oh, whatever. They can rock."

"I suppose. I can see YES or Floyd employing them. Besides, the argument is moot, really. Starship already Built a City on Rock n' Roll. Doesn't Lori realize that?"

"I KNOW!!" he shouted. "That song rocks. They should play it on the radio. All the time. Only that song. Over and over."

"I KNOW!" I agreed.

"They could play the original at the top of the hour and then follow it with every band covering it. Every single band."

"Exactly! And there could be various stations. A classical station with orchestral versions."

"Right? And a county western station with twangy hoe-down versions."

"Seriously, man. Someone should get on that."

"I'M GETTING ON IT" Jeff shouted. "Right after I start BUILDING ANOTHER CITY!"

Knick Knack Paddy Whack...

2009-06-14T07:27:00.003+09:00

FIND A DOG A HOME!
Again!

A couple weeks ago another dog showed up at my school. Well, really - dogs show up all the time. However, the one that showed up a couple weeks ago had obviously been someone's pet at some point. She's a shih-tzu, and although she was dirty and skinny, she had been groomed at some point. Her fur was in an overgrown "puppy-cut" style.

I scooped the dog up and brought her to the supermarket, where I'd been heading when I came downstairs and in addition to the ice cream I bought for a couple students, I grabbed some dog food. Upstairs in an empty classroom, the dog wolfed it all down and lapped up the cold water I'd brought her and then lay down for a rest. Meanwhile, my boss started calling around and eventually arranged to have someone from the pound pick her up. I was told she'd stay there ten days hoping they could re-unite her with her owner. I suppose I could have just left it at that, but I kept thinking about her little face and how relieved she'd seemed when I picked her up. At the supermarket she'd sighed in my arms, a deep shuddering sigh - before she nestled her chin against my arm.

I hate the idea that she was belonged to someone and either got lost, or was more likely abandoned. So when the shelter called to say she hadn't been claimed, I sort of insisted I get her back. The shelter guy warned against it, apparently "Bella" (the name I'd settled on in my head) was fussy and would only eat "meat." ("As opposed to what?" I wondered. A bowl of lint and pebbles?) She was fine eating dog food. I don't think it's right to euthanize her just because she doesn't want to eat rice and/or kimchi.

So Bella came back last Thursday, and my boss reluctantly agreed to foster her "only for ONE WEEK!" while I search for a new home. Early next week I'm taking her to my vet to get some tests done and vaccinations started to ensure she's healthy. She's so cute.

I've already had a couple people express some interest. There's an American family up in Seoul who say they've been looking for an adult dog. They've got a nice house with a backyard in a quiet neighbourhood and there's usually someone home throughout the day. They sound ideal, and so, fingers crossed I'll head up to Seoul next weekend so they can meet.

You know what's weird? My boss actually LOST his shih-tzu just three days before Bella showed up. His dog was named Dalki, and she got loose when his daughter brought the dog to his (almost ex) wife's house in aother city. He's really torn up about it and not ready to have another dog, but I think his heartache lended toward helping me save Bella.

This will be the second dog I've "rescued." Remember Wonder Dog? He's now living in Canada with a big family who dotes on him. Such a difference from when he first showed up.

Wonder Dog (now named Kaibee) enjoying a wonderful life:

Let's hope Bella is destined for a beautiful furture as well!

I'm Rambly because Achoo

2009-06-10T01:53:00.008+09:00

My co-worker told me at the start of a class last week that one of my students had thrown up three times earlier in the day, and she really wasn't feeling well so if she needed to go, I should let her head to the washroom. I stopped and said "Uhhh, ok. But, I really don't want to get sick."
My co-worker laughed at me.
"I'm serious, Cindy. The kid sits right beside me." and I nodded toward where the little girl sat with her hand clenched over her mouth. In the classroom I spend a lot of the time standing at the board or leaning at the bureau where the CD player lives, but I do sit when the kids are working on stuff or if I have to mark. I'm at the end of the table which is formed into a semi-circle. A small half circle - and I've usually got students on either side of me. They're as close to me as if we were sitting next to each other on a bus - but it's even worse because they're angled to exhale (or cough, sneeze or *gag* barf) directly into the airspace that I'm inhaling.

I feel like I'm turning into Jack Nicholson in "As Good as it Gets," (Hi, Mark?) but I really hate getting sick. I'm washing my hands all the time and using alcoholy sanitizer when I don't have time to hit the Ladies' between classes and still, I actually wish I was teaching from inside a plexi-glass box. Or an air-conditioned Hazmat suit.

Dr. Cindy said, "You won't get sick. Maybe she just ate something not good."
"Orrrr," I countered, "Maybe she's got a wicked stomach flu. Seriously, can we move her for today?" (To, like, home?) So Cindy got the girl to move to the far end of the table just for the day, which was fine. It got me thinking back to my childhood when throwing up throughout the night, before school, or (all over your most favourite red plaid kilt and white tights in grade two) in school automatically earned you a stay-home-from-school-and-watch-cartoons card. No questions.

That's not often the case here, and I resent it. I think many of my students' parents are working and I know that Koreans drag their own sick bodies to work all the time when by all rights they should be staying home and getting better instead of infecting their co-workers. So it stands to reason they're probably not going to take time off to look after their sick children - and instead send them off to infect ME.

Look at these kids:

They're tiny. I can almost fit them in my pocket. Both of them. In one pocket.
They could live in my shoes. Both of them. In one shoe.

Anyways they're in grade one. They're six years old. Tiny little humans.
And THIS is the girl's bag!
It's REALLY HEAVY and I'm surprised she can carry it without toppling over. This isn't her only bag, either - she's got another one with her Taekwondo uniform and a few more books, because apparently she can only fit EIGHTEEN books into the pink knapsack!

You know what I carried around in my knapsack when I was six years old? Nothing! Because I didn't have a knapsack. I had a Holly Hobby lunchbox with a sandwich in it. That was my homework. Eat the sandwich.

That little girl goes from school to an "all subject" hagwon, to our English school, to Taekwondo and then for a piano lesson. Her parents run a very busy sushi restaurant. They're very nice people, but I still feel bad when their little girl knocks her forehead against the desk because she's unable to keep her eyes open and stay awake. Today she was coughing and sniffling, looking miserable. And that made two of us. There's something going around. In the next class, both students on either side of me were sick. The one who kept coughing without covering his mouth got moved.

I had a very sore throat Sunday and Monday and I should have realized that tends to be the first symptom I get when I'm about to get sick - but I hadn't really thought about it. Sure enough,...my temperature is 102 right now and I've got fire face/lungs. Can't breathe. Still, my sneezes feel like sinus-orgasms.

When my eight o'clock class ended today I schlepped to the washroom and after, as I was washing my hands, I noticed something in the mirror. I brushed my hair off my forehead and panicked, "Oh man, I'm really sick! What the hell?" There were angry red circles about the size of the end of a cigarette from my right temple down to beside my eye. Typhoid? Ebola? Holy shit! I brought my fingers up to feel the spots.

Oh.
They come off.

While marking my middle-school students' tests, I'd been tapping the side of my head with my thin red crayon.
Idiot.

Red Handed

2009-06-09T04:02:00.006+09:00

I was out Saturday night with some friends and after dinner and such we took a stroll to the centre of town. There's a "park" which is really just a big oval with a bandshell at one end and a new spongy floored playground at the other. All around the perimeter of the park there are new exercise machines that have been installed so we were ~~screwing around trying to determine their breaking-threshold~~ strenuously working out. I'm joking - we were just trying them out, and most of them are quite cool. A free outdoor gym - nothing wrong with that,..but there's one that reminds me of Frankenstein's laboratory bed which completely flips you upside-down. Well actually you invert yourself, thereby controlling the speed at which your feet go airbourne and then you use the wheel-crank things on either side of the contraption to right yourself. This move targets your obliques, quadrophenias, and triceratops. (I have no bloody idea.) My friends didn't read the instructions, though, and thought it was Hee-Larry-Us to plunge me upside-downand refuse to let me back up. HATE!

Anyhow, about half-way around the park (and after me flipping out just a little bit) our party broke up and it was just the boyfriend and I still messing around. He'd already mentioned that I should go get my bag, which was sitting in the pavilion just over yonder in plain view. I told him not to worry about it, but a couple machines later he said he was going to get my bag because there was some guy milling around. We headed across the oval and when we were fairly close he broke away, running up to the guy who was now sitting near my bag - and he reached out and grabbed the guy's wrist.

Buddy had my wallet in one hand and all my money, that he'd removed and folded in half in the other!
YOINK!
My gentleman of a boyfriend said something that equated to "My dear sir, whatever are you doing? This is highly out of order!"
I was not so kind, and though I've never learned the Korean word for 'fucking thief,' I did call him tenbabydogs eighteen crazybadman assholes, and inquired if he wanted to die?

It's a good lesson for me. I've become really complacent when it comes to keeping things safe. People are always telling me to zip up my bag when I'm walking around and they're absolutely right. I've been trying to be more vigilant - and almost losing a couple hundred dollars has really got my attention. Korea's quite safe, but still,...I think I've gotten overly used to my surroundings and need to be far more alert.

I'd venture to say the world needs far more Lerts.

Meanwhile, I'm going to visit my bank and get a cash card, which is something I should have done a long time ago. I think it's been two or three years now since my CHB bank turned into Shinhan. However, I've still got a CHB card that is fraying and dented and on the verge of breaking. When I hit the ATM its like gambling, with me wondering if this is the time my card decides it's time to finally die. These days few people carry a lot of cash on them, so that thief must have thought he really hit the jackpot until he was foiled. Thievery FAIL -- lucky for me!

Oh, What a Perfect Day

2009-06-06T21:26:00.010+09:00

I'm coming to the end of yet anther contract next week and I still had three days of vacation I didn't take during the past fifty-one weeks. I know I could roll them over, but I'm feeling like I NEED a vacation. Seriously. DAMN! So I ended up taking Wednesday off and just relaxed most of the day and then went out shopping and for dins. Just after I had gotten Wednesday approved, my friend e-mailed and invited me to a beach barbeque on Thursday. I considered switching days, but then decided to just take two days off. Why the hell not? (This made my co-workers VERY unhappy. Whereas they teach about three classes on days I'm there, they've got seven in a row when I'm not. HA!)

So we went to the beach. It had been cloudy since Tuesday night, but there hadn't been any rain. No problem. The temperature was perfect and there was a nice breeze coming in from the sea. I really had no idea what was going to happen. There aren't many hibachis here. I wondered if we were going to use those silly little gas powered grills. Nope. What'cha do is you dig a trench.

We were underneath a little grove of tall pine trees on the other side of the road from the beach.

That's my friend Jae-Hong's bum. He was the digger-of-the-trench, with his handy collapsable trowel.

While the trench was being dug, a dog showed up to see what was happening.

And then another dog.

Who rolled around on some astro-turf mat nearby.

Rolling around is cool.

Cute little doggies!

But, back to the barbeque.
Once the trench was dug, three piles of charcoal, pine cones and little branches were assembled. Then they were lit up with some blowtorch thingie!

That's my best friend Kyung-sook on the fire machine thingie.

Where there's fire, there's smoke.

That slab of styrofoam in the foreground was employed as a fan. My friends are awesome fire fanners.

Eventually grills were perched overtop the fires, placed on rocks positioned at the edges of the trench. And out came the meat.

First up was marinated beef.

That stuff is deeeeelish.

A few feet away, various vegetables - the usual suspects: lettuce, sesame leaf, garlic, kimchi, and hot peppers were being prepared along with dixie cups of gochujang (soybean paste.)

The woman in the background is so nice, but I couldn't understand why she wore high heels to the beach. Ah well.

That slab of styrofoam in the background was my seat. That dog in the foreground was my buddy.

And the meat cooked.

And the meat was done.
And the meat was tasty.

And I got yelled at for feeding the tasty meat to my dog buddy.
But seriously, how could I resist such a cute under-bite? The white (and apparently stupid) dog had wandered off to sniff trees or collect shells,...whatever it is beach-dogs do.

Who's a good dog?

YOU ARE!

When everyone wasn't busy yelling at me, they were happily chowing down.

When the beef just about disappeared, slabs of marinated pork appeared!

Which was eventually cut up into bite sized morsels.

With garlic. Lawd, I loves me some garlic.

Soju flowed, and everyone got happy and full and less attentive toward my dog-feeding ways. I made a friend who snuggled in and rested on my pillowy thigh.

I picked out all the twigs and stuff and even snagged the scissors to cut out the burrs burried in his fur.

After the chatting and laughing and cherry-tomato food-fight, we started to clean up and my new pal went for another roll on the astro-turf in the sunshine.

And (if Nomad reads this) we left our area pristine when we departed.

We headed to a noraebang up the road which was fun, but I snuck out on my own to enjoy the beach a bit more. The afternoon was too nice to be in a dark (albeit huge) basement singing room with Korean songs blaring. The clouds had dissapated and the sun was shining; it was just the most gorgeous of summer days. (The shit that's officially called summer - in July and August, I call swelter-hell.)

I watched this guy struggle for a long time. There just wasn't enough wind to get his sails up but he wasn't letting that stop him. He yanked violently on the bar, creating his own wind, about 985 times while I sat watching him.

Ahhhhh, such a perfect day.

This scene always makes me think of Gilligan.

I'm glad I shared it with you.

Roaring Overhead

2009-05-26T07:13:00.002+09:00

The fighter jets of yesterday have been replaced by a massive helicopter carrying a giant vat of water, I think. Stupid thing has flown over every fifteen minutes or so since just before six this morning. Maybe it's replenishing it's haul of water and flying off to fight some fire, and if so, that's good. (There's no proof they're not just flying around trying to tick me off, though.) Their roaring, combined with the symphony of morning jackhammers where they're tearing up the street over yonder makes me wish I had a nice pair of earplugs. But then, how would I hear my alarm? Land of the morning NOISE!

Bomb

2009-05-25T13:52:00.001+09:00

North Korea conducted another nuclear test today. I'm not sure if it's related, but fighter jets have been roaring overhead here for about an hour.

Bloody Mondays. Ugh.

And We're Back!

2009-05-24T20:40:00.003+09:00

I love my fixed computer. I cannot believe how patient I'd been with its brokedown former version that, seriously, crashed every five or ten minutes or so. I put up with that shit for A LONG TIME and never once sent the machine careening off the balcony to the parking lot below. As the weather got warmer, the crashes got worse and I finally insisted my Computer Man take it in and either fix it or kill it and we would Speak No More About It.

A week later it returned, motherboard and disc drive replaced. It's so much quieter. It's so much more agreeable. I can watch videos or open 20 windows if I want and it hasn't once restarted. I love it.

Meanwhile, I'm sort of shopping for a new system and was almost going to buy a desktop PC until I realized that a notebook is a far better suited option. My boss is offering to sell me his phat couple months old Toshiba for about 650,000 (100,000 less than he paid for it at the beginning of March.) I'm sure it would be a relief for him to deduct that out of my one month's salary "completion bonus" that's due in about three weeks. We'll see. It's a spiffy looking machine, which is all I can say about it really - because I know jack about computers.

So posting shall resume with a fury. Or a trickle. We shall see. Meanwhile, please enjoy this picture of Wall Cat, who lives on the wall on the way to work.

Wall Cat changes into Run-Away-From-Me Street Cat every time I pass by. I'm ususally quite able to befriend the neighborhood dogs, but cats? Fuggedabout it. They're as skittish as,...a chicken at KFC? Yech. I've got to work on my similes.

Piper Down

2009-05-18T17:43:00.001+09:00

Sorry, folks. My computer is in the hospital. Posting will resume once my Google Machine returns. Kisses.

Ha ha ha!

2009-05-09T07:12:00.000+09:00

I'm funny, hey?

If You Don't Post About It, You Ain't Cool

2009-05-09T05:54:00.002+09:00

Les Flu d'Cochon. Swine flu.

I was teaching one of my middle school classes last week while thinking about the possible perhaps pandemic and I realized that were the virus to come here then I am deady dead dead. Six of my seven students were sick and zero of any of them raised their hand to cover their mouths as they coughed, and they coughed incessantly. My class was a cough-fest. This is coupled with the FACT that no one in Korea except me, (and perhaps you if you're reading this,...but NO ONE ELSE) washes their hands EVER. I'll say it again. Swine flu come here? We're scu-rewed.

Sad thing, too - even though you can't catch the pig flu from eating pig, it seems people aren't taking any chances. I stopped by my local last week and my friend, the bartender/owner told me how dangerous it was to eat pork. "No," I told her, "It's fine. You cannot become infected from eating pork." Just then a news report came on the bar's big screen and we watched it together. As it concluded she said, "No. Deji gogi NO." Apparently the news wasn't quelling anyones's fear. My friend's restaurant is suffering. Sucks.

But they've changed the name "swine flu" (known here as S.I.) to H1N1. So now they're considering banning H's and N's, just to keep everyone safe. I'm correcting homework like " the hospital is next to the hotel.

I jest.

Each month or so I have each of my classes practice some reading. I hope none of the parents will complain that I picked a prophetic poem for two of my lower level classes well before anyone had ever heard of H1N1 -

I think, ACHOO!, I have the flu.
I'm sneezing, and ACHOO! ACHOO!
I'm not sure what, ACHOO!, to do.
You say, ACHOO!, don't sneeze on you?
ACHOO! Whoops. Now you've got it too.

I think this concludes my thoughts on swine flu, except to reiterate that if it comes here - like, in my stupid sleepy little town - I'm screwed. Otherwise, carry on - and wash your hands.

M I Ok?

2009-05-07T01:51:00.005+09:00

My buddy John kindly sent me an E-mail today with the subject line "R U Ok?" He was asking because I have been Lameity McLame-o when it comes to ~~life~~ blogging. I know.

I've been contending with a triple smack down 'round here. First, I was sick for some time and I think it makes for a fairly boring blog if allz I do is detail the symptoms of my misery. For about three weeks all I did was come home from work and crawl into bed. Sleep good. I was dutiful about my recovery, though - what with the snoring and taking handfuls of pills. I'm feeling much better.

Secondly, my computer has become such a whiny pouting bitch. With every site I open, I cringe a little, wondering if that's going to be the click which causes my PC to suddenly restart. I get a black screen followed by a beep and then a blue screen announcing the computer is checking itself. (Checking whether or not its an asshole, oh YEP! CHECK!) That whole process takes about five minutes and repeats itself fifteen minutes later. I'm going to finally take it in, but I fear this Jooyongtech hunk of crap might be ready for the scrap pile.

Finally, I've been suffering from writer's block. That is like this. Well,...the picture is accurate, but the term "block" isn't exactly the truth. I've been writing. I've got lost of stuff saved to draft. I can't bear to hit publish because I hate it all. I guess that's what a withering case of self-loathing will do. John commented on something I recently published here, graciously saying "Your post about being pulled off the ice was both fascinating and cryptic. That you apparently deleted it shortly after posting is a little disconcerting though." I didnt actually delete it. I buried it in April. That was sort of accidental - I hit a wrong button when I was editing it, but then I decided I felt better not having it staring at me when I opened my blog so I let it hide out in the previous month and replaced it with the picture of an octopus. There's a solid chance that I may hide this entry once I wake up and decide I hate it. Perhaps I'll replace it with another picture of an octopus. Maybe I'll sort through many of my recent posts, hiding them in the past and replacing them with octopedes.

It's probably time to get crazy 'round here anyhow. Shake things up. Make some changes. Yes? Perhaps yes.

Oh, and for the record - I M OK. Pretty much.

Here's a preview of tomorrow's post.

I'm going to kiss my computer now because it managed to crash zero times while I wrote this.

Yum

2009-05-04T11:49:00.000+09:00

Crap Now Available Night and Day

2009-04-29T06:01:00.004+09:00

Recently Lotteria started staying open twenty four hours a day in my town. I was pretty surprised to see the sign and wondered how much business they were going to get "after hours." I passed by one night at about one in the morning and noted that they were indeed open, but really only "half-open." Enjoy a burger in the dark!

Last week I stopped in for something to eat, and had a discussion about why the 24 hour restaurant might be FAIL! Back home, revellers might leave a club or bar in the wee hours of the morning and head straight for a "street meat" vendor (hot dogs and sausages carts that set up outside in anticipation of hungry drunk-faces) or a McDees. Here, drunks tend to stumble home with full bellies as they've spent the proceeding hours downing shots of soju or beer whilst feeding on either a meal or plates of "anjou," which is mandatory food ordered with drinks. I don't know. Maybe Lotteria will see some business from truck drivers passing through here looking for a quick bite, but somehow I don't think so.

Lotteria sucks, anyways. I don't know why I ever stray from the "seo-burger" (shrimp burger) -the only thing on their menu I like, but last week I was tempted by the picture on the wall of the Hanwoo Steak Burger.

Bun, onion, burger, mushrooms, and a broccoli-cheese sauce. Looks pretty yummy!
In reality though,

not so much!

Inside there was a gristly meat patty topped with a glop of cold green vomit sauce.

Scrap that. So we went next door to the 24-hour 7-11 and picked up a ~~sandwich.~~ Thing.

Mmmm. Comprised of seaweed, rice, ham, cheese or egg?, limpttuce, condensation and presumably sand.

Dinner Fail.

I Keep Working My Way Back to You, Babe.

2009-04-25T01:16:00.004+09:00

I've opened the "new post" window several times over the last week and then sat here resenting the cursor that blinked out "you...got...nothing" in a steady Morse code. The cursor lies. I got stuff. I just seem to lack the ability to covert all the stuff from my brain to the keyboard. That's not even true. I lack the desire? The motivation? Ummmm, maybe I lack the words, or rather - the right words.

I'm on the road to recovery from whatever nasty little bug I picked up a couple weeks ago. I lost my voice for two days this past week which rendered me pretty well useless in the classroom. I was really grateful to some of my classes that gave me a break and quieted down to focus on my whispered instruction. Some students really displayed a surprising amount of compassion and turned into little co-teachers, scolding their classmates for speaking Korean and not paying attention. Frickin angels. I rewarded them with candy.

I finally went to the big hospital and got a chest X-ray and some blood work. I'm not sure what the diagnosis was, but the instructions were "take these (eight pills three times a day) and much rest. NO TALKING." I relayed that to the manager who laughed at me, just like I knew she would. Still, I kept sound to a bare minimum that second day and was able to squeak out some noise in time for my adult classes, so I was pleased.

I'd type more now, but I'm venturing out for a "hwe-shick" (party) to celebrate my friend's birthday. It's late, and I'd much rather crawl into bed, but I promised I'd be there. The party begins once her restaurant closes, hence the owl-time start. She just called right this moment so I've got to go.

More soon. I promise.

Zoinked

2009-04-17T04:30:00.003+09:00

I figured it as just a matter of time, and sure enough I started to feel it by Sunday afternoon. Last week so many of my students had looked feverish and miserable as they hacked their way through my classes mouths-open, germs-flying, child style.

So it was that I dragged my ass to work on Monday and then dragged my ass to the doctor for the one hundred and sixty seventh ass injection/spanking Ive had since Ive been in Korea. There's a new nurse at Dr. Dolphin's office and she seems very nice, but it unnerves me that she does not stop touching me pretty much from the time I enter the clinic to when I leave. I must have looked particularly pathetic on Monday because she came from behind the desk to sit beside me in the waiting area, petting my leg the whole time. In the doctor's office, I perch myself on the stool beside his desk so he can use the sonar in his forehead to diagnose me. That's not entirely fair. The nurse reaches into my shirt from behind me to yank my bra away from my chest while the doc places the stethoscope in four spots for exactly half a second per location. Then he says, "Nnnyyaagghh!" which means "open your mouth" in Lazy-speak, and he depresses my tongue for three seconds. When the nurse doesn't have her hands in my shirt, she's got them moving around on my back. It's distracting and I resist the temptation to turn and smack her hands off me.

The doc clicks some computer keys and holds up four fingers and says, "days" and then points toward his door and then to the left, which means I should head to the curtained area where the nurse is going to stick a needle in my ass and slap me bye-bye.

I head back to work and see my boss for the first time that day. "Are you okay?" he asks.
"Not so much," I reply.
"Odi appayo?" (Where are you sick?)
"Everywhere."
"Kamgi?" (Do you have cold?)
"Anniyo. Malaria."
"Huh?"
"Ebola."
"What?"
"Yellow gold bunsick?"
...

Props to Dr. Dolphin, though. I pop a handful of pills and a shot of cough syrup every eight hours and don't feel too rough. However, about five or six hours later the potion starts to wear off and I'm reminded that I actually feel like crap underneath it all. The thing that can't be covered up with the medicine, though, is the bone crushing fatigue. I've had trouble keeping my eyes focused this week. They keep involuntarily rolling toward the back of my head. Like they've done six or seven times since I started typing this. So I'm off to bed.

Bloody TGIF, huh?

You Wanna Laugh?

2009-04-08T21:59:00.000+09:00

Please head over and view Roboseyo's translation work. Outstanding. I peed my pants.

Turnover

2009-04-08T03:31:00.005+09:00

We're losing another teacher at the end of the week. So that's three teachers who have quit in two months. Unfortunately, the latest one to leave has grown to be one of my favourite co-workers ever. I pretty much knew I was going to like her once I found out her family has five dogs and a cat. Out at a hweshick a few weeks ago we got to talking about our cats and I actually convinced her to take her young girl-cat "Nabi" (Butterfly) in to get spayed. Her cat was driving her nuts with all the yowling and rubbing, but she hadn't realized it was because the cat was in heat. I totally sold her on the surgery when I warned her that if her cat did manage to escape the house she was going to come back pregnant. So score one for decreasing the unwanted pet population.

I'm bummed shes leaving to open up a "kalguksu" restaurant. My boss isn't pleased that she only stayed with us a couple months, and I think there's some worry about what the parents are going to think about us burning through so many teachers in such a short time.

My newest co-worker remains unimpressive. She doesn't speak often, but when she does it's in "baby ga-ga coos" in both English and Korean and she still does the jiggly dance thing all the time, which I had hoped was just a nervous habit she'd get over after a while. Apparently it's not. I asked her, when we were picking out an English nickname for her, if she'd ever been given an English name before. She replied that she had and then struggled to remember what it had been. I almost choked when she finally recalled it was "Morticia." I asked if it had been a guy who'd given her that name, and sure enough it was. "What a jerk," I thought, but now I sort of understand.

At her welcome party she sat hunched over looking downright miserable and saying nothing until she finally excused herself at 11:15, saying her mother was going to worry why she was out so late. Shes a wild one, that Morticia.

Speaking of wild, I've got this student who has been a constant thorn in my otherwise fairly lovely garden of good little students. I've been teaching him for about a year now and I inwardly groan when I've got to deal with him. I know I should love all the little children, but I actually sort of hate this child. I've got five other students in that class who are eager, enthusiastic, and well behaved. I resent that I have to spend so much time micro-managing this one boy and the two other boys he riles up every class. The kid has absolutely zero impulse control, and no, I'm not a clinician - but I'd venture to say he displays obvious signs of ADHD. I stressed him out yesterday by first confiscating his toys, and then denying him a sticker because he made several mistakes while whizzing through his work because he needs to be "!FIRST FIRST TEACHER I'M FINISHED I'M FIRST I'M DONE FIRRRRSSSTTT!" He sulked back to his chair and proceeded to, while he thought no one was watching, yank hair out of his head AND EAT IT! Ohhhh. ADHD/OCD. Great.

Tomorrow I'm going to change his name to Damien.

One of my adult students is a private tutor who helps kids with developmental and learning disabilities. She was telling me in class tonight how she'd had a bad day because one of her students threw a desk at her and then bit her shoulder. The kid drew blood. So I guess there's always someone who's having a worse day than you.

Big Wheel

2009-04-05T04:48:00.006+09:00

Perhaps there's no better way to snag a panoramic view of the glorious city of Ulsan than to ride the giant fancy neon Ferris Wheel that sits atop a building adjoined to Lotte Department Store in Samsan-dong.

We approached the behemoth wheel and the fellow manning the booth gestured to my companion and said, "Who he?" I replied that he was my friend, and the Ferris Wheel man shook his head and nodded in the direction of a sign.

See the bottom part? Hmm. The ""Wheel" is only to be enjoyed by family and lover. The man in the booth would not be moved. So my friend and I had to sneak into a bathroom stall to make a happy sex time. Luckily, his wallet bore the circular imprint of a long stored condom, as further posted rules were even more specific.

There were a whole bunch of rules:

just The Man trying to Bring You Down.
IMO the best way to enjoy the ride is to be drunken. Very very drunken.

So, anyways we reappeared and affirmed that we were now lovers and no, I hadn't been got the pregnant, and we were allowed on. I wanted to jump out the locked caged car almost immediately because our in-car music thingie didn't work and as we slothed our way further from the ground I had trouble hearing the "gee gee gee gee baby baby baby" that blasted from the speakers below.

The lights of Ulsan are pretty, but I'd recommend riding the Wheel of Yawn during daylight hours. Because hopefully that's more interesting than riding it at night. Which is what we did. Which was yawn inducing. And just so you know, standing in your overheated car (air-conditioned in the summer, yee-haw) and rocking it back and forth is heavily frowned upon. Your music-less speaker will somehow crackle to life and yell at you to sit the hell down.

Drag

2009-04-04T04:00:00.000+09:00

When I was young, I'd cross the bridge every day from my apartment building which yawned over one of the major highways in Toronto. For eight years, that bridge crossing would lead me most days toward school, but the weekends were different. I'd stop short just at the other side of the bridge and head to the arena.

Public skate was held in the afternoon and I was there most Saturdays and Sundays, sporting my furry brown skate-covers my mother had made on her sewing machine. I didn't care that they were different from the super popular baby blue store-bought versions, mine made me feel like a skating bear.

I had a crush on one of the guards. I think his first name was either Dave or Mike, but for sure his last name was MacKenzie, which was what all his other skate-guard buddies called him. That was the name I'd calligraphy onto my duo-tangs at school and surround with a heart. I was Mrs. McKenzie in my head, and we'd whirl around Olympic style during the couples skate portion of the afternoon. Of course, that never happened, which is well and good I suppose - as the Zamboni would have had to scrape my jellied splattered too-happy heart off the ice. No one wants that sort of mess.

Instead, what happened was that once they'd announced the start of couples skate over the intercom my friends and I would skate away, refusing to get off the ice. For sure it was some negative attention seeking, and would result in McKenzie and one of his buddies carrying me off the ice by the wrists and ankles. That used to thrill me, because I had absolutely no sense of grace or dignity. I was eleven, so I understand that I didn't know any better.

McKenzie used to compliment me on my ability to skate backwards and I'd glow. "Can you show me how you do that?" he'd ask, and I'd enthusiastically glide away from him.
Then he'd skate away in the opposite direction. I fell for it every single time.

As for the "couple's skate" I'm not sure how old I was when I suddenly did know better, but I remember struggling against McKenzie and whatever guard that week had drawn the short straw to round up the renegade losers off the ice. My gingham top rode up and my too tight Mac jeans were starting to slide down over my hips. I realized that not only was I being carried off the ice (for the umpteenth time) but I was going to be naked by the time we reached the penalty box. I stopped struggling, and grabbed McKenzie's arm after he deposited me to squeak out an "I'm sorry," before he skated off. After that I didn't need to be asked twice to stop skating when the time came.

So here I am, fast forward almost thirty years later.
I wrote this a week ago and I keep opening it to edit. There are a bunch of reasons why I'm going to type the next sentence, but I just can't share right now. Still, I often wish I had someone who would just drag me the fuck off the ice already, pants be damned.

Gummy

2009-04-03T14:59:00.001+09:00

I'm worried about Kami. One of his teeth fell out this morning - a bottom fang. I've got to take him to the vet and he HATES going to the vet. They'll have to put him under to clean his teeth, and that's risky.

Worry worry worry.

Fleurs

2009-04-01T13:09:00.002+09:00

Happy April Fleurs Day!
Did you get punked yet?

It's a good thing I took some time to appreciate the blooming magnolia trees outside my apartment building, because those lovely flowers die so quickly. Here's a picture I took exactly one week later.

And from yesterday.

They're melllllting!

No matter, though. There are plenty of other pretty things springing to life these days. The cherry blossom trees still need another couple days or so, but in the meantime there's a bat-like thing hanging from the forsythia.

I wonder what's inside.

There are pink flowers.

And red cousins of the pink flowers.

Lots of cousins.

And perfect roses.

Pay no attention to the ubiquitous mounds of trash.

Focus on the pretty!

Voodoo Child

2009-03-31T03:27:00.004+09:00

I know there's someone out there with a little voodoo doll of me. That is the only logical explanation for why it felt like a needle was being poked through the side of my left nipple all day long Sunday. I know I wasn't in a tattoo shop getting my nipple pierced, because I checked. I was in pajamas in my apartment. So someone was somewhere else sliding a needle in and out of their Jelly-doll. Maybe the button nipple had fallen off and they were just taking a really long time sewing it back on.

Then sometime last night the same someone who lives somewhere did something to their Jelly voodoo doll - I don't know what voodoo trick specifically,...maybe the smearing of strawberry jam or just pressing some chewed up gum under the right eye which resulted in my waking up with a little bump. That was irritating. Throughout the day, though, more voodoo juju must have been performed and the bump turned into a stye that sits under the full length of my eye like a big peach leech, or a blister's angry sister.

So now my thought process pretty much goes like: *blink* "ouch" *blink* "ouch" *blink* "ouch" *blink* "&^%&ing OUCH!"

Remember when I wasn't dreaming of blue turtles? I've had the crumbling falling out teeth dream twice more since then, and I know that the shattering fangs in my mouth sound exactly like LEGOs® being bounced around in a bag.

*Blink.*
*OUCH!*

Are you Earth Houring?

2009-03-28T17:50:00.005+09:00

Tonight at 8:30 pm in their local time, people all over the world are going to be turning out their lights and turning off their appliances for sixty minutes in support of Earth Hour. I can't see any link to Korea on their website, and haven't seen any advertising on Korean television channels, though I didn't look very hard. I talked to my co-workers and they hadn't heard anything about it - so I don't know how many people will go dark here for an hour tonight. I told my friend she should turn off all non-essential lights at her restaurant and she thought I was funny.

I will be in the dark though. I'm going to do one better, even, and turn off all my stuff and settle in for a nice evening nap pretty soon after I hit publish on this post. That'll be about 3.5 hours worth of energy conservation. So, if 2.5 of you didn't participate in Earth Hour don't worry. I got your back.

Oh, I read on the web yesterday that many famous landmarks are going to be turning out their lights and participating, including the Eiffel Tower, Sydney Opera House, Golden Gate Bridge, and the Great Pyramids and Sphinx. Pretty cool. Je fais dodo maintenant. Night night!

What Happens to Ice Cream

2009-03-27T16:45:00.003+09:00

One of my students invited me to touch the tongue on the cover of her massive pop-up book. I wasn't so excited because the rubbery tongue was sticky and covered with lint. The kid in the story was eating an ice cream cone.

His tongue was very stretchy!

And so began the story of what happens when you eat an ice cream cone. Here are the highlights!
Blah blah blah mouth, tongue, teeth, saliva blah blah.

Blah blah blah your insides stomach acid blah blah blah

Blah your intestines and your ice cream is turning into poop.

Springy intestines! Poop wants out!

Let your poop out! Blah blah Nnnnnngggaaaahhhhh!

The end!

Metrosexual Flower Man

2009-03-25T22:12:00.005+09:00

James, over at I Spy Shanghai just returned from weekend journey to his old stomping grounds in Seoul. In his Shoe Tuesday post he writes about the Metrosexual Flower Men who abound in Korea. In his very next post he mentions The Face Shop. I'm hoping he isn't planning on tying those two things together in his next post, because I'm going to beat him to it.

Bae Yong Jun, (aka Yon-sama in Japan) was the star of the very popular drama Winter Sonata (겨울연가) from a few years ago. It seems he hasn't done too much acting since then, but he is the latest Face of The Face Shop. He is also the Quing of Metrosexual Flower Men.

He was the absolute darling of middle aged Korean and Japanese women. For some reason, he's turned into one of them, pretty much. See the flowers? See the metrosexual? That strap he's fingering over his shoulder for sure must be a giant murse.

See the metrosexual marvel at bamboo?

How much do you want to bet he's wearing the L'ame perfume pictured at James's?

Spring Hath Sprung

2009-03-20T06:48:00.002+09:00

These trees were bare on Monday, which turned out to be a nice mild spring-like day. The previous Monday we overnight temperatures fall to below zero and there was a 30% chance that it would snow. It did not. It snowed ONCE here during winter. For about five minutes.

Anyhow, by Tuesday the magnolias had just POPPED! Yesterday they were in full bloom.

They smell delicious, and I would gladly spend the whole day with my face smushed into them, inhaling through my flowerxygen mask.

But work beckoned like it always does. My walk is going to be enjoyable over the next few weeks as flowers blossom and green returns to the countryside. The forsythia has busted out on the way down the hill.

Today must have gotten up to about 20 degrees even under cloudy skies, and it was MUGGY! Spring doesn't last very long here, so it's a good idea I enjoy it while I can. Soon enough we'll be back into the sauna of summer, and I'm not a big fan.

Who's the Boss?

2009-03-20T06:08:00.003+09:00

My cat Kamikaze walked over to where I was sitting at the computer and meowed at me. I leaned over to pet him, asking "What?" He meowed again. "What, Kami?" He meowed louder as I scratched behind his ears. Very Loud Meow. "What?" "MROOOOOWWWWWW!"

"You're nuts" I said, and I got up to turn off the washing machine. Kami jumped up onto the chair I'd just evacuated and plopped himself down, glaring at me.

I can't believe my cat told me to "MOVE!"

Moth

2009-03-18T06:19:00.000+09:00

Working in a Coalmine

2009-03-18T05:40:00.005+09:00

Only instead of coal, our main byproduct is yellow dust. Nasty stuff, that. I'm in Day Five of "The Constant Headache" and I'm going to blame all the toxic shit in the air.

I haven't written about work for a little while, other than the thought that I need a vacation from it,...so here goes.

Three weeks ago we hired a new teacher. She's a young, pretty, recent university graduate. Her English was quite decent, which made me happy. What didn't thrill me was that she was given the desk right beside mine - which has been empty for all the years I've worked at my school. I used the space underneath it to store some of my stuff, and the drawer held contents that all the teachers used. So I had to squish more things into my space. Almost five years teaching means that I've acquired a lot of materials. I also teach double the classes of any given Korean teacher, so it stands to reason I needs me some space. The other thing that I was wondering about was why we needed a new teacher. Our student numbers don't warrant it at all, and I know my boss is in quite a financial pickle - so I'm questioning how the added salary is being justified.

Our "manager" doesn't want to teach. It appears that she needs more time to sit at her desk pretending to be busy when she's not studying her fingernails and torturing me by turning on the heater she parks right beside her.

Three days in, the new teacher got an interview for a position she really wanted at some other company, and three days after that she was packing up and saying "bye!" The advertisement my school had placed had gotten more than one response, though, so they moved down the list, got another young recent uni grad to come in for an interview and hired her right away. She started the following day so there wasn't even a gap where my manager needed to resume ~~working~~ teaching.

The new teacher's first question to me was, "You is name Jelly?" so I had a sense of what her English is like. Blah. She's only been working a week now so there's not too much that I know about her except that she seems to want to even further reduce the amount of space I have in the Teacher's Room by standing most of the time between me and her chair. I get to have her bum in my face quite a lot. She also does this strange jig all the time. I really don't know what that's all about. To get from the place where she's sticking her bum in my space to the photocopier, say, she does this waggly jog with her arms all askew and her shoulders shaking. It's sort of like the whiny dance that goes along with the "Opppppaaaa" protest/whine. I think maybe some ex-boyfriend told her she's super cute when she throws a playful mini-tantrum and she decided to incorporate that cuteness as her mode of general transportation. Like I said, I don't get it. My down-to-Earth other co-teacher shares my confusion. She doubled over laughing when I nodded toward the new dancing teacher and raised my eyebrows like, "What's up with that?" Tomorrow we've got a "hwe-shick" (work party) to welcome the new teacher. She doesn't drink, which is no fun but okay. More for me.

Something's going to happen soon at work and I'm not sure what it is. My boss is tapped out and can't afford to keep losing money. I hear an axe being sharpened somewhere, but I'm assured it shan't fall upon me. I don't think the end is nigh for the school, either - but I could be wrong. My pay, which has already been delayed by five days for the past few months came up short yesterday by more than half. This isn't good news, but there isn't much I'm willing to do about it right now. I trust my boss, who complimented me yesterday by saying I'm the best teacher he's ever met and he'd like to work with me forever. I can't agree to forever, but I'll keep showing up for the next thirteen weeks or so.

And then what?
I don't knooooowwwwwwwww.

Rainbow Poodle Judges You

2009-03-18T00:05:00.003+09:00

For not believing in the !MAGIC! that is RAINBOW POODLE.
I managed to take this picture just before Rainbow Poodle (and his shopping cart) flew away. Fer realz.

I Love Chicken Food

2009-03-17T12:52:00.000+09:00

Don't you?

Dreaming not of Blue Turtles

2009-03-16T07:07:00.005+09:00

I just woke up from a very real dream where all my teeth were crumbling. I'd just touch my tongue to them and they'd shatter in half or more and I was spitting the chunks out into my hand. They looked like little blood soaked bits of bone. When I opened my mouth and looked in a mirror there were just gums and holes filled with blood where my teeth used to be.

I was SO relieved to wake up and discover I still had teeth. I can't even tell you how shaken yet pleased I was. Did you ever have a dream like that? Bloody awful.

Looking online, I found this interpretation of a teeth-falling-out-dream: "Perhaps you are having difficulties expressing yourself or getting your point across. You feel frustrated when your voice is not being heard." That might speak toward the fact that I thought all day about what I should write about and couldn't seem to come up with a damned thing.

That's not even true. I've got plenty to say, but I'm feeling like I'm under some kind of self-imposed gag order. Sucks.

Last week I had a dream that a whole field of asteroids was heading towards Earth. There was nothing anyone could do about it. The Earth was going to explode and death was imminent for all. The atmosphere had already changed and was glowing bright orange and outside people were panicking, knowing that they just had a few short hours left to live. Inside, I was teaching class of kindergarten students. I kept having to scold the kids to "come away from the windows already and open your books!"

I don't even need to look that one up. I think I need a vacation.

Long Time John

2009-03-15T13:34:00.002+09:00

He's back!

Finally my pal John at Long Time Gone is back! His original site got stolen, pretty much. You should head on over and read all about it and say hi!

Welcome back, John!

Craptastic

2009-03-09T02:52:00.004+09:00

I woke up stiff and stuffy, much too early for a sleep-in Sunday. Quite the perfect recipe for crankiness. I'd promised to get up and out into the sunshine, but I wasn't feeling like it at all. I was growly when the phone rang and startled me awake just as I was drifting off into "Sleep: The Sequel."

I wasn't able to cancel, but managed to re-negotiate and whittle down the day's events. Unfortunately it meant cutting out the best parts: a nice drive in the country and some springtime frolicking on a beach. Instead, we set out to work on the filling out of many government forms on-line. We headed to my school, where there are three computers that don't crash every five minutes like my home PC (which is short for Piece of Crap) does. I've got the key to the school, but not to the door leading to the second floor which we found locked. Grrrr.

So we went to an overheated loud smokey PC bang (Internet cafe) and spent over two hours trying to sort out faded faxes and strangely translated documents. There were five forms totalling eleven pages and they can only be printed out once they're complete. You can't save them to any computer. You can't copy them and forward them so you can finish them later. Must print.

I'd taken note of the printer behind the front desk when we'd entered the PC bang. Unfortunately, it didn't occur to me to ask if it was working.

It was not.

So I spent another thirty minutes or so picking through the forms, cutting and pasting the details we'd been arguing over for the previous couple hours, "I think you spell it Mung-hwangae." "No, it should be Mun-kwangay." I copied our work to notepad, saved it to the PC, opened my e-mail, attached the file and sent it to myself. Then I checked just to make sure it had gone through. Refresh. Nope. Refresh. Nu-uh. Refreshrefreshrefresh. "#*&^%$^, where IS IT?!?" I check my "Sent" box. Yes, it had been sent. To my father.

Which wouldn't be a problem, except that I haven't spoken to the man in a year and a half. So now I've sent him an empty e-mail with an attached file filled with jibberish and a bunch of personal details for someone he's never met. At least it wasn't porn, I guess. Not that I send out porn. Much porn.

I think "porn" is a funny word.

Still, now I worry that in short order my father is going to pop up like one of those little brown mounds in a "Whack-a-Mole" game and I'm going to have to root around for my big spongey mallet.

I really should have stayed in bed.

Locked Out

2009-03-06T15:53:00.003+09:00

I apologize for the lack of posting. My computer is a pile of crap and it tends to crash if I even look at it in a way that displeases it. The other night I gave it the finger and threatened to throw it off the balcony after it had crashed for the twenty-fifth time, and so I think my computer contacted my ISP who then threw up a barrier page to connect to the innernets that requires an ID and password which I was never given.

So for the time being, I'm locked out. Technology is conspiring to keep me isolated and out of the loop. My face is all -----> :(

Meanwhile, please enjoy my pussy cat.

Specnaanular

2009-02-27T05:40:00.002+09:00

I decided to hit up the tiny lone Indian restaurant in my city the other day for some spicy international cuisine. Check it out!

Mmmmm! Looks yummy, yes?

HA! I totally fooled you! That pictured above is indeed some delicious Indian fare, but it was not prepared or consumed at a restaurant. I made that there food, I did - and the photo is of my breakfast yesterday morning. Lemme tell you, it was scrumptacular.

One cool thing about where I live is that my little "town" is surrounded by big factories. There are a lot of foreigners working at those places, so some grocery stores have set up little areas offering ingredients from places where the factory workers hail, namely The Philippines, Indonesia, China, and Pakistan. I got the ingredients for my curry at the one little shop that's dedicated exclusively to selling foreign food. I bought the last two bags of chana dal, which is a young split chickpea without the seedcoat. You have to soak or slow cook this bean to soften it, but it still doesn't turn into mush, which is a very good thing as far as I'm concerned. I made the curry with some chopped onion, tomatoes and chillis, and added generous spoonfuls of turmeric and curry powder (a mix of red chilli, coriander, cornflour, turmeric, black pepper, clove, cardamom, cumin seeds, cinnamon, curry leaves, and salt.) Both the turmeric and curry powder are from Pakistan!

Seriously yummy.

The naan I made was only my second ever attempt at making it, and it was a huge success. The first time I tried to make it a couple weeks ago was very "meh," but this time the dough raised wonderfully and the result was so tasty and sort of reminded me of pita.

I had googled some naan recipes and pretty much threw together whatever I felt like. Naan is a very forgiving bread and there are loads of varieties you can make. I dissolved about a teaspoonful of yeast into warm water and poured a mound of flour and a bit of baking powder and salt into another bowl. After the yeast had bubbled up a bit, I poured that into the dry ingredients and then added a small container of plain yogurt. That stuff is sweetened here, so I didn't bother with sugar, and i think I added a little oil as well and then knead it all up into a nice soft dough. After it doubled in size I divided it into six balls and let them rise too. Then I flattened them with my bottle-of-gin-rolling-pin and cooked them in a very lightly oiled skillet.

You know it's time to turn them when they start to puff up and the underside starts to brown.

Flip them over and this is what you see:

Naantastic!

You know what's pretty funny, though? If you (with your crystal ball and mad fortune tellings skillz) had told me just a few weeks ago that I'd be eating (let alone enjoying and I daresay even craving) those legumey split chickpea thingies I'd have told you you were stone-cold mental. I grew up being forced to eat peas and beans at the dinner table and I ALWAYS washed them down, pill-style, with a swig of milk. I wasn't keen on the milk either. After I got to an age where I could decide on my own what I wanted or didn't want to eat, I avoided vegetables like those. I should have keyed in to the idea that perhaps my palate has expanded, since I love dried peas, beans, and legumes - and think fresh shelled peas are pure deelish. So a few weeks ago my boyfriend cooked up a similar curry with naan (and he's far far better at those dishes than I) and gently urged me to try a bite. I thought, "What the hell?" and tucked in. YUM! So I pestered him to make it again - and again, "YUMMY!!" So I decided to try making it on my own, and my first attempt wasn't that bad at all. I'll try to make it have a stronger flavour next time.

Anyhow, because I've never eaten this sort of thing before, the little ditty "Beans, beans, the magical fruit; the more you eat, the more you toot," was really lost on me. Let me tell you, though - I get it now.

Holy cow!

I did not have to walk home last night. I just pointed my feet in the direction of my apartment and let my ass motor me along. I spent the rest of the night astounding myself with the frequency of the trumpeting of my butt. Thankfully, I wasn't reeking the place up at all - but even the cat was staring at me like, "Dude! What's up with all the noise?"

Aftershocks

2009-02-21T03:33:00.004+09:00

I watched a movie on Thursday night and bawled my face off. For good measure I watched it again when it started back up on PPV and wept again, sort of surprised I still had tears to squish out of my eyes. I woke up Friday morning with fat puffy painful red eels blinking over my pink eyes, and solid blue rings underneath to complete my version of haggard. And you know what's funny? It wasn't Schindler's List or Terms of Endearment or even E.T. that got me weeping.

It was Wall-E.

The movie isn't even very sad. It has it's moments, for sure - but overall it's terribly cute and quite humorous. Still, within the first few minutes in I found myself swiping at my eyes with my hands, and to be honest I haven't been able to get a firm grip on the weepy over the last twenty four hours. My right eye leaked pretty consistently all day long.

I guess that's what happens when you try to shove down your legitimate worry and sadness about what's going on over ten thousand kilometres away with your disintegrating family. I held that shit out at arms length for almost a week. Dangling between my thumb and forefinger I tried to regard everything dispassionately as if it were something that I'd read in the morning newspaper about strangers far away in a strange land.

The truth is, however, the participants in this drama/trauma are people I love - and even though the circumstances don't immediately affect me in my day to day goings on (or so I'd like to think) they affect my core.

So Wall-E caused my pipes to burst.

And I just about blew a gasket or two tonight trying to talk to my family who have had a bit of a chance to let their shit fester and have now either chosen to batter me because they're so pissed off, or completely cut me off because I'm not worth trusting.

I've got NOTHING to do with it all, but it impacts me greatly. In the meantime I'm wondering if this is a view to what my people really think of me or if this is just how they're re-acting when they're in pain: like crazed little rabid raccoons in a trap. I ended two phone conversations tonight with "Ya, okay, whatever. Fuck OFF!"